M U T E

|| 1 ||

My name is a weird one. Reyna. What kind of name is that? Myra, my only friend in the world, says it's unique (another word for weird in my point of view). Everyone at school calls me "the one who never speaks," or "Mute" in simple words. So what if I don't talk? I don't have anything to say, or maybe I have a lot to say. I just don't know how to say it.

"Hey Rey," Myra says as she approaches me.

I manage to put my hand up to wave. She starts to spill all of the gossip of the day as I quietly listen. She doesn't mind my silence for she sees me as the best listener. I don't need to talk because Myra talks enough for the both of us. The gossip today was kind of interesting, some cheating fiasco, but I think I got a little too distracted listening, however, because I wound up running right into a wall. At least, I thought it was a wall until I saw a T-shirt, and realized it was a chest.

I look down, Sorry, No words come out. I couldn't even look up.

"Watch where you are going, or you'll get hurt," I heard the voice of the chest that I ran into say.

Well, he was talking to me with his mouth, not his chest. Chests don't speak as far as I'm concerned. I didn't see the mouth moving because, due to my short height, I am staring at a chest, not a face. Well, then again, I'm not even trying to look up at his face.

I notice that his voice wasn't bitter like most people's voices are when they speak to me. I even heard a small chuckle from him after he said it. He was kind in the way that he had talked to me just then. Yet, I still don't look up. I keep walking.

"Do you realize who that was?" Myra asks me, clearly in shock.

I shake my head.

"Oh my gosh! You didn't look up, did you?"

I shake my head again.

"Next time, do. That was Bryce Jenkins."

I shrug, not exactly knowing who he is. I know that Myra has mentioned him. I just don't remember what she's said about him. We get to our bus and sit down in our usual seat, the first seat. We are both juniors now at Jerome High. We have sat in this seat since freshman year.

Most of the freshman sit in the front while the sophomores and juniors are found in the back, but a lot of juniors drive, so the majority of the bus consists of freshman and sophomores. I don't have enough money for a car, and Myra has very overprotective parents who are always too worried about car crashes. They still say that she isn't old enough to even learn how to drive. It is too "dangerous" in their eyes. Myra is almost 17, and in my opinion, her parents need to back off, but that will come in time, I guess.

Myra and I lived next door to each other which explains our friendship. We've been friends since I moved here to South Carolina after the first grade. First grade is when I stopped talking as much as I used to. I believe my heart took some damage back then. I blanked it out of memory, and my heart has lost the feelings of hurt. It is like there is a temporary band-aid over my heart, covering it all up.

We used to play cards a lot on rainy days, and run around outside on sunny days playing  games that had no use of words. We'd color together a lot too. I had everything in the lines with colors that made sense. I colored pigs pink, cows- black and white, and frogs- green. Myra would barely get inside any lines, and she did this with crazy colors. She colored pigs blue, cows- purple and yellow, and multi-colored frogs with cool, different patterns. We were different, but as they say "opposites attract".

We get to our houses, waving goodbye to each other as we go into our separate homes. I sit down at the dining room table, grabbing a granola bar for an after school snack.

My mom is home in her room. She hasn't been feeling well for the past few days, and this makes me really worried. Her becoming ill happens a lot. She always says, "I am fine, Reyna, don't worry," but she falls ill over and over again. It isn't just that she gets sick a lot, it is the fact that when she gets sick, she is out for months that really makes me anxious.

Yes, she always fully recovers, but I always worry that one day she won't. My dad is very supportive and worries for her as much as I do, possibly more. My mom's sickness is actually part of the reason why we moved down here. We used to live up north in New York, near the city. My dad thought the city air (plus the coldness) really affected her. His great plan was to move down here in the sun. I'll admit, I do love South Carolina. It's a beautiful state and we live relatively close to a beach. We all thought it would work. For the first few months, Mom was doing great. She got up everyday healthy, and we went out all the time. One day, we had planned a beach day, and on that day, I got up, excited for another day with mom still being healthy. When I went into her room, my heart dropped. Mom's face was pale, and her eyes were dark and droopy.

Dad keeps telling me that I shouldn't worry too much. He puts up a strong act for the boys and me, but I could tell that he is about ten times more worried than I am. Everyday when I wake up, and Mom is still sick, I can feel the claws of her sickness scratch my heart. Dad can see that I put up an act, but he puts up an act of his own. His hands show how much he puts into his work for her. His positivity shows how much he is trying to stay strong for her. His eyes show the whole truth. If you look right into my dad's eyes, you will see the sweetest small town destroyed by a tornado. My dad loves my mom, but my mom is Kansas. The tornadoes never just come and leave. They come and leave, and come and leave, and come and leave, and so on.

Working is a big part to how my dad gets through this. He has to support the family. Of course, he wants to stay home, and take care of Mom, but he understands the fact that there are bills to pay, and there is nothing he could do that would actually help by staying home with her. He works so hard and it shows how much he really loves all of us. My twin brothers, who are 7 years old now, are clueless to mom's situation. They don't quite understand our mother's illnesses yet, so they ask a lot of questions when she stays up in her room sick for months. I have to take care of them most of the time with dad working and mom sick. It didn't matter to me. I am glad to help them in any way I can after all the love and care they give to us.

Vincent and Kole run down the stairs.

"Sister!" They yell together, as each one takes one of my legs to wrap themselves around.

I planned to go straight up to my room to study for the chemistry quiz tomorrow, but now I'm stuck.

"We missed you!" Vincent says, looking up at me with his adorable innocent smile.

Awe. I adore my brothers, and they both look up to me so much. I am always the one that listens to every story they have. Lending my ears to my brothers is the best thing I can do for them.

They let me go, and I walk up to my room. That's when I see it.

I mentally scream, and run back downstairs. My hands are on my hips, and I give them the famous 'you are in trouble' look. They have learned how to read my faces. The boys look terrified, and they sprint up the stairs to my room

    I don't even have to say it to them. They knew what to do. Vincent grabs a bucket of soap and water, Kole grabs two rags, and they both start scrubbing at the crayon on the wall.

I walk completely into my room then, but instead of grabbing my chemistry textbook, I end up picking up Lost. It is the current book I'm reading, and have been reading time and time again. Reading is what I do most. Perhaps, I read too much, if that is possible. I used to keep track of how many books I've read, but lost count after a while.

Two chapters later, I knew that I would not put down this book. I need to study..no, just one more chapter.. Oh, I'm never going to stop, am I?