Your Voice Is All I Hear Read online

  “I wanted to tell you,” I began, playing back the speech that I’d rehearsed all morning in my head, “that I’m sorry. You see, the thing is, it’s always been hard for me to make new friends, and I’ve never had a boyfriend—or anything even close to that. The truth is—” Here came the impossible part. “The truth is, I think you’re…cute. Hot, I mean. I should have written that down, instead of that stupid chart. And so, well, that’s it, actually. I’m sorry.”

  Wow, that had sounded so much better in my head. It came out in little ragged gasps and swallows, and in the middle, my tongue started sticking to my gums. And what in God’s name was that taste? Why was he looking at me like that, like he was trying not to laugh? Maybe I hadn’t been so eloquent, but at least I’d spoken from the heart! This was a big deal for me, I wanted to yell at him. Do you have any idea how hard it was to say those things? Say something, why don’t you? Put me out of my misery already!

  “April,” he whispered finally, his voice vibrating with suppressed laughter. “You’re drooling blue.”

  Well, that was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “What?”

  He reached out and touched a finger to my lip and then held it out in front of me. His skin was stained with navy ink. I glanced down in horror at my hands. How had I missed those streaks? And was that what I was tasting? I remembered chewing on my pen in English, but I never imagined that I’d bitten through it. My God, had I been spitting blue the whole time I was pouring out my heart?

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered into my hand.

  I made it to the bathroom and puked up a navy-colored breakfast. For the next few minutes, I was too busy washing out my mouth and scrubbing my fingers to think about my humiliation and what Jonah (and probably the rest of the sophomore class) was saying about me. But as the last of the blue ink ran into the drain and my lips lost their dead Smurf hue, I realized that no one would ever forget this. Cora had seen me with the pen all over my face and had probably spread the story already. But what made the whole episode truly mortifying was that I’d told the new boy in school that he was hot—while spitting blue drool. If Jonah shared that last detail with the class, then I might as well pack up my books and leave Fallstaff High—no, leave Baltimore forever. It would take about five minutes for that story to go viral.

  I was too absorbed in my misery to pay attention to the faint scratching sound at the bathroom door.

  “April, are you in there?”

  “Don’t come in!” I called out automatically and then realized that I’d just unintentionally announced myself.

  “I wasn’t planning on barging into the girls’ bathroom,” he said. “But I was hoping you’d come out.”

  I didn’t really have much choice. Even though Jonah was the last person I wanted to see, at some point, I would have to leave the bathroom. I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped into the hallway. He was hovering nervously by the entrance, and before I had a chance to speak, he thrust out his hand abruptly. He was holding a plastic cup and a small plate covered in foil. His smile was apologetic, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

  “I brought you some water,” he blurted out. “And a brownie.”

  “Oh.” I took them from him and slowly unwrapped the plate. “Thank you.”

  “Come with me to the cafeteria?”

  I laughed shortly. “There’s no way I’m going back in there,” I declared. “I’m not facing those people—not after that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you serious? After Cora saw me—”

  “She saw that you had ink on your face,” he interrupted. “So what? Big deal.”

  “It doesn’t take that much to get them started! Last year, a girl spilled some lemonade on her pants—right in the crotch area—and they teased her so badly that she transferred to another school.”

  He exhaled impatiently and crossed his arms. “Look, I know all about bullies and teasing. All you have to do is pretend that they don’t bother you. That’s the only way they’ll stop.”

  “That’s your advice?” I exclaimed hotly. “Really? ‘Just pretend it doesn’t bother you.’ Yeah, sure, I’ll try to remember that.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “Walk back with me to the cafeteria and I’ll show you,” he said, placing a gentle hand on my elbow. “Relax, April. I know what I’m doing.”

  I didn’t know why he was being so nice to me or what he had in mind, but I let him lead me down the hall.

  As we approached the lunch room, I slowed my pace and pulled him back. “Wait, can I have a second to think about it?”

  “No. You’ve thought enough.” He gave me a little shove and whispered dramatically, “Smile for your audience—it’s showtime,” and we were in the cafeteria.

  Almost nobody in the room looked up at us. If this had been a TV movie, the entire student body would have swung about in unison and a hush would have fallen over the crowd. That’s what I’d been expecting. But what actually happened was everybody kept chattering and shoveling food into their mouths, and only a few kids at the sophomore table turned to stare at us. Cora pointed at me, and Tessa giggled.

  “Now let’s sit down,” Jonah suggested, indicating an empty table in the corner. “And when I finish talking, I want you to throw your head back and laugh, like I’m the funniest guy in the world.”

  “What?”

  “Laugh!” he commanded. I let out a forced chuckle, and he groaned under his breath. “God, that’s awful. You’re a terrible actress.”

  I scowled at him, jerked my chin back, then howled with laughter, giving him a playful shove that almost knocked him over.

  He stumbled forward, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and quickly pulled me down next to him on the bench. “Don’t look up yet,” he whispered, “but Cora looks like she’s just swallowed a roach. I told you I knew what I was doing. Not bad for the second day of school, huh?” he continued slyly as I sneaked a peek at the whispering group of girls. “It seems that I’ve got two admirers.” He leaned forward and gave me a wicked smile. “Although Cora’s declaration will probably never be as original as yours.”

