A Quiet Kind of Thunder(2)

Rhys, standing slightly to the left of Mr Stafford, is waiting patiently. He is still looking at me, but his smile has faded slightly and he looks a little confused. Who is this gormless girl? he is clearly thinking.

‘Gosh,’ Mr Stafford mutters. ‘What a start to the year. Let me try again. Rhys –’ He claps a hand on Rhys’s shoulder, then gestures to me. As he does so, he turns his head so he is looking directly into Rhys’s face. ‘This is Stefanie,’ he says, loudly. ‘STEF-AN-EEE.’

Oh dear Lord.

Rhys’s face breaks into a warm, if slightly amused, grin. He looks at me, then raises his hand into a wave. Hello.

I wave back, automatically. Hello. I let my hands fall into the familiar patterns. My name is Steffi.

Nice to meet you. Rhys taps two fingers to his right ear. Deaf?

I shake my head, touching the tip of my finger first to my own ear and then to my mouth. Hearing. I hesitate, trying to figure out how to explain myself. I could fingerspell ‘selective mute’, but he probably doesn’t know what that means, and it’s not really even accurate any more. I can’t – I begin, meaning to say that I can’t talk, but that’s not accurate either, because I can talk, physically speaking. Oh God, both Rhys and Mr Stafford are staring at me. I can feel my face flaming. I finally sign, a bit lamely, I don’t talk. Which is the worst response ever.

But Rhys smiles, raising his eyebrows a little as if in appraisal, then nods, and I’m so relieved I smile back.

‘Wonderful,’ Mr Stafford says, looking like he wants to pass out with relief. ‘Wonderful. Steffi, Rhys is starting at Windham sixth form today. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce the two of you. Rhys will have a communication support worker helping him out, of course, but I thought it would be nice for him to meet a fellow student who knows sign language. So he can feel more at home.’

Oh, he looks so pleased with himself. It makes me want to both hug and slap him. I want to tell him that I only know the really basic stuff, but the ability to speak has completely deserted me right now, so I just lick my lips nervously and nod along. The whole this-is-the-year-I’ll-speak-at-school thing is really not going very well so far.

‘I suppose I’ll have to learn some sign language too, won’t I, Mr Gold?’ Mr Stafford turns his head to Rhys only as he says the final bit of this sentence, clearly oblivious to the fact that Rhys will have completely missed all that came before it.

But still Rhys nods cheerfully, and I feel a sudden fondness for him. He must be all right if he lets Mr Stafford act like such a well-meaning buffoon without making things awkward for him. I wish I could be more like that, but I make things awkward for everyone. People just don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t speak.

I’m curious about this new boy and my mind floods with questions. What brings you to Windham? What are you studying? Do you like white grapes or red grapes? Would you rather have hair that won’t grow or a beard you can’t shave? What’s your favourite sign? But the thought of speaking these words out loud makes my stomach clench, and my BSL skills were always rudimentary at best. Apparently, with Rhys, I can be useless in two languages.

So I just carry on smiling nervously and wait for Mr Stafford to fill the inevitable silence. He does, bless him. ‘Well, on to assembly, then, the two of you. Steffi, what’s the sign for assembly?’

I’m about to obediently make the sign when a spark of mischief lights from nowhere in my mind. I turn to Rhys, keep my expression completely deadpan, then sign Welcome to the hellmouth. Rhys’s whole face lights up into a surprised grin. Oh yeah, strange new boy. The silent girl is FUNNY. Who knew?

‘Excellent, excellent,’ Mr Stafford says, oblivious. ‘Let’s go, then.’ He Strides & Beams off down the corridor and I follow, perhaps slightly reluctantly, with Rhys at my side. We walk from the sixth form block all the way to the hall in silence, but for once it’s not because of me, silent, awkward Steffi. It’s an expected silence. Comfortable. It’s nice.

The hall is full of sixth formers, both upper and lower sixth. They’re sprawled on the floor and chairs, talking loudly and easily, as naturally as breathing. Do they know how lucky they are? I catch myself wondering. Do they? Of course not. It’s probably the same thing someone with cystic fibrosis thinks about me. I guess taking normal for granted is part of being human.

‘People, people,’ Mr Stafford says, jovial. ‘This isn’t your living room.’

No one moves.

‘Sit on the chairs!’ Mr Stafford orders, more sharply and with more than a little frustration in his voice. ‘That’s what they’re there for.’

He walks to the front of the collection of chairs, gesturing to Rhys to follow him. I stand there for a second, dithering, then slide into a vacant seat and slouch down a little.

‘Well, now that you’re all settled,’ Mr Stafford says pointedly, ‘let’s begin the new year. Welcome back, upper sixth. And welcome to sixth form, everyone else. Most of you have spent your secondary years at Windham, of course, but we do have some new faces joining us this morning.’

I feel a sudden pang, so sharp it almost makes me gasp. It’s part panic, part loneliness. This is the first time I’ve ever sat in a first-day-back assembly without my best friend. I ease my phone out of my pocket and peek at the screen.