Black and Blue

I had to catch Mom at her best. I couldn't bother her when she was trying to get work done. Sunday night ushered in a contented stillness in which the house and the whole neighborhood around us was at peace. The perfect opportunity arose just as Mom settled into the living room couch to thumb through Real Simple magazine and sip a sweating glass of iced tea.

Mom?

She looked surprised to see me away from my computer. Usually, for me, humdrum nights like there were devoted to chatting with Nathaniel. What's up, Kiddo? she asked cheerily, motioning for me to join her on the couch.

I held my ground and stood in front of her, waving away her offer to sit down. Mom, I want to go to the high school.

It went right over her head. Go to the high school? For what?

For, like, school. I want to…go to there. I tripped up, adding a few superfluous signs—but what part of what I said didn't she understand? Why else would I want to go to the high school?

She inhaled deeply and let her magazine drop to the floor. We talked about this before, Jo.

I wasn't off to a very good start; I was already losing her. We did talk about it, yes, but… Desirée Asad was her friend, right? Maybe it would help my case if I dropped her name. Desirée said that if I want to go to school there, the administration has to find me an interpreter. I could go to an all-hearing school if I had an interpreter. Easy. No problem.

Dad had been watching the entire conversation from the doorway that lead to the kitchen. At this point, he had to interject. Those hearing kids aren't going to understand you like they did at the School for the Deaf. Hearing kids who aren't used to people like us are cruel, Jo. Dad knew all too well about the cruelty of hearing children; he was the only deaf boy in his hometown in Iowa growing up. His deafness kept him from communicating, which kept him from making any real friends—until he went to Gallaudet, the deaf college in Washington D.C., where he met Mom.

I knew he meant 'understand' to mean 'identify with' or 'empathize with,' but I took a more literal approach. Obviously the other kids aren't going to understand me, Dad. That's what the interpreter is for.

Don't talk to your father that way, Mom scolded me. She was making me feel like I was twelve years old again—and not in a warm-fuzzy, nostalgic kind of way. She must have seen the pain on my face, because she took a deep breath before she continued, this time signing more softly. They will hire you an interpreter, yes, but the interpreter can't do anything to help you if you start getting bullied, or… Or what about what happened last year? An interpreter can't help you if you…if you involve yourself with—

Mom! I cut her off. The self-inflicted wounds from the mistake I made were fresh in my memory; I didn't need her to remind me. What's happening now has nothing to do with what happened last year.

Kiddo, we wanted to give you the option, but—

Wait! Wait, so… I clenched my fists in anger, and my signs became indignant thrashing motions. You knew I could go to the regular high school if I wanted, but you didn't tell me? You kept it from me on purpose?

Which of us is the liar now, Mom? Which of us is undeserving of the other's trust?

Only because I think homeschool is your best chance of graduating, she upheld. If you go to that school, it will be a huge adjustment! Are you sure you're ready to take on that kind of responsibility?

The way you talk about that little high school…you make it out to be a horrible place, but you haven't even given me the chance to try!

I thought immediately of Nathaniel; I even imagined him standing over my shoulder. He came out of that school, didn't he? It can't be that terrible.

Don't I at least deserve a chance? I begged. Please?

Mom looked to Dad, her crows' feet tugging as her eyes became misty with tears.

Dad's distrust of the hearing was ingrained so deep, I knew he wouldn't be completely on board—no matter what kind of accommodations the school provided for me. If they put me in an impervious plastic bubble, he would still fear for me.

But I still had a wild card I could pull out anytime to win him over.

What about D.J.? I said simply. He goes to the same school. He's new, too. He's made adjustments. He understands. And he'll be there with me if I ever…if I ever need someone.

Dad blinked, running a hand over his smooth, silvering hair. His eyes were still every bit as hesitant as Mom's, but he nodded a wordless okay.

"It's settled," I told Nathaniel in an excited text. "Mom talked to the principal of SAHS yesterday to arrange a meeting. As long as I have all the paperwork I need, I can start next Monday with everybody else."

"That's great news!" he replied. "You have to tell me what teachers you have when you get your schedule."

I almost ran into mom as I tottered behind her, both hands and eyes focused on reading what Nathaniel had written. She pushed the shopping cart, intermittently stopping to grab mechanical pencils or post-its or spiral notebooks. We hadn't anticipated needing any of these for online homeschooling, so we had to go back-to-school shopping—along with everyone else in town. As summer was nearing its end, it seemed every mother in Sweet Amoris was at the store stocking up.

