Louder than Words

Chapter Three

The next time I see Rachel I wave hello. Then, trying my best not to fumble, I sign, How are you?

Her blinding smile is well worth the effort. But before she can launch into more sign language, I say, "I just started learning, so I don't know much."

Rachel points to herself, I'm, and pinches her finger and thumb together, okay. Then she texts the rest. I can teach you if you want.

"Sure, if you don't mind."

Not at all. We can practice some if you're free.

"Yeah, sure. But why did you call me out here?"

Rachel had texted me this morning to meet her at park, though didn't give an explanation as to why. I figured it was to practice the song more, but she doesn't have her guitar with her.

I'm going to give you a ride to Geoff's so he can hear the song. Follow me.

She leads me to the parking lot, but it isn't a car she stops at. It's a motorcycle.

Of course. Of course it's a motorcycle.

She hands me a helmet. I try to slip it over my head, only to remember my beanie is in the way. My mess of curls are unleashed once I take off the beanie. I quickly try to cover them with the helmet.

It's just a motorcycle. No big deal. I try to not look as nervous as I feel, but then I realize I don't know how to properly strap the helmet. I fumble with the straps, willing my common sense to kick in any minute now, but of course common sense fails me.

Rachel brushes my hands off the straps. Swiftly she straps the helmet, all the while wearing a little grin. Is it a amused grin? Mocking? Annoyed? She puts on her own helmet before I can find out. She mounts the bike and pats the passenger's seat.

I wanted to play it cool, I really did, yet still I say, "I don't know how to ride a bike."

She texts, Don't worry, you're not the one doing the driving. All you have to do is hold on to me tight. When I'm turning left, look over my left shoulder, but don't lean left. When I turn right, look over my right shoulder, don't lean. Easy enough. You ready?

No.

"Sure."

I carefully climb onto the bike, then try to figure out where I should prop my feet. Once I'm settled, I reach out to hold Rachel, but my arms freeze in place. She's a girl. I have a hard enough time talking to girls, let alone touching them. But Rachel reaches behind her and, grabbing my arm, jerks me forward so I'm pressed against her. With our skin in contact, there's no going back. I wrap my arms around her.

The first thing I notice is how soft her flannel is. And warm. And how nice she smells—like fabric softener.

And gosh darn it she's a girl.

Once again she grabs my arm and pulls on it, urging me to hold on tighter. With a heavy swallow, I do as she silently asks.

Then we're driving, and suddenly holding on tight isn't an issue. You'd think she'd start off slow to ease me into it, but no, we're speeding down the road fast enough to race a cheetah.

But the further we drive the more I realize, hey, this isn't so bad. It's like a roller coaster, only much better. No seatbelts or boxed in compartments, no claustrophobia. Just my arms wrapped around Rachel and the wind rushing past us. I imagine this is what flying would feel like.

Much too quickly we're at Geoff's place. When I get off the bike, my legs feel numb and prickly, my blood rushing with a speedy thrill. I absolutely love it.