Content warning// marijuana usage, suicide mention

         I'm a junior in high school. I should be a senior, but when I lost my hearing, I had a difficult time keeping up with the rest of my classmates. My parents and the faculty elected on holding me back so I could play catch up. If they hadn't, I might never have met Serena.

She picks me up for school in her blue Toyota Prius. She doesn't honk when she arrives. She texts me the blue sedan emoji. The phone vibrates in my hand and I go out to her.

We don't chat on the ride to school because her hands are occupied by the wheel and her eyes are occupied by the road. I notice she has the radio on, so I turn it up so I can feel the vibrations. She looks at me like I'm nuts and turns it back down a few notches. "It's seven thirty in the morning," she says. I read her lips.

I shrug. Sorry, I sign.

The lot is already full up although we've arrived twenty minutes early. It's our first day back from winter break. The up-front spot we'd utilized all first semester is taken, of course.

We'll leave a bit earlier tomorrow, Serena signs to me.

Great, I sign back.

Once we're free of the Prius's tiny cab, the conversation can fully flourish. Serena's family always travels for Christmas and New Year's; this is the first time I've seen her in three weeks. We texted every day, though, so no need for How was your break? commentary. She skips straight to the juice. Did you hear about Cannon Kane?

Cannon Kane. Now that's a name I haven't thought about in almost a month. No need to think about your classmates when you don't have to see them every day. No, what about him?

His mom died on New Year's Eve.

Oh, my God. That's awful.

They think he had something to do with it.

"What?!" I can't help the vocal outburst. I see a few surrounding heads jerk our way. We've made it to Serena's locker now. While at first alarmed by whatever sound I'd made, they quickly go back to their own when they realize it was just Deaf Daisy.

Because sure, Cannon Kane is Cannon Kane, but he isn't a killer.

I go back to signing so that our conversation remains private. Why would they think that?

I don't know. I heard they found him with the gun.

They think he shot her?! I sign the word with extra emphasis.

I didn't talk to him. My mom heard from somebody. They're making him go to counseling. I heard her talking to my dad about it. Everyone at her office is worried about getting involved. That they'll be forced to go under oath if he chooses them.

What about doctor patient confidentiality?

She's not technically a doctor. I don't know.

Once we've retrieved Serena's books for first and second periods, we switch hallways to retrieve mine. Shauna Howard, mental health and grief counselor extraordinaire, has probably seen twenty five percent of our student body, at this point. Us Gen Z-ers and our lust for life. It's not our fault our grandparents created an unbearable hellscape of a world that serves only those in places of power and unattainable privilege.

You don't think he really did it, do you? I ask Serena.

I don't know. This is her favorite phrase. I don't know him any better than you do. But I definitely have gotten a certain type of energy from him.

I roll my eyes. Serena and her "energies". Over the past couple of years, she has become very... spiritual. She talks a lot about energy now, the healing power of nature. She wears a lot of jewelry and burns incense in her bedroom and has a tapestry hanging above her bed. Wears her hair natural instead of styling it, has some quartz crystals on her dresser. Honestly, we don't have much in common now, and I don't really remember if we ever did before. But the fact that she's the only other student here that knows American Sign Language isn't the reason we're friends — the reason we're friends is because when she met me in the fifth grade, she went home and started learning American Sign Language so that we could be friends.

That's hardly a tangible fact, I tell her.

Energies don't lie, she tells me.

I hand my books to her and she shoves them into my book bag for me. Turning back to her, I present her with a challenge. And what does my energy say about me today?

Serena crosses her arms and takes a step back from me, judging me from head to toe. Like I don't know what she's going to say.

That you're a boss ass bitch.

I chuckle noiselessly. Words that, if overheard by any of the teachers on duty, would get us a pink slip. But these words can't be overheard.

🌼🌼🌼

          When I lost my hearing, my elementary school was also forced to hire an aide who knew American Sign Language. Merinda is a tiny, middle-aged Filipina woman who has been with me ever since I retook the first grade. She's like a second mom to me, and she and Serena are the only two people at school who know that I've learned to read lips. I would never jeopardize her job, though. Not when we've got only three semesters left. I often joke about how I've been paying her salary all these years and ask what she's going to do when I graduate. You're not the only deaf person in the world, she'll tell me. You're just my favorite one.

First period is English, which I'm pretty good at. Merinda stands to the side of Mrs. Thompson's desk, not taking up much space at all, and signs the things Mrs. Thompson says. My classmates are used to it and mostly ignore her.

