Whisper (22 page)

Stella is there, signing with a girl from year twelve, when I get to the lockers after school. It's a while before she comes over. I feel like she's been thinking about the me-and-Ethan stuff because she doesn't look me in the eye when she signs.

‘What are we going to do, D-e-m-i?' she asks.

I point out the door. ‘I'll tell you while we walk,' I sign.

Stella's house is in the same direction as Flick's, and I know she walks home most days. We walk out of the school gates, and I tell her my plan.

I can feel her thawing out as I explain. I can see it in her face, and the way she's closed the distance between us as we walk. Once she's defrosted, she starts walking faster, like she's pumped. Stella is a good listener. Her eyes are glued to my hands and face, flicking between the two.

I'm about halfway through what I want to say when I stop signing. Up ahead I see Horse Girl and two of her friends walking towards us. They are three abreast, linked by the elbows as though they own the footpath. I get that woozy feeling, like something's about to happen and it won't be good. I slow down, and have a sudden urge to cross the street.

Stella sees the trio and stops walking.

‘That's S-o-n-y-a,' she signs. Stella must have come across her before. ‘Have you met her?'

‘Unfortunately,' I sign back.

Stella straightens up beside me. All 150 centimetres of her, ready for battle. It's funny, because I really do feel like I'm standing next to a warrior, and it makes me feel stronger.By osmosis.

Stella leads as we walk again, setting the pace.

Sonya detaches her arms from the others. Up close, she's even more horsey than I thought. Her comic repertoire is obviously very small because she flails her hands about in a poor imitation of signing, just like she did at footy training.

We've stopped. The three of them, the two of us. Stella looks at me and fakes a yawn.

‘Did you know you can tell a horse's age by looking at their teeth?' she signs.

As if to demonstrate, Sonya screws up her nose and bares her teeth, trying to figure out what Stella's signed. She probably understood the sign for horse. It's pretty obvious, even for people who can't sign. It's one of Harry's favourites.It's the index finger and middle finger of the right hand straddling the index finger of the left and making a galloping movement.

But she wouldn't have got the whole thing, and she looks confused. She's tried to be intimidating, but we won't play.Stella and I are both smiling as we walk around them.

When I look back, it looks like Sonya is arguing with her friends. I see them throw up their hands and walk away from her. I hope they've told her that what she did was really out of line.

I probably won't ever know what they said, but in a way it doesn't really matter. Stella has taken away my fear of confronting her. I could do it in a heartbeat. But more importantly, now I can see Sonya's not worth it. Some people are like giant boulders. You can't move them.

You just have to step past them.

As we walk along, Stella and I talk about Sonya and about Keisha's situation. I wonder if she's going to broach the subject of Ethan. She doesn't, but I can tell that she's not so angry with me anymore, and that's enough for now.

‘Come with me?' I ask, when we come to the corner of Flick's street.

Stella stops walking. I can almost see the thoughts flickering through her head. She knows that my family are hearing, and she likes to avoid those kinds of situations.But this is important to her.

She doesn't sign anything. She just silently turns into Flick's street.

It's Harry's tennis night, so I know he and Ryan won't be there. Felicity takes forever to open the door. I knock one more time, so hard it hurts my knuckles. It
must
be loud enough for her to hear, even if she's in her bedroom. Maybe no-one's home.

We're just about to go when the door opens. Now I can see why it's taken so long for Flick to answer. She must have walked through the whole house this way, with Oscar's feet on her own, his little hands reaching up to hers.

Stella looks at them and back at me and I swear I can see her gulping back a giggle at the sight. I grin. It makes my heart sing. Flick is still in her pyjamas, but it seems like a part of her, the part that can get some pleasure from little Oscar, has woken up. I don't know if I'm just being stupid, but I hope what we're about to ask her might wake up another part.

‘This is S-t-e-l-l-a,' I sign to Flick.

Flick has to let go of Oscar's hands to sign back. When she does, I feel proud. She's a pretty good signer, actually, and although Stella is being pretty quiet with her hands, I can see that the effort Flick's making hasn't gone unnoticed.

When Oscar signs, ‘hello, play with me?' with his chubby little hands making circles in front of him to sign ‘play', I can see that he's charmed her. Stella follows Oscar into the playroom, turning around to give me a little shrug and a smile as though he's so cute she has no choice.

I like it that she reckons I can handle this without her.

Flick and I have finished our cups of green tea by the time I finish telling her about Keisha. I say it all with my voice.Flick turns her face to me so I can read her lips.

‘That's awful, Dem. It does sound like discrimination.'

‘It's audism,' I say, and I can't help turning towards the playroom.

I get a glimpse of Stella and Oscar on all fours, racing toy cars around the playroom. When there's a mid-air crash, Stella looks up. I can see that she's registered that Flick and I are speaking rather than signing, but she just goes back to playing with Oscar.