Pay attention to where you're going, Mom quipped as I came up beside her. What else do you need?

Shoes? I asked meekly. I left my most reliable pair at Dajan's house; I didn't even realize I was barefoot the entire drive home.

Mom shook her head and smiled. At least you have your priorities straight. Let's get out of here and go to the mall!

In the checkout line, my phone vibrated again, and I assumed the text would be Nathaniel—but it wasn't. "It's been a while," it read. "Have you been getting into trouble without me?"

I hand't seen Dajan since our 'tutoring' session two weeks ago. Every once in a while he would text me, asking me to meet him somewhere or come over—but every time I had to tell him no. I'd been busy helping Mom and Dad at the studio with the rush of high schoolers coming in to get senior portraits taken.

"Trouble? Without you? Never," I texted back playfully. "But I do have a surprise for you."

"You didn't have to do that," he responded. "My birthday isn't until April."

"You don't have to wait until April. You'll know what it is next Monday," I wrote cryptically, stifling a laugh.

"I don't get a hint?"

"You already know what it is." At least, he should know; he was the one who was so insistent that I go to SAHS after all. I huffed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes as I tapped the letters with my thumbs.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He was obviously playing dumb. "You'll know it when you see it," I assured him.

Meanwhile, I was trying to think of ways to convince Mom to buy me a new outfit in addition to a new pair of shoes—so that I would make a good impression on Dajan when he saw that I was his surprise.

My first class is supposed to start in, like, seven minutes. Should I be worried if my interpreter isn't here yet?

I decided I would give her more time before I started freaking out. It was the first day, after all, and she probably didn't live around here. Maybe she just got lost?

I had no idea what to expect from my classes or my teachers. Nathaniel had been no help, since he took all Advanced Placement classes (he would, since he was such a dweeb) which had different teachers than my classes would have. I was sure non-Advanced-Placement classes would be challenging enough, since my attention would be torn between the teacher and the interpreter…who, by the way, was still not here, with only five minutes until first period.

With the time I had left, I was supposed to be filling out some last-minute paperwork. (I thought Mom and Dad had taken care of everything when they met with the principal, but whatever.) The checklist on the table in front of me listed my options for 'extracurricular' activities and athletics. For boys, the options were: football, basketball, and track. For girls: volleyball, cheerleading, and track. There was also a 'basketball club' and a 'gardening club' for either boys or girls.

… Hm. Not a whole lot of selection. No swimming. No diving. No soccer. No rugby. No lacrosse. No drill team. And definitely no gymnastics. For now, I would hold onto the list without committing to anything just yet. If I decided to do anything after school, I knew, the administration wasn't responsible for making sure I'd have an interpreter; I'd be more or less on my own, dependent on the kindness and patience of the other kids.

I gathered up the completed paperwork—with the exception of the extracurricular activities list—and filed it neatly in the folder to hand back to the student body president. I assumed that was who she was, anyway. She was the one who brought me to this unused classroom—the student council room, according to the bulletin board on the wall—and tasked me with filling out the papers.

The petite, red-haired, blue-eyed girl looked like she had no idea what she was doing. She tossed her loose braid over her shoulder and flitted from one file cabinet to another as though looking for something, but she forgot what she was supposed to be looking for and had to consult a hand-written checklist attached to a clipboard. Upon closer inspection of the clipboard, I recognized the neat, square handwriting as Nathaniel's. This girl must be his replacement. Didn't he say he used to be the student body president?

I couldn't help but notice the traces of Nathaniel Weiss everywhere in this room, in this school which had been so important to his life just one year ago. His face was in every one of the photos in the collage stapled to the bulletin board. His handwriting was on all the labels on the file cabinet drawers. If my family had moved here sooner, maybe I would be meeting him this way instead: filling out paperwork, paying a stupid admittance fee, getting a not-so-flattering picture taken for my I.D., and following him around the maze-like hallways like a lost puppy. That would have been a boring first impression for both of us.

I got up from my seat and pushed in my chair so that she would know I'd finished. She smiled and nodded a thank-you when I handed her my file—then she dropped it, and the papers I'd just put in order spilled out all over the floor.

As the red-haired girl and I stooped to gather them up again, we were hastily joined by one of the other new students filling out papers for his own file. I was glad to see I wasn't the only brand-new student starting this year. There were two others: identical twin brothers who were clearly going through a rebellious we're-different-poeple-so-treat-us-as-such phase.