  “That isn’t funny! It was really hard for me to say those things.”

  His smile faded and he nodded humbly. “I know it was.” A hint of teasing crept back into his voice. “But April, did I really make you so nervous that you actually ate your pen? Seriously?”

  “You could have said something in English class! I must have been covered in ink.”

  “Well, I didn’t see you then, I swear. I was too busy trying to ignore you.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.” I paused for a moment and shook my head. “Look, I’m really sorry about the chart. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He took a piece of brownie and tossed it in his mouth. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it. Honestly, I’m really sick of the topic. And it’s kind of a sensitive subject for me.”

  Okay, here it comes, I thought, my heart sinking. Kristin was right. Well, I won’t be disappointed, I decided quickly. I will be mature and supportive.

  “I told you I knew all about bullies, right?” he began, leaning closer to me. “Well, it’s because my best friend was gay. Ricky and I grew up together in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. He came out to me first—even before he came out to his family. Ricky was actually scared to tell anyone because he thought it would make my life more difficult.” He smiled bitterly. “The kids in our class had been teasing him for months. But when he came out, they backed off for a bit. And then they started in on me.”

  “That must have been so hard for him,” I said. “For both of you.”

  He nodded. “When people found out that Ricky was gay, they naturally assumed that he and I were a couple. Even my own pa
rents. The ironic thing was that the only person who accepted that I was straight was my gay best friend. But I didn’t care what they thought. They were going to say what they were going to say; I wasn’t going to abandon him. School sucked, but Ricky and I had each other, so it didn’t matter. He used to say that it was the two of us ‘against the world.’ When the teasing got really bad, our parents finally switched us to the public art school.”

  “And things got better after that?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it. It was the best year of our lives.”

  He was quiet for a moment.

  “Ricky must be sad now that you’ve left Boston,” I remarked after a short pause. “Is he a painter, like you?”

  Jonah gave me a startled, defensive look, as if I’d said something out of place. “No, he was in drama and musical theater.”

  “Oh!” I said, remembering the photos in his “Broadway!!!!” album. “Is that how you two met Neil Patrick Harris?”

  He grinned at me. “Ah,” he teased. “The stalker strikes again!”

  I shrugged. “I have a best friend too. And Kris has to know all.”

  “Well, if she asks,” he said, “you can tell her that Ricky and I met Neil Patrick Harris after a Broadway show.”

  “Really? That’s so cool!”

  “Yeah, my friend talked about that day for months! The guy was his hero.” Jonah’s lips tensed and his brow furrowed. “Ricky’s dream was to be in a musical with him one day.”

  “Ricky’s a singer?”

  Jonah pushed his plate away and looked down at his lap. “Yeah. Best voice you ever heard. There was a ton of talent in our art school. But he was always the star.”

  I smiled uncomfortably and played with the brownie crumbs on my plate. Something about Jonah’s expression made me nervous; it was sad and distracted, and his blue eyes seemed a shade darker. Why did he keep referring to his friend in the past tense? I wondered.

  I was trying to figure out how to ask him about it when the bell rang, and the crash of feet and clatter of trays interrupted our conversation. I stayed seated and waited for Jonah to rise. I didn’t want to rush off in the middle of our talk, not if he had something else to tell me.

  But then Michael skidded past and poked me on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re my lab partner,” he called out. “You can’t be late to biology.”

  I couldn’t ignore the emptying cafeteria anymore. “I think I have to go now,” I told Jonah softly.

  He started slightly and rose from the bench. The dark light had vanished from his eyes, and he was smiling again, as if the memory of his story had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. “The offer is still open, you know,” he said as we left the lunchroom.

  “Okay.” I hesitated and cast my mind back over our conversation. “Wait, what offer?”

  “Do you want a ride home after school today? My mom starts her new job soon, so next week I’ll be taking the bus. But in the meantime, she’s picking me up, so—”

  “Oh, yeah, of course—thank you!”

  He grinned at me and hurried off to his classroom. I walked around in happy, aimless circles for a couple of minutes and then, smiling stupidly, sprinted off to lab.

  Chapter 9

  I was halfway out of the school building when I realized that I’d be meeting Jonah’s mom that day. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner, but I suddenly panicked and scurried anxiously into the bathroom to check my hair.

  A few minutes later, I found Jonah in the parking lot. As we slipped into the backseat of his mother’s van, Mrs. Golden turned around to greet me. She was a sweet, round, smiling person, all curls and curves, with a towering mass of black hair, large, dark eyes, and dimpled cherry cheeks. As I introduced myself, she nodded cheerily. She seemed a little too pleased to see me, I thought.

  I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, partly because I was unsure how to start a conversation with her and partly because whatever I was sitting on had suddenly begun to move.

  “Hey, you’re on my Harry Potter wand!” a little voice declared, and I jumped aside to reveal a buzzing baton that was lying across my seat. The declaration had come from the back of the van, and I turned around to find a pair of large blue eyes peeping shyly at me from behind the seat cushion.

