Cady Heron doesn't talk.
Janis doesn't know if she's silent by choice, or mute, or just painfully shy. No one talks to Cady, and Cady certainly hasn't told her.
All she knows is that Cady Heron doesn't talk.
Ever.
Teachers have tried to bully her into talking, giving presentations. But Cady doesn't talk. Not when they yell, not when they threaten her with detention, not when they promise to fail her.
Cady Heron doesn't talk.
Shane Oman has shoved her down and kicked her in the ribs, called her horrible names, made her life hell. But Cady doesn't talk.
No matter what, Cady doesn't talk.
It only makes sense that they'd become friends.
After all, Janis went completely deaf at five years old from an illness that ravaged her body and left her in a soundless world.
So Cady's silence isn't much of an issue.
The only thing she's really missing is the ability to read her lips, and she can get along without that. Cady's good at miming out her actions. Their friendship is like a never-ending game of charades.
Janis, however, can talk, although she's been made fun of for her voice before. Her mom tells her she's too loud and maybe that's true. She wouldn't know. But Cady doesn't seem to mind at all.
She takes a seat at their "lunch table," a broken chair they sit their sandwiches on at lunch as they sit on the floor. No one wants to sit with the deaf girl and the mute.
Cady looks up, smiling, from the notebook in her lap. Knowing Cady, she's probably writing another song. "What's that?" she asks, hoping she's not shouting like she apparently was when she asked Cady if she had a spare tampon in the hallway.
Cady smiles wider, pushing the notebook over for Janis to read the lyrics. As Janis watches, waiting to see if a round of hand motions will follow the giving of the book, Cady levels her hand and drops it low to the ground, jerking it up and down slightly, as her other hand points to the book. The song has a lot of heavy bass. Cady smiles and taps Janis's nose, pointing directly at her heart and then motioning to her own ear. So you can "hear" it too.
Janis smiles widely, genuinely, the kind of smile only Cady can draw out of her. "Thank you so much, Caddie! I love music like this, I can almost hear it!"
Cady grins herself, pleased with her work. She motions at Janis's sketchbook, pressing her hands together and then opening them. Can I see what you're drawing?
Janis obliges, opening her sketchbook to the most recent page, a pencil sketch of two hands forming the ASL sign for love.
Cady picks up her cookie and gives it a shake, pointing to the sketchbook. Sweet. "It's about ASL," Janis says with a shrug. "I learned it pretty young, I can barely remember being able to hear."
Cady nods thoughtfully before taking a massive bite out of her cookie, making Janis giggle at the expression of pure joy on her face.
For the most part, Janis doesn't miss her hearing.
She barely remembers what it's like to hear. She's learned to live without it. Getting it back now would be strange.
But sometimes, she really, really wishes she could hear.
For example, when Shane Oman sneaks up behind her, planning to shove her inside a locker.
That would be a good time to have really excellent hearing.
