Margot never spoke.

We'd been in every class together since kindergarten, Margot and I, and I knew for a fact that she wouldn't speak. She probably couldn't. Teachers used to call on her, but they'd receive nothing but silence in return.

Silence. That was all that Margot ever gave.

We were in tenth grade that hot, muggy September day. The petite form of Margot, probably ninety pounds soaking wet, huddled in the back of Mrs. Basel's class. She never went to the front, not even when assigned. Teachers had stopped trying to get words from her. They'd also quit trying to get her to sit where they wanted.

The class was supposed to be literature, but it was really just Debate. That's all Mrs. Basel ever had us do. We argued the ins and outs of gun control, of gay marriage and of conspiracy theories. Did Mrs. Basel believe there was a secret Illuminati bunker under the Denver airport? That JFK wasn't killed by Lee Harvey Oswald? Of course, but she "wasn't allowed to say anything that might sway our beliefs."

Yeah, like she followed that rule.

Margot never argued. She sat there, in her solitary desk, always doing her work, but never talking. We all gave up trying to talk to her years ago.

I will not ever, ever forget the day we sat in Basel's class, and Basel herself stood at the front ranting. 

"You teenagers have dumbed down the English language to the 140 characters it takes to tweet something," she was saying. "You have no appreciation for Dickens, Thoreau, or Tennyson anymore because you spend so much time on your phones that you can't recognise good literature when you see it."

She paced back and forth, all of the class silent. I fiddled with my pen, just wanting the class to be over so I could cram for my Italian quiz. Basel's face dared anyone to argue with her. Sharp, green eyes peered out from a bouffant of bleach- blonde hair, confident and scathing.

"If I were to assign you all a writing assignment, you would all fail it immediately. Do you agree with me?"

Fifteen seconds until the bell.

"Well?" 

"No." The voice was foreign and hoarse, coming boldly from the seat behind mine.

The whole class turned to see Margot, her sandy brown head up and blue eyes down.

The bell rang just then, and we all stayed in out seats, looking at the girl that had been silent for so long.

Then we turned away, put our books in our bags, and walked out of the classroom, talking about what was going on this weekend, me running through all the Italian names for household items.

We acted like Margot had never spoken. I don't think she ever did again, and I don't think anybody in that class ever acted like anything ever happened.

But we didn't forget it, either.