They were both dressed peculiarly, but the one who helped us pick up the papers was dressed in brightly-colored clothes so loud they screamed—and that, coming from a deaf girl, is saying something. His traffic-cone-orange jacket and the clunky green headphones he wore around his neck made him distinguishable from a mile away. He even went so far as to dye his hair bright a Caribbean blue and wear magenta contacts to change the color of his eyes.

Once my papers were back in order, we all stood up, and the red-haired girl went back to her puttering and flitting. The Blue twin seemed to like me. Rather than return to his own stack of papers, I think he gave me a compliment on my hair color—at least, I hoped that was what he was doing when he stroked my ponytail admiringly.

His brother, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, his paperwork untouched. While not quite so loud as his twin's, his style was undeniably metro, highlighted by an H & M scarf coiled around his neck, a loose shabby-chic shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and painstakingly coiffed black hair—which I assumed was both twins' natural color. I would have questioned Black's heterosexuality (especially because of the scarf) if I hadn't seen him craning his neck to watch the red-haired girl bend over to pick up the avalanche of papers. Even now, his shifty cobalt eyes followed the movement of her hips as she fumbled around the room.

The Black twin caught me staring at him and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. Hey, he purred, his eyebrows shooting up to hide behind his purposefully messy bangs—and then he asked me a question, but I couldn't read it because he was rolling a tube of cherry Chapstick over his parted lips as he spoke.

I shrugged and hoped and unspoken I dunno was an acceptable answer to whatever he asked.

Black laughed, re-capping his Chapstick and shoving it into the pocket of his tight-fitting jeans. You don't know your name?

Crap. Is that what he said?

I pulled my class schedule out of my backpack and showed it to him so that he could read "Johanna Edeline Quirke" across the top in bold block lettering.

Jo-ha-nna, he annunciated. Am I saying that right?

I blinked a few times, and tilted my head to squint at him.

Seriously? You just asked a deaf girl if you were pronouncing her name right?

Eh. I'll let him fret about it until he figures it out. I don't feel like writing him out an 'I'm deaf' explanation.

The twins consulted their own timetables, comparing them to each other's and then to mine. I came around to read over their shoulders. "Alexander Glenn Underwood" had almost every class with me, but "Armin Bryce Underwood" and I only had one together: fifth period U.S. History.

Alexander and Armin, huh? But which was which?

Black said something into his brother's ear, coyly hiding his mouth behind his hand—which would annoy me under normal circumstances, but for some reason I thought it was kind of cute.

Blue thought sternly for a few moments about whatever Black had to say, then finally nodded in agreement. When he looked back to me, his (bright pink) eyes were full of something halfway between pity and admiration. My guess was that Black had figured it out: new girl must be deaf.

The twins jumped up suddenly and shouldered their bags, most likely spurred into action by a tardy bell I couldn't hear. The Black twin followed the red-haired student body president out the door and down the hall to the left. The Blue twin started out the door to turn to the right, but stopped and looked back to me expectantly. Well? Are you coming?

Oh. He has the same first period class as me. And we were going to be late, if we weren't late already.

What should I do? Should I go to class and wait around until my interpreter shows up, or should I go down to the administrative office and wait there? I guess I'd be stuck waiting either way.

God I hated waiting.

While I contemplated my options, Blue lazily shifted his weight from one foot to the other and dug a hand into the crook of his hip. Well? he repeated.

Alright, fine. No need to get all sassy.

I'll go to class. Who knows? Maybe I'll learn something.

I shouldered my own backpack and pulled my hair out from under the straps, following Blue out into the hall. We passed room after room on both sides of the empty hallway until we reached the number where our first class was supposed to be: English with Mrs. Julien.

Inside was every new kid's worst nightmare: about twenty strangers, all of them already seated and still, turning around in their desks to look at me—to stare at me. The teacher had her back turned to us at first, too, because she was writing on the dry erase board. She seemed annoyed to see us standing in the doorway, obviously tardy.

Blue broke the ice. He flashed Mrs. Julien a smile and uttered an apology for our lateness—probably something about having to fill out paperwork because we were new.

Mrs. Julien must have been one of those mushy-gushy, touchy-feely English teachers; she smiled at us warmly and accepted Blue's excuse without question. Then she did exactly what I hoped she wouldn't do. She asked Blue and me to introduce ourselves, motioning for us to stand at the front of the classroom. Blue was pleasant and amicable as he took his place in the limelight, giving the class a short monologue about who he was and where he came from. When his lips stopped moving, Mrs. Julien lead the rest of the class in a spirited round of applause. And then everyone, including Blue, looked to me.