  “Katie, come sit next to us and say hello,” Jonah ordered playfully.

  “Only if you read to me,” she replied. “You haven’t read to me all week. And you promised.”

  “And you promised to knock before you come into my room,” he retorted. “I might actually agree to read to you if I could get dressed just once without you bursting in on me.”

  I laughed and patted the space next to me. “Katie, if you sit here and put on your seat belt, maybe I can read to you a bit.”

  A moment later, a large book landed on my lap, and the little girl scrambled over the seat and plopped down beside me. She was adorable, with a mass of sandy curls and a freckled button nose.

  “We’re on chapter four,” she informed me gravely. “If you don’t finish, you can read to me after dinner too.”

  “What she means to say is we’d love to have you for dinner, April,” Mrs. Golden chimed in apologetically.

  “I’ll check with my mom,” I said. “But that sounds great.”

  “And don’t worry, you’re not obligated to do bedtime story hour. That’s actually Jonah’s job.”

  “Yeah, and he does all the voices,” Katie informed me. “So you have to do them too.”

  When we pulled into their driveway, Katie jumped out of the car and raced to the house. An old cocker spaniel was snoring peacefully beneath a swing on the porch; she opened one eye and gazed dully at us for a moment, then shut it again.

  “That’s Lady,” Katie explained. “I want to get a Tramp too, but they won’t let me.”

  “Katie is a Disney princess,” Jonah told me. “You should see her room; it’s terrifying. Come on. Let’s go before she decides she owns you.”

  His mom unlocked the door, and I followed them inside.

  The Goldens’ living room belonged on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens. It was better than my home, at any rate. It seemed unbelievable to me that they’d moved in just a month ago. There wasn’t a box anywhere, and in their short stay, they’d somehow managed to color-coordinate the wallpaper to their furniture. Everything was floral, in shades of coral, pink, and orange, with seashells and plush throw rugs, lacy lampshades, and overstuffed accent pillows. The cherry striped sofa looked like no one had ever sat on it; even the giant fireplace hearth was sparkling white as if the fire had been taught how to clean up after itself. I was beginning to suspect that Jonah’s request to help him unpack was just a joke when he touched my shoulder and said, “Let’s go upstairs. I don’t really live in this part.”

  His mom frowned at him as we headed for the staircase. “Your room is a danger zone. Are you sure you want to show it to your friend?”

  “It isn’t that bad, Mom,” he answered and bounded up the stairs. I caught up to him by his bedroom door. He pushed it open with a little shrug, and a pile of underwear tumbled out into the hallway. “Oh,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t look down. Also, no deep breaths.”

  I stuck my head in after him. “Wow, Jonah. I’m going to need a shovel.”

  It was like a storage closet after an earthquake. There were half-open boxes everywhere, piles of magazines and rolled-up laundry on each surface. The floor was covered with socks; a shadeless lamp and a pair of boxing gloves hung on the bedpost. The only clear area in the place was by a corner near the window; a five-foot square had been left bare, and in the center of the open space was a large punching bag, suspended from an iron hook nailed into the ceiling.

  “So,” Jonah declared. “Where do we start?”

  “It smells like cheese in here,” I said, shaking my head. />
  “Oh, that isn’t me,” Jonah assured me. “I lost a plate of wacky mac last week. If you find it, it’s yours.”

  I laughed. “You’ll have to give me rides home for the rest of the year to pay me back for cleaning up this mess. How does your mom let you keep it like this?”

  “She doesn’t come in here. And she comforts herself with that cotton-candy-explosion living room.”

  “Well, if you want me to come over again,” I teased, “you’ll have to clear a place for us to sit down.”

  Jonah turned around to grin at me, and I ducked my head over a stack of papers. Had I just flirted with him? I couldn’t tell. Judging by his smile, he seemed to be enjoying my accidental flirting, and I was pretty proud of myself. I glanced around the room, looking for something else to talk about, and my eyes fell on the punching bag.

  I picked up one of his boxing gloves and slipped it on my hand. “Is this another of your hobbies?” I asked, prodding the heavy bag with my fist.

  “It’s more of a skill than a hobby.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Well, a hobby is something you do because you love it, and a skill is something you develop because it’s useful. Or necessary.”

  I poked the bag with playful little punches and jumped around in a goofy imitation of a boxer. Jonah laughed shortly and walked up behind me. “Hit square and flat, between the knuckles, here.” He demonstrated with his left hand, a straight cut to the middle of his target, a sudden slice, and the bag swayed backward from the power of his swing. “Now you try,” he prompted, indicating the spot he’d hit.

  I stepped back and swung with all my strength, but my fist glanced off with a soft pop. It was a pretty bad effort; I knew it before I saw his shaking head.

  “No, look,” he said with a smile. “You’re hitting from the arm only. Here, let me show you—” He placed his left hand on my shoulder and his other hand on my elbow. “Relax for a minute,” he instructed, and I timidly rested my back against his chest. “Now let me move your arms for you.”