sparrow than peacock, interrupted her lecture to greet me with great formality and pomp, shaking my hand and introducing me to the class as “hearing-impaired” (that is a new one on me) and showing me to my chair at the front she had marked “reserved.” I thanked her and sat down and unpacked my history notebook and pen and prayed the other sixty eyes in the classroom would soon have somewhere else to look. But it seemed to take Miss Peacock forever to leave my side. She just stood there beside my chair. I finally had to look up. She had the strangest expression on her face, something between curiosity and sympathy, as if she thought she knew me better than she did. I like Miss Peacock and think she will be a good teacher, but at that moment I wanted her to leave me alone and get back to what she was doing before I knocked on the door. But she seemed frozen in place beside me. So I smiled and nodded thanks again. That released her. She turned, clapped her hands twice, and resumed lecturing with a fast-paced energy I could not begin to keep up with. Fortunately after class she handed me an outline of the day’s lesson that helped me fill in all the blank spaces in my notes. She said she would have outlines for me before each class, “our secret.” I did not know why a class outline should be a secret, but I again thanked her and then asked for directions to my next class, marked English with Mr. Stanford, Room 212, on my schedule sheet. Without a word, she stood and took my hand and guided me to Mr. Stanford’s room, two halls away. We must have made quite the pair as everyone stepped aside to let the Peacock and the Hearing Impaired pass. Truth be told, I was glad for the guide and the companion if a little uncomfortable with the delicate fingers holding my hand and all the eyes staring. I guess I’ll have to get used to the staring. Miss Peacock’s fingers may take a little longer.
The rest of the classes were less eventful. Mr. Stanford kept staring at me while he talked, as if he could make me hear with his eyes. I guess he thinks I can only read his lips if he’s looking at me. Mrs. Erskine in Earth Science is a hoot. I keep thinking all that energy is going to burst forth in some kind of wild dance, or launch her into outer space. She’s a little hard to follow, moving around so much and talking so fast; but she draws great pictures on the chalkboard. Mr. Dixon in Chemistry had us put on our eye protection at the start of class and keep them on the whole forty-five minutes. We must’ve looked hilarious, all those kids staring ahead with goggles like an audience at a three-D movie. Some of the boys’ goggles fogged up! And all of us had red-banded raccoon faces when we headed for the door.
Speaking of Mr. Dixon, after class today he came up as I was packing my book bag and asked if I had a minute. Lunch period was next and I did not exactly have a hot date waiting, so I nodded. He took me to the lab at the back of the room and asked if I had ever heard water boiling. I must have made a funny face as I shook my head. He laughed and handed me an asbestos glove (and of course those stupid goggles—he wears safety glasses all the time) then lit a Bunsen burner and slid it under a beaker of water. When I had the goggles and glove on and the water was boiling, he took my gloved hand and gently pressed it against the side of the beaker. Once I got over the fear of being burned, I could feel the water bubbling through the glass. He asked “Do you hear that?” And, in an odd way, I did hear it—at least a version of what it might be like to hear something. So I nodded. He got a big smile on his face, like he had introduced a whole new world to me. I quickly slid off the glove and goggles, thanked him for the demonstration, and headed to lunch.
Speaking of lunch, I have my designated seat at the table in the farthest corner between the side wall and the windows. Nobody else sits at that table, which is fine by me. I have a full view of the cafeteria, or I can look out the window at the soccer field if I catch someone looking back and get flustered. I have started playing this game, striking poses as if someone might be watching me—pretending to be the studious girl immersed in her math lesson or the serene girl raptly gazing on nature or the sociologist documenting the cafeteria culture or, my default pose, the lonely wallflower simultaneously hoping to disappear and be noticed.
I guess I have done a little of both these first few days—disappear and be noticed. I can only hope that one day someone might notice me as something other than “the deaf girl.” Only time will tell.
Speaking of time, Momma just flashed the lights for the third time, so I had better end this letter and turn out my light (even if I don’t immediately fall asleep).
I hope you are happy. I miss you. Please write soon.