Mrs. Thompson is... eccentric. She has enormous blonde hair and very tight clothing and a very animated and high-pitched voice. I'm sure, in normal circumstances, her clothing would be deemed inappropriate for school if it weren't for the fact that her husband is the principal emeritus. Merinda shares my opinion on Mrs. Thompson. Sometimes she signs me her personal commentary, i.e. Mrs. Thompson's hair almost reaches heaven today, and I liked her harmony during the Pledge of Allegiance. I've learned how to hide my laughter under fists and behind books.

Second period is algebra III. I have to do a lot of reading in this class, because much of it is formulas that Merinda can't really help me with. I do okay. Last semester, I brought home a B-. I know I deserved a C, but I think Mr. Knox pitied me and rounded my grade up. I won't tell.

Third period is Merinda's off hour, aka gym, aka hell. Unfortunately for me, inability to hear the blowing of the coach's whistle does not grant me a permanent doctor's note. Fortunately for me, I have gym with Serena. We're made to dress out even though it's the first day back and even though it's freezing outside. I hide my naked body as much as I can. Not Serena though, who hasn't a single ounce of shyness in her perfect creamy skin, perfect tall and slim body.

I had Cannon in second, she signs to me.

Serial killer energy? I ask.

Worse, she signs. Way worse.

What's worse than being a serial killer?

He was totally out of it. Like... She looks somewhere beyond me, eyes dead, lips turned down. Wouldn't say present when his name was called. Never took out his book. Never did anything. Just sat there, like... She makes the face again.

He wasn't ready to come back to school.

Definitely not.

We run laps in silence. Hard to run and sign at the same time. Serena picks up the pace and catches us up with Ryden Lee. From what I can read, their conversation is centered around Coach Warren's newly grown goatee. They apparently both have him for their public speaking elective class. I've seen it. It doesn't suit him.

We slow to a walk at Serena's lead and she signs to me that Ryden asked her to ask me how my break went. I sign back to Serena to tell Ryden that it was fine. Serena tells Ryden that it was fine. Ryden smiles at me. That was nice of her.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Merinda and I brave through physics, Latin II, American history from the Civil War onward, and art appreciation, which was the elective I'd chosen. Can't really do public speaking.

At lunch, Serena and I sit with the rest of our friends, meaning the rest of Serena's friends. She's always sure to sign to me the important things that are said so that I can keep up with the conversation. It's not that they're not my friends. They would definitely all come to a party if I had one. But my friendship with each of them is pretty on-the-surface, pretty WYSIWYG. None of them really know me like Serena does.

Merinda has lunch with the other teachers. I assume she really enjoys this time of day so she can talk to people.

After the last bell, I meet Serena at the vending machine outside of the cafeteria. This is what we've done for two years now. My class is closer to the cafeteria than hers, so I get there first and wait. While I wait, a very distinct and unmistakable odor of a skunky variety catches me by surprise. What dumb idiot is seriously gonna... They could get expelled!

I step around the vending machine and walk to the corner of the cafeteria wall to find the source of the smell. I peek around the edge, and who I find normally wouldn't surprise me in the very least. But due to the circumstances, I guess, I'm shocked to actually see him. As if until this very moment, it was all just rumors and he didn't really exist.

Cannon Kane squats against the back wall of the cafeteria, coat pulled out and around whatever he holds in his hands, shading it from view. He leans in to his coat and takes a drag, holding it for a few moments before exhaling a cloud of smoke. It's a really stupid spot to be smoking, and I wish I could tell him.

He hears something — what, I don't know — and he perks his head up immediately in my direction. And when our eyes meet, I find that Serena had been right. You'd think he'd be worried that I'd caught him, beg me not to tell. His tired eyes are surrounded by deep, dark, purple circles. His chapped lips beg desperately for a stick of Burt's Bees. His signature long, perfect hair is even longer now but looks to have been going unwashed and un-brushed for a number of days. But more pressing than all of this is his expression, or lack thereof. He looks completely dead, apathetic, void of any and all feeling.

He stands and shuffles away while taking another puff from what I can now clearly see is a glass bowl. I feel a hand on my shoulder and swivel around, my heart pounding as if I'm the one who has illegal drugs on campus.

Why aren't you at the vending machine? Serena signs, her brows furrowed. I was calling for you.

I heard you but I ignored it, I tell her with a grin. Afraid she'll ask again, I start walking to the parking lot. She follows me.

Wanna stop and get a coffee on the way home? she asks.

Serena doesn't drink coffee; she drinks green tea lattes. But I drink coffee. And boy, do I want a shot of espresso right now.