For Andrea Martinez, in a world where, when talking is impossible, so is fitting in. You become a ghost in the hall, a freak you stray from, the mute who is never picked to ask questions.
Until Hunter Alvarez, new-to-the-school bad boy, takes an int...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
^^Andrea Martinez^^
In a world where people see but do not hear. In a world where people pass but avoid. In a world where talking is an important part of developing, socialising, growing up. There is me. Andrea Martinez. 17 years old. A senior. And a mute.
I try not to let the fact that I can't talk affect my daily life. Its hard to do that in high school, I've learned. The thing is, it's hard to make friends when you can't establish basic similarities in personality and identity. It's hard to answer questions in class when you have to write it on a white board, readily prepared for when the teacher should pick you for the question, letting the whole class know you can't talk. It's hard to be in relationships when you have to text them everything you want to say. They quickly give up. They quickly become irritable and angry. It's hard.
Back to the present day: I'm sat at my desk in AP English Lit. It was the start of the year so I was trying to remember if I'd gotten everything I needed together. There'd been word of a new guy joining us for senior year. Moved from another state.
Not that he'd shown up yet.
Anyhow, so a tall, lanky guy, dressed in a green and brown checkered shirt with a black tie, brown suit pants with a brown belt and the standard professorial black, slightly pointy shoes. He seems decent enough, kinda rough around the edges, maybe. Is he our new professor?
"Morning, class. I'm Mister Wilkes, supply teacher for the day. I know it's a poor start with your teacher not being here. It appears he's come down with malaria while he was away over summer." The class was making multiple noises. The usual group of half-assed dopes made groaning noises as if they could have just skipped this class, then. A few sympathetic students raised questions of concern, asking if our professor was okay. And a few students complained about just getting the lessons started, about wasting taxpayers money on a substitute teacher who is currently teaching us jack.
As for me, I said nothing. Kind of an inside joke, for me. I have a lot of those.
So anyway, he finally got the ball rolling and it was about twenty minutes into the lesson, by now. I had been used to my professors ignoring me to spare me some embarrassment. But of course this one didn't know.
He asked the whole class a question about the inner meaning of a certain sentence of the text, referring to his desk plan to find the right name before asking them the question. I had been in my own world so I definitely was not expecting to hear his low voice say "Miss.. Martinez?" and angling his body to face the direction of my desk.
Of course I tried to tell him that I could not tell him by performing the small act known to all mutes: the pointing to themselves, shaking their forefinger left and right as a symbol for no, and pointing to their lips as a symbol for talking.
Of course there was the option of sign language but I had only started learning it a short while ago and was nowhere close to performing full sentences.
But this blithering idiot must have come straight from junior school or something because he had no clue what I was trying to express so obviously to him. But the rest of the class understood. So when the professor started to exclaim that I should "stop playing games and just answer the question," the class dick, Jasper Kline, known for his rude behaviour in the classroom, decided to make a scene.
"Oh, professor, you mean you didn't know?" when professor Wilkes turned to Kline's direction, a confused look upon his face, Kline continued his offensive yet mundane speech of "Andrea, there, is a retard- a mute. She can't answer you. She probably would've written it down for you but it seems the retard forgot her whiteboard."
This had all of the class up in stitches, a pathetic professor Wilkes trying to settle the class down with their howling laughter. I thought it would never end.
That was until I realised one member of the class who wasn't laughing, and was now stood up, in the corner of the room, crossed arms, tensed shoulders and anger plastered across his expression. I scanned his body for any hint of recognition. The broad, muscly shoulders, tense with anger, ending in the shaking fists at the end of his arms; the bulging muscles that had come alive with his wrath; the medium-length, dark brown hair, that fell just below his jaw in straight, disarrayed locks, like he had only just got out of bed; the chiseled jaw line, set hard in anger, currently; the pink, plump lips forming a straight-lined grimace; the well-toned chest, falling and rising rapidly with each breath; all held up by his long, muscle-laden legs, and long, shiny black Italian shoes, currently more still than my breath as I held it.
Rattling my mind, I quickly came to the realisation that I'd definitely never seen this god- I mean, guy- before. The lightbulb lit that he must be the new guy, starting today. Funny, I thought, I didn't see him come in here earlier.
I wondered what he was doing, just sort of stood there for no reason, it looked like he was waiting for something- perhaps for something to happen.
Anyway it appeared he got his wish because when Kline decided to make the show go on, by pointing to me, snickering and yelling "look, the retard can't even defend herself. She is lost for words!" Well the class all just erupted in laughter. All but one. Stony-faced guy in the corner wasn't laughing. In fact he seemed to have gotten weirdly closer to Kline since I first looked at him.
It was then that professor Wilkes decided enough was enough and exclaimed "Hey, now, I won't have this kinda behaviour in my class!"
The class were clearly mesmerised by this enough to stop laughing. No. This just added fuel to the fire. I guess the thought of him trying to control the situation at hand was hilarious. Or having someone stick up for me because I couldn't do it myself. I was used to it, to be honest. I reached the point where I barely noticed the taunting anymore.
But it appears that Stony-faced guy felt differently as he was now right behind Kline. Next thing I know, he's got Kline by the back of his shirt, held up about six foot off the ground, in front of him. The class goes silent.
We are all staring at the new guy, in wonder as to what he'll do next.
"Think it's funny, picking on someone who can't defend themselves, huh?" he yells into Kline's ear, his nails digging into his neck.
Kline, the stupid idiot with the massive ego that he is, started laughing.
Laughing.
Well that just made it so much better.
Stony-faced guy dropped Kline onto the floor, stepping on his chest with the tip of his left Italian leather shoes.
"How about I pick on you when you... clearly can't defend yourself? How about I have the whole class laugh at you while I do it? How about that? Huh?"
Kline practically shakes, in fear, shaking his head vigorously 'no'.
"Get out of here, scum" Stony-faced growls, releasing Kline from his hold and spitting at him in distaste. Kline scrambles to his feet, sprinting out the room.
I just stared at him - At the finished scene before me, as did everyone else in the room. Then everyone else in the room stared at me, realising he did this for me. So I ran. I ran out of the room, down the nearest corridor and to the nearest girls' bathroom.
