wary eye toward Leah. Leah disarmed his suspicion with a broad smile, then knelt and nodded good-bye to the girl. She leaned over and kissed Leah’s forehead then waved with her dandelion-ringed arm as Leah slowly retreated, the girl’s recent tears sparkling in the afternoon sun.
Brooke sat on a bench overlooking the pond. Three ducks—hens, by their mottled feathering—broke from the small flock swimming in the middle to cruise past in hopes of garnering a treat of bread scraps or popcorn. With no such offerings coming their way and a couple black retriever dogs splashing in the shallows close by, those inquisitive ducks slowly circled back toward the center of the pond, each trailing a silver V in the wake of their effortless paddling. To Leah as she approached, the calm wake of those receding ducks on the otherwise mirror-glass surface had a startling beauty that seemed almost what she thought of as sound, a distinct yet subtle vibration like what she would feel in grade school when her teacher struck a tuning fork and laid it against her wrist, her heart, her forehead. She suddenly felt sound everywhere she looked—the azure blue sky, the ridged gray bark of the trees, the sere grass to the pond edge, the ducks’ parallel Vs that eventually crossed.
Brooke seated on the bench also watched the ducks’ retreat but saw only opportunistic ducks’ seeking a free meal, and she with her hands empty. “Done being St. Francis?” she asked as Leah sat beside her.
He cared for animals, Leah responded.
“Then Joan of Arc.”
She burned at the stake.
“Mr. Rodgers, then. Or Captain Kangaroo.”
Leah smiled. Mr. Greenjeans! She signed to the green of the bench paired with imagined jean pants.
Brooke shook her head. “No, Big Bird!”
Leah at first objected then nodded and pointed to her hair—yellow at least, and accepted Big Bird’s fate to be a friend to all—helpless to help, to care.
“Do you know those kids?”
Leah shook her head.
“They thought they knew you.”
Leah shrugged.
“Add daycare worker to your long list of abilities.”
Leah shook her head and pointed to her ears.
Brooke smiled. “Doesn’t matter, far as I can tell.”
Leah looked across the water. The ducks had merged back into the flock, their wakes gone. Two male ducks, with vivid green heads and orange bills, were chasing each other with chaotic splashing, stirring the flock into disorder. On the shore to the right, the retrievers emerged from the water and cast off glittering sprays, oblong halos of gold, then loped off to a young couple walking hand in hand at the top of the hill. Leah hoped they were the dogs’ owners. Otherwise the pair were in for a wet surprise—or maybe in for a wet surprise in any case.
“What did Paul say about the Ball?” Brooke asked. Father had raised a toast at dinner in honor of Leah’s invitation, and Matt had kindly said, “Don’t expect me to escort you!” but none of the details had been discussed. It was unclear at the time if this was out of respect for Leah or in pursuit of family peace or both.
He already has his tux!
“For the Ball?”
From his sister’s wedding, but it will work.
“So he will be your escort.”
Leah nodded.
“And the Waltz?”
Leah’s lips tightened. He cannot dance.
“Or won’t try.”
Leah shook her head. No, he cannot dance! We tried! Her gestures became quite animated.
“Not good, huh?”
While still seated, Leah feigned tangling her feet and falling.
“Not good,” Brooke affirmed, shaking her head.
If I could lead, maybe. But that would not work since I cannot hear the music.
“Then I’ll lead.”
Leah tilted her head.
“You need a dance partner, right?”
Leah nodded.
“I took ballet and tap in grade school. I can dance when I have to. Let me be your partner.”
Leah stared at her, stunned by the offer, well knowing how much Brooke hated dancing, hated archaic traditions, hated being on display in stilted settings. Gradually a broad grin spread across her face as she leaned forward and gave Brooke a hug.
Out on the pond something spooked the ducks and they rose in a cacophonous blur of wing beats and water spray. Brooke watched this commotion over Leah’s shoulder.
Leah with her back turned missed all that but noted the flock as they passed low overhead, sunlight glinting through nicks in their pinions. She leaned back from her sister and signed, with a glint in her eye, Do you have your tux?
Brooke hooted. “What a great idea,” she cried. “I hadn’t thought about that. We’ll go check them out at the formal shop tomorrow.”