Love from your sister,
Leah XXOOXXOOXX
September 2
Dear Leah,
I love this place! Sometime last week we got our schedules and picked up our books and went to class and heard about all the hard stuff we were supposed to learn and do and read and write, but so far the assignments have been EASY! And that leaves lots of time for all the other stuff, which is mostly lying out on the quad and meeting guys and going to parties. There are always lots of parties! On the weekend, the parties were huge and spilled outdoors. There was one on the main quad with live music, some local group called Flash in the Pan I’d never heard of but they sounded good. Other parties had speakers in the windows blasting the music outdoors. And I mean blasting! Could you hear it back home?
During the week, the parties are smaller and mainly in the dorm rooms. We call them floor parties because they include the four suites of a dorm floor with the suite doors open and people moving back and forth between rooms and hanging out in the common room outside the bathrooms and the elevators. We’ve had two parties on our floor already and the word’s gone out that ours is a party floor. I guess that makes us party animals though I don’t know what kind of animal we are.
Today classes were cancelled for the holiday and lots of kids went home. But there were enough of us still here to have a good time. This guy Brad I met last week is from here and had some local-yokel friends with a big pick-up and we all piled in and went to this old quarry on the edge of town. It’s filled up with water now and the local kids hang out there and swim during the summer months. There are No Trespassing signs everywhere but Brad and his buddy Tim said don’t worry about it, the quarry owners just put those up so if someone gets hurt they don’t have to pay damages. They said a drunk high school kid drowned there a few years back and for a while the police patrolled the place and threw people out. But now the police have better things to do and the kids are using the quarry for a swimming hole again. They all jump from this high ledge. At first I was a little scared till Brad said “I’ll hold your hand” and that made me mad enough to forget my fear and I just jumped! What a rush—the air whistling past then the jolt of cold water! And I mean COLD! I guess the water comes from the ground and never warms up, but it felt good on the hot day. We hung out there all afternoon and had a blast.
Sounds like your first day didn’t go so hot. No locker! That must’ve been a bitch! I wish you’d started a year ago. I would’ve taken care of you. You could’ve ridden with me and Jackie and skipped that stupid bus and not be late but oh well. Peacock’s a weird one. Some people think she’s a dyke but I think she’s just lonely. She lives for her students that’s for sure, especially the girls. I know for a fact she got Ashley Johnson into rehab and maybe helped pay for it and some people say she got Jennifer Bailey in touch with one of the new abortion clinics. As for Stanford, he isn’t looking at you to help you read lips. Make sure and keep your legs together or crossed or better yet quit wearing dresses and skirts and start wearing jeans like everyone else. Then you don’t have to worry about keeping your legs crossed though you might want to still keep them together so that D.O.M. (that’s short for Dirty Old Man) doesn’t get the wrong idea. And make sure Dixon doesn’t blow you up! They say he exploded a volcano demonstration a few years ago and shot the top right through a window! I think he’s still stuck in his childhood play with fire and blow things up phase, only now he gets paid and has an audience.
Maybe you’ve figured out the rest by now or will soon enough. I’m
sure you’ll fit in fine at dear old Horton High. I wish I could help you more. But I guess I said that already. You have any trouble with mean girls or horny guys, hunt down Becky Barker and tell her Brooke sent you. She’s a senior. She used to be in our class but stayed back a few years ago. She’ll fix any problems you have, mark my words.
Shoot! Some jerk just squirted shaving cream under our door. At least I hope it’s shaving cream! I better clean it up then go to bed. It’s 1:30 AM. They say I have class tomorrow morning. Imagine that!
Hugs and kisses from your
Big Sis
September 4
Dear Brooke,
Your letter arrived today and I was so happy to receive it. I got off the bus and ran over to the mailbox and looked through all the junk mail and the bills and there it was! I think I must’ve jumped for joy but nobody was there to see so I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that I ran inside and dropped my book bag and tore open the envelope and read the letter right there in the entry hall. I’ve read it twice since and it’s here on the desk beside me as I write these words. It’s not the same as