The bell rings. Amber's waiting for me outside the classroom.

"How do you think you did on the math exam?"

I shrug. "Wasn't too rough but then again I've never been good at math. It's the one part of the PSAT I didn't get a perfect score on.

She rolls her eyes as we walk down the hallway. "Don't remind me. Anyway, how's your model neighbor?"

"He's not a model, and he's fine. Hella nice."

"How so?"

"Yesterday, my hearing aids died on my walk home. Not a big deal, but when I walked up to my door, I realized I didn't have my keys. Brendon finds me and invites me to his house until my parents come home."

"How sweet. Wait, how was he able to communicate with you? Were you able to understand his terrible sign language?"

We stop at my locker. I open it and put some books in there.

"No, and this is the weird part: I think Brendon's hiding the fact that he's fluent in sign language."

"Why would he be doing that?"

"I don't know. When we first met, his fingering was... off. When we were alone, he didn't stutter once. Then, my mom comes to pick me up and I explain what happened, which she translated for him. Afterward, he asked her 'how do you say, you're welcome?' How does that work?"

Amber shrugs. "I don't know."

"Whatever."

"Maybe you should research him. See what else he's hiding." she says with a smile.

"I'm not gonna do a background check on the guy."

"Why?"

"Because it's creepy!"

"Then ask him. You just have to know the right questions."

"And, why do I need to know all this?"

"My parents do it. They think it establishes trust among neighbors."

"Maybe he's not ready to be open yet."

"He's an extrovert, extroverts are open books."

"I don't know. Besides, I can't just show up out of the blue."

"He'll probably invite you inside even if you just knock on his door to say 'hi'."

"Still... I don't know what I'd ask."

"Anything that shows interest. Family, life, then ask about sign language."

"I am dying to know. Just need to wait for the right moment."

"That's fair." She says taking out her phone. "Oh, my god." She whispers looking at the screen in shock.

"What, did Brendon post a nude or something?" I joke.

"No, look at this." Her tone becomes serious and she shows me.

It's a post from The NY Times reading Young Woman Found Dead in Ditch this morning. There's a photo of a pretty girl in her mid 20's with long black hair. She's wearing a gold pendant with her name engraved.

"Oh, shit." I whisper.

"Apparently her name was Sarah Orzechowski and was 25 years old. She was found dead after a week with multiple stab wounds to the chest and throat... her pendant missing."

"Probably washed downstream," I say cringing.

"Hey, Brendon must know about this article. Maybe he wrote it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's probably broken up from having to cover something like this."

"I would imagine. He's just so... never mind."

"Now you have a reason to go over!"

"What?"

"Just to see if he's alright."

"We don't even know if he wrote it."

"He knows, trust me."

"I can't just walk up and say, 'Hey, did you hear about that girl who was murdered? While we're at it, why are you hiding your talent of knowing sign language?' Yeah, that sounds sane."

"Opportunity will present itself. But, at some point, if he keeps this up, you'll have to ask."

"I know." I close my locker.