Dear Little Deaf Boy

Chapter 9 - Shakespeare

Chapter 9 - Shakespeare

"So, did you do it?" Bee asked while flipping through the channels on the TV. She still hadn't decided what to watch.

"Do what?" I replied, confused.

We were sprawled on my bed, flicking through streaming services but never really committing. We laughed and traded lines more than we watched. Honestly, I felt like that was the main reason she wanted to come over. My room was the only place she could lounge in peace. Her parents nagged about productivity like every second was sacred. She complained, but I envied it. Imagine being one of five kids and still getting lectured for wasting a Saturday. Bee had four siblings, two dogs, a cat, a lizard named Grove, and her grandmother living with them. I wanted that chaos sometimes. Being an only child gets lonely. People think being the only kid is attention nonstop, but that only works if someone shows up. My father worked day and night. He thought throwing me into extracurriculars would fill the space. It didn't. I noticed when he wasn't in the audience. I noticed other kids' parents cheering while my seat stayed empty. I needed him most after Mom died, and he was never there.

"Kin, are you even listening?" Bee asked, nudging me.

I wasn't.

"Yeah, of course," I lied.

"So you gave him back his book?"

Shit.

I had totally forgotten. I rolled off my bed and onto the carpet, snatched my bag, and pulled out what felt like the holy grail. Jasper's notebook. Bee's eyes lit up the second she saw it.

"No," I said, firm.

She sulked. "You're no fun, Kin. Let's just take a peek."

"No." I cut her off. "Absolutely not. I am not invading his privacy."

A devious smirk crawled across her face. I backed away clutching the notebook, but she lunged. We crashed onto my hot-pink carpet, rolling and wrestling like two kids over treasure.

"Give me the book, Kinny!" she squealed.

"NEVER!" I yelled.

Leave it to Beatrice to fight dirty. She tickled me until my fingers loosened and the notebook slipped free. She sprang up, taller and stronger than me, holding the book aloft like a trophy. She stuck out her tongue and ran to my bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Oh, Mr. Silent but Deadly is a poet," she called from inside, voice sing-song.

"Bee, I said no!" I pounded on the door.

She started mocking, reading like she was doing a bad dramatic performance. "I've never heard anyone laugh."

I froze against the door.

She went on, sounding different. "But somehow, I imagine hers. If her laugh is anything like her smile, which is like the sun, then it must warm everyone it touches. And if I never hear it, I'm still full, because her smile alone is enough."

Her voice softened as she finished the lines. The silence that followed felt heavier than I expected.

"Damn," she muttered, almost to herself.

My stomach flipped. I hated how badly I wanted her to keep reading. I could hear the book close. If she'd grown a conscience, fine. But then she spoke again, trying to make it lighter. "Fine. I'll turn the page. Maybe we'll get to the juicy stuff about this mystery girl."

Part of me wanted to bust the door in and take it back. Part of me wanted to hear more.

The knob turned and Bee pushed the door open. She grinned at me smugly, holding the notebook like she'd won a prize. She handed it back with a flourish.

"Here," she said, smiling. "Happy?"

I grabbed it and held it to my chest. It felt right there, warm and important, like it belonged next to me.

The moment was still soft when Hazel barreled through my bedroom door without knocking, wrapped in a blanket, hair in a sloppy bun.

"HAZEL!" I yelled.

She laughed. "Ha. Caught you."

"What?"

She sniffed the air. "Studying? That's what you're supposed to be doing. So explain why I see teen magazines, soda cans, Netflix, and—" she crouched and fished under my bed, triumphantly pulling out an empty box. "My Twinkies."

Hazel wasn't just Hazel right then. She was Hazel version two: the no-one-will-ever-love-me Hazel. She wasn't Party Hazel or College Hazel or Boy-Crazy Hazel. This Hazel let the hurt harden into something loud and unforgiving. I hated this Hazel.

I rolled my eyes and handed her the empty box. Instead of thanking me, she smacked me on the head with it.

"Ow," I said.

I considered hitting back, then thought better of it.

"Get to studying or no ballet tomorrow," she said. "And you only get to stay one hour. Bee, your mom is blowing up the house phone. You need to get going before they do an Amber Alert." She pointed like she was a drill sergeant.

Bee emerged from the bathroom, backpack slung over her shoulder, the notebook tucked under her arm. She looked both guilty and proud at once. Her mom was strict enough to call in reinforcements if Bee stayed out too late.

"You're still not going to read it, are you?" she asked, pouting.

"Not a chance," I said.

Bee smirked. "Oh, Kinny darling, you can be so naïve."

She waved and left.

I stared at the closed door and at the notebook on my bed. My fingers traced the edge. What the hell did Bee mean by that?