Yeah. An interpreter would be super helpful right about now.

Desperately, pleadingly, I gave Mrs. Julien a meaningful look—but if she had been forewarned about having a deaf student in her class, she gave no indication.

I let my backpack fall off my shoulder as I sighed exasperatedly. No one expected me to turn my back to the class and take up a dry erase marker, but what else was I supposed to do?

"Johanna Quirke," I wrote, off to the side from where Mrs. Julien had been writing a self-righteous Hemingway quote.

I looked to Mrs. Julien to see if that was sufficient. She frowned at my name on the board, tilting her head confusedly as her painted lips asked a question I couldn't read.

"I'm deaf," I spelled out in tall, clear letters, the strong smell of the marker making my eyes water. "I don't speak. I'm supposed to have an interpreter, but she's late. Until she gets here, all questions must be submitted in writing."

I meant for that last part to be a joke and tried to smile to soften it, but the words on the dry erase board only made the other kids mumble, murmur, and whisper behind their hands.

Oh, okay, Mrs. Julien said, nodding obsequiously.

The rest of that hour, I sat at a little desk in the corner next to the Blue twin and flipped through the textbook, unable to participate in whatever the rest of the class was doing. Blue cast me a few pitying glances, but what could he do? Nothing, really.

I knew class was over when everyone else got up to leave…and my interpreter was still nowhere to be seen.

Second period Biology was even worse, the teacher even more clueless and less understanding. I learned that the Blue twin was Alexander, but he shortened it to Alexy—which meant his brother was Armin. Alexy volunteered himself to be my lab partner for the rest of the semester, which was good, I supposed; that way I wouldn't be completely alone. I recognized a few of the faces of my classmates from senior portraits my parents had taken. I'd even met a few of them at the studio—but none of them returned my smiles and waves. They stayed glued to their own lab stools, probably wondering what I was doing here.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly handicapped.

Everything will be fine once my interpreter gets here. I haven't been bullied like Mom feared; I haven't witnessed the cruelty of hearing kids like Dad said I would. If I could only understand what everyone was saying…

I hadn't seen Dajan in any of my classes yet, but thought I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye when I was in the hallway trying to find third period Calc. Did I just imagine it? No, that was definitely him; his distinctive head with its long dreadlocked hair towered over the other unfamiliar figures. But he was gone the next time I blinked.

He can't be avoiding me, can he?

No, he didn't notice me. If he had, he would have come over to me to say hello. To smile at me. To talk to me. To help me.

I had to suffer through just one more class, and then I could check on the status of my interpreter at the front office during lunch. I might not have had any classes with Dajan yet, but there were only two lunch periods; there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would have fourth period lunch like I did.

After a mind-numbingly boring hour, Calculus ended, I sprang up like everyone else. We all spilled out into the hallway. While the girls dug in their purses for makeup compacts and the guys absentmindedly checked their phones, I made a beeline for the stairwell and marched straight down to the office.

Seriously. The day was half over, and I hadn't been told anything about whether or not she was even coming anymore.

I breezed past the athletic offices and a wall of vending machines—and that's where I finally found him. Dajan and about six other beefy guys, some wearing red-and-white letterman jackets, were feeding ones and fives into the vending machines in exchange for bags of Skittles and lemon-lime Powerades.

Seeing those honey eyes lessened the heaviness I'd carried with me since that morning. I watched for a moment as he and his jock friends laughed and joked about something I didn't know about and didn't really care about; all I knew was that it was making him smile that toothy, honest smile I'd come to…appreciate.

I couldn't stand to watch for more than a few seconds. I needed to talk to him. I felt dumb and mute; I needed someone to talk to, period.

D.J.! I swung my arms excitedly. D.J., I'm so glad to see you! You will not believe the day I've had so far!

He didn't use his hands to talk back. He held tight to his unopened Powerade, picking at the cap with his fingernail.

He…he wasn't happy to see me, too? I thought he wanted me here…

What's the matter? I asked, screwing my face into a frown. Don't you sign anymore? Did you forget how?

I caught a few subtle movements in my periphery. As I gaped around at the other jocks, I saw that their smug faces were as amused as they were perplexed. Who is this girl, they were probably wondering, and why is she signaling to Dajan like an air traffic controller?

One of them cracked a smile. Then another. Then another. And…oh, no. That one was definitely laughing. And now that one.

And now…Dajan.

Dajan was laughing at me.