Dear Little Deaf Boy

Chapter 7 - Breakfast Club

Chapter 7- Breakfast Club

I hated silence. It was truly unbearable. I shifted in my seat, letting out an exaggerated sigh as I twirled my pencil around my manicured fingers.

Detention wasn't full. It was only four of us. Not surprising. Ours wasn't really a school of troublemakers, which made it boring, which is why we relied so heavily on petty drama and gossip. Most kids saved their antics for when teachers weren't around. The real troublemakers were smart.

My mom used to say empty rooms echo your real thoughts. I never liked how loud mine sounded. It's way easier to talk. I say whatever I want, whenever I want, because if I sit with my thoughts too long, I start thinking. And that's never fun.

Somehow, I always ended up in detention anyway. Stuck with some girl who racked up too many tardies, a guy who only came here to sleep through make-up hours, and a dumb football jock who had taken one too many blows to the head.

We weren't like The Breakfast Club. Damn it, I wish we could watch movies in here. Instead, we were each other's entertainment. Poor entertainment, honestly.

Lexi was only here because she had maxed out all her tardies. Not social, not in a rush to get to school, and apparently not in a rush to leave either. Titus was actually pretty smart, but he acted out like he was in the middle of an identity crisis. He wanted everyone to think being smart was lame, which is why he listened to guys like Finn when they dared him to eat our class pet goldfish. He didn't do it, but let's just say Nemo didn't go down without a fight. Todd was the one who could sleep through anything. Baggy hair, oversized band tees, house shoes—that was him.

And then there was me.

If you asked anyone why I was always in detention, they would probably say I never treated class like a classroom. I did my nails, or my hair, or I would talk, or I would sleep. I just couldn't stand being bored. That's why I was here in the first place, which was ironic, because detention was the most boring place of them all.

Most days I just groaned dramatically or tossed pencil shavings at Todd until I ran out of erasers.

Mr. Tide, the teacher supposed to be watching us, was most likely rewatching season three of The Crown on his laptop. He always got way too invested, and for some reason detention turned him into a tyrant if you interrupted him. He was one of those teachers who hadn't planned on teaching but ended up here anyway, pretending it was about "giving back to education."

I got up and walked to his desk. He didn't notice, too busy leaning forward at his screen.

"Mr. Tide," I said.

Nothing.

"Mr. Tide."

Still nothing.

"Mr. Tide."

Finally, his frustrated eyes snapped to me. "What do you want, Ms. Pines? I'm in the middle of season three."

I leaned over his desk, curious. "Oh, I know this one. You're wasting your time. He cheats on her anyway. You've already watched this, what, four times?"

He groaned and slammed the laptop shut. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not really." I smirked. "So can I go now?"

"Of course not. We still have an hour left."

I groaned again, clutching my stomach like it was the end of the world. "Please, it's a womanly emergency." Theater arts finally paying off. I sank to the floor, dramatic as hell. "The pain. The cramps. The horror."

His eyes darted nervously. "Fine. Just go. Handle your business before detention next time."

My fake tears vanished in an instant. "Really?"

He nodded, suspicious, but I didn't give him time to rethink it. I grabbed my bag and slipped out with a grin.

The hallway was quiet. When I stepped outside, the cold air rushed against my face, and I sat down on the bench to wait for Bee. We were supposed to head to dance after this, and I wanted to make sure I had everything.

I unzipped my dance bag, digging until my fingers brushed something flat and familiar. The photo.

I always kept it at the bottom, like a charm I didn't want to admit I needed. My mom's smile stared back at me, her dark hair brushing against my cheek in the shot as she leaned down to kiss me. Same hair, same eyes. I looked just like her.

I traced the corner with my thumb. Sometimes I wondered if she would fight for me. If she would tell Dad that dance wasn't just a hobby. That it mattered. That I mattered.

Then a gust of wind ripped the picture right out of my hand.

"Wait, no!" I lunged for it, but it kept tumbling forward, skipping across the pavement like it knew I couldn't catch it. My lungs burned as I chased it, my ballet-sore feet slapping against the ground. It was already centimeters from the drain. I couldn't lose her again.

And then a black Converse stomped down, pinning the photo flat. A hand reached down and plucked it up, lightly brushing the scuff marks from his shoe as if the photo really was something fragile, like it was my whole chest.

I looked up, and to my surprise, it was Jasper Ralston.

He was strikingly taller up close. For some reason, I had always imagined him smaller, but he wasn't. He was sky scrapper. He stood there like somebody had carved him out of light. Tall slender, but with distinct muscle that couldn't be hid from his sweater. He was casual, unbothered, impossibly close. The sun broke through the clouds on cue and haloed the side of his face, reflecting against the rim of his glasses. For one ridiculous, giddy second, I forgot how to breathe.

Get it together, Kinsley.

The photo seemed so small in his hands be handed the photo back to me with one easy motion, his fingers warm and steady. Up close, I caught the faint scab on his knuckles and a smear of dried paint, the kind of details you notice when you are trying not to stare at someone's face.

"Thanks," I said quickly.

He gave the faintest smile but didn't reply. Just a single nod, like that was enough, before pivoting away as if saving me had been the smallest thing in the world.

For a beat, I watched him go, feeling ridiculous, electric, and hollow all at once.

Bee was right.

Cute was an understatement.