Even though Stella wouldn't know that I've just used one of her favourite words, it feels good to say it anyway. It feels
important
, a strong word where a strong word is needed.Flick is smart. I can see that she understands what it means, though she probably has never heard of audism before.

I take a deep breath. ‘So, I want to do something about it,and I'd like your help.'

Flick nods, encouraging me to go on.

‘I thought that maybe I could write a letter, a lawyer-type letter, with your help. A kind of warning to the restaurant?'

Flick twirls her ponytail as she thinks.

‘I'm not sure. You're not a lawyer, and neither am I.'

‘I know,' I say. ‘But I'm pretty sure we'd know what to say.

And you do have a couple of years of law under your belt.'

Flick taps the table. Two of her fingernails are short and unpainted, the others are long and French-manicured.The long ones are obviously fake. She stares at them for a minute, as though she's surprised this motley crew belongs to her. But when she looks back at me, she's more focused than I've seen her for ages.

‘Hang on,' she says.

She walks over to the kitchen bench, picks up her mobile and dials. I presume she's calling Ryan, though I don't know what she's saying to him, because she's turned sideways.When she hangs up and turns to me, she looks determined, excited even.

She walks over to me and keeps standing as she writes, as though she doesn't want to break her momentum.

Ryan says we should go for it. We can draft a letter, and he will put it on his letterhead and sign it if he thinks it's fair. Apparently that's legal, though it might be a little shonky. But it still might not work, OK?

Just then, Oscar flies up to Flick and cuddles her legs. I get up and give her a hug too. Oscar is the meat in our sandwich.I can feel Stella looking at us from the playroom.

Flick picks Oscar up. She gives him a big kiss on the cheek and pops him back down.

‘… play, little man,' I see her say. ‘Auntie Demi and … letter to write.'

chapter 29

The next day at school, Stella and I tell Keisha what we've done. We're in the quadrangle. The students mill about, signing to each other on their way to class.

‘It was D's idea,' Stella concludes, pointing at me.

Chatter doesn't respond for a minute. Her hands hang by her sides, and I wonder where the real Keisha's gone. The Keisha who never stops signing. Her brown eyes do that puppy dog thing as she looks at us both. Finally, she lifts up her hands.

‘Thank you,' she signs, like they're the only words left.

There's a poster for a photographic exhibition on the noticeboard in the hallway. Stella and I both look at it.

‘Ethan's into photography,' I sign. ‘Why don't we all go together?'

Stella shakes her head. ‘I want to go alone so I can see it properly,' she signs.

I am pretty sure it's the Ethan factor that's making her say that. When I tell her I plan to take him along on Saturday, I can almost see her deciding to change her plans so she doesn't run into us. I wish I was wrong, but I'm not.

On Saturday, when I know footy will be finished, I text Ethan to see if he wants to go to the exhibition.

His texts haven't gotten any shorter.

That would be good Dem. I've heard about it.Do you want me to pick you up or meet me at the exhibition? And after do you want to

a) Go and see a movie. There's a French one
on with subtitles. I hope that's ok. I thought
it might be ok. But it might not be.

b) Have a burger

c) Come back to my place for dinner and to
meet my olds d) None of the above

d) None of the above

Actually delete d) you have to choose one of the others, ok???

Ethan has been spending a lot of time preparing for multiple choice questions in maths. I text him back.

I meet him outside the gallery. I try not to be too obvious about it, but he makes my heart race. It's like I forget how hot he is, and each time I see him it hits me all over again.

We wander around, hand in hand, and I have to remember to look at the photos and not just at Ethan. I can see they're good. They're all landscapes and ocean pictures and the lighting is interesting. But I'm not seeing what Ethan is seeing. He studies them up close, then steps back and gazes some more, like he's entering into each photo.

There's a little couch in the middle of one of the rooms in the gallery. We sit down together. He pulls a small notepad and pen out of the pocket of his hoody. He's obviously brought it with him. Specially.

Incredible stuff. The lighting and composition.You like?

I nod. ‘Yep. But I don't really understand what it takes to get photos like that. Not like you do,' I say.

I look at his face, and there's a sadness there. A sort of resignation. His beautiful shoulders have slumped a little.

I reach for the pen and lean over to write on the pad sitting on Ethan's leg.

U should do photography next year.

Would be massive battle with dad. He thinks photography is a bludge.

I think about how I had to battle to get Mum to agree to me changing schools. And how it was so worth it.

‘Maybe you could change his opinion. Take some great photos of his hardware stores that he could use for promos?'

Ethan grabs my hand. He squeezes it gently, like he appreciates what I've said, but there's still a look on his face that says he's doubtful whether it will work. Whether he should even try it. I slip my hand out and write again.

Some things are worth fighting for.

We go straight from the gallery to the movies. There are subtitles. But I still don't get much of what's going on.Neither does Ethan. Because we spend one hour and thirty five minutes – ninety-five whole gorgeous minutes – kissing.It's better than any movie I've ever seen.