I fumble with the pencil in my hand. What the hell am I supposed to write back now? And what the hell did I think he was going to respond to "hey" with but another "hey"? I'm so dumb. Why have I done this. What am I supposed to say — "How are you?"!?
How are you? I write. I pass the note back under Merinda's watchful eye.
Cannon doesn't seem to care if Coach Warren or Merinda or anyone catches him passing a note in class. He is above authority; he is above all blame. His timing of returning it isn't covert whatsoever. My face is so, so warm.
I read his reply.
Just peachy.
He's... he's literally gonna be a smartass? While I'm extending grace? I pass back the note with a written reply that reads: They're gonna kick you out of school if you don't start doing your work you know.
And he passes it back with one that reads: Oh wow I didn't know that thank you.
Pissed, I crumple the note and toss it into my bookbag for the purpose of later discarding. I look back up at Merinda, who is signing what Coach Warren is saying. I lift my eyes to the projection and take my notes like a good girl.
🌼🌼🌼
In last period, we ignore each other. At the vending machine, I toss the crumpled piece of paper at Serena. It bounces off of her and lands on the cement. She bends over to pick it up. I wait, arms folded across my chest.
"This is you and Cannon?" she asks. I read her lips.
So much for your idea, I sign.
"He could've been a little nicer."
She tosses the paper back to me. It bounces off of me and lands on the cement. I don't bend over to pick it up.
Aren't you going to tell me to try again tomorrow? I ask.
You'll know if you should.
Because the universe will tell me?
She rolls her eyes and unlocks the Prius.
🌼🌼🌼
I find a way to block him out of my peripherals. It's simple — he doesn't move, doesn't speak; I can't hear. It's hard the first day, easier the second day, moderate the third day, and by the fourth, I've mastered it.
On day five in fourth period, I walk in to a piece of neatly-folded paper sitting atop my desk. I roll my eyes. Coward.
I sit. He's already in his seat. I make a show of pulling out my books, sliding them dramatically onto the desktop and knocking the note to the floor. It sits there in the aisle between us for a few moments until he bends over, arms long, snatches up the paper between knuckly fingers, and sets it back atop my desk.
I open my notebook, covering the note. I won't read it. I'll leave it there for the next person to find.
In sixth, there's another on my desk.
And in seventh, another.
Just open it, Merinda signs.
No.
What are you trying to prove?
Normally, teachers aides don't talk to students this way. But Merinda is my mentor, my friend.
A point.
Which point?
I open the note.
It reads: Hey.
I look at him. He looks at me. His eyes are blank.
What do you want from me? I sign it and I mouth it.
He only shrugs.
On the sixth day, he's gone.
YOU ARE READING
Deaf Daisy | #1 in #americansignlanguage
Teen Fiction17-year-old Daisy Miller is perfectly fine. Really, she's fine. Until Cannon Kane, the boy who gave her the nickname Deaf Daisy in the second grade, suddenly stops talking, and he is transferred into her classes in hopes he will learn ASL and begin...