After school.
“I’ll pick you up.”
They went by the formalwear shop and discovered that Brooke wouldn’t be the first woman to rent a tux. The previous spring, the students from a local girls-only college decided to forego the stress (and inevitable selective humiliation) of trying to track down male escorts for their annual spring formal. Instead they’d drawn straws to designate half their number as escorts, then the whole cadre had descended on the formalwear store to pick out and rent the tuxes. “They had interesting tastes in colors,” the elderly saleswoman—Marlene Hampton, a spinster and front pew sitter from church—said with an aloof and censorious tone. After trying on jackets in several uncommon colors—pastel pink, powder blue, lavender—Brooke decided to stick with basic black but added the flair of tails and gloves. She even sampled a top hat but realized she couldn’t use it during the waltz so what was the point? They reserved the tux and scheduled a fitting for later in the spring. As they were leaving, Miss Hampton said, “Good luck convincing the Committee.” Brooke had said nothing about the occasion for the tux’s use, and most of their communication during the sampling had been through eye contact or hand gesture; but somehow the crusty old woman had guessed their plan, and soon the whole town, or at least the enclaves that mattered, would know.
So they told Momma and Father at dinner that night. Brooke let Leah take the lead, biting her tongue on several occasions as Leah slowly and methodically, using the familial sign language and an almost beatific steady gaze (her confidence and self-possession had grown tremendously since switching to Horton High), explained her goals regarding her participation in the Ball and her pathway to realizing those goals.
Paul will be my escort for all pre-event training and gatherings, and throughout the presentation and dinner. His name will appear with mine on all printed announcements and brochures and programs. He will also be my companion during the awards presentation and for the reception afterward. Leah paused to register and acknowledge her parents’ approving nods.
Momma interjected, “He’s such a nice boy.”
By now Brooke was nearly jumping out of her skin. She kicked Leah under the table and flashed a look of impatience in her direction.
Leah returned a serene stare. She loved her sister, complete with her impetuousness (most times). She also cherished this rare chance to be in charge of the pace of their common actions. She pulled her gaze from Brooke and looked first to Father then to Momma. For the Waltz she began, signing waltz with the cutest dancing of her fingers in a slow circle above the table.
“I’m going to be her partner!” Brooke blurted.
Leah frowned across the table.
Brooke threw her hand across her mouth and shrugged in apology.
Leah shook her head but couldn’t suppress a giggle—Brooke will always be Brooke.
Momma said, “What?”
Father’s eyebrows went up and his fork and knife went down, to resting on the plate.
Leah glanced hard at Brooke as if to say now look what you’ve done then turned to Momma. Paul can’t dance or learn. Brooke can’t dance—.
“Hey,” Brooke protested.
Leah smiled at her. But she can learn. I know it is unusual but so i
s a deaf girl at the Ball. She paused to let the full effect of that assertion sink in.
Momma’s look softened ever so slightly.
Leah continued. And if a brother can be an escort and dance companion, why not a sister?
“A brother is a man,” Father said.
Leah turned to him. And that’s a requirement for a dance partner?
“That’s a requirement for a partner,” he said then added, “At this event anyway.”
And I have a male escort. His name will appear next to mine in all the printed information. He will be next to me at our table all night long.
“They will never allow a same-sex couple,” Father said.
Paul and I are not the same sex.
Brooke could see little edges of anger in her sister’s features but doubted her parents could. Her expression was firm and intent and confident. Maybe she learned this from the debate team.
Momma said, “Jim, it’s only for one dance.”
“It’s not just a dance. It’s the Waltz.”
“And they’re sisters,” Momma said.
Brooke caught Leah’s eye. Had she prepped Momma? But no, Momma was as shocked as Father at first.
Leah’s fleeting return response was assured. Momma was the key, had been all along.
“They won’t allow the precedent,” Father said, though his look of objection was softening.
“Leah’s deaf,” Momma said, playing the card that was her trump not only here but at the eventual Committee gathering. “There is no precedent with Leah.”
Something about the phrase caught in Brooke’s ear. To her Leah had never been unique because of her lack of hearing. She’d been unique because she was her only sister. But to Momma, Leah had