I resisted the urge to bang my head on my desk.
Mute.
I hated that word with a passion.
Everyone had believed I was mute—Miss Becky and Mr. Henry, group home workers, CPS. Even Carl had thought that when he and Rosa first met me. Only Rider had known that it wasn’t true. That I could talk just fine.
But I didn’t speak today.
Dr. Taft had this fancy phrase for why I hadn’t spoken for so long—post-traumatic stress syndrome, he called it, because of...of everything I’d experienced as a small child. Half of our therapy sessions had been dedicated to working on coping mechanisms and ways to combat it.
It had taken so much to get to where I was today, to a point where I no longer felt like I needed the therapy sessions, and a handful of minutes made me feel like I’d taken twenty steps backward. Like I was the Mallory I’d been at five years old, and then at ten, and at thirteen—the Mallory who did and said nothing. The Mallory who just stood there in silence because that seemed like the safest route.
I hated that feeling.
I clenched the pen tight in my hand, ignoring the way my knuckles ached. Tears of frustration burned the back of my throat, and it was hard to focus in my chemistry class, even harder not to cave to the messy ball of emotion, especially when it struck me that I was sitting in the back of the class again.
Not drawing any attention to myself.
* * *
Keira immediately swiveled toward me the moment she sat down in English class. “Okay. I have a really weird question for you.”
Caught off guard, I blinked as my stomach dipped a little. Was she going to ask if I was mute?
She smiled as she tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. It popped right back out. Bright blue earrings dangled from tiny lobes. “Have you ever thought about trying out for cheerleading?”
I stared at her. This was totally a joke, right? Then I glanced around the classroom. No one was looking at us or holding their phones up, recording this moment for posterity.
“I mean, you look like you’re pretty sturdy. You could be the base or a back spot,” she said, shrugging like she hadn’t just said I looked sturdy. “Look, we’re kind of desperate. Not a lot of girls around here are into it and one of my teammates broke her wrist yesterday in practice, so I thought about you.” She ran her hand down her slim arm, twisting the blue bangle at her wrist. “So what do you think?”
Uh.
“You’re really cute and the blue-and-red uniform would go great with your hair,” she suggested, glancing at the door.
My tongue felt thick and my throat swollen as I reached deep down inside my head and forced myself to live up to all the work I’d done to get to this point. “Um, I’m...I’m not really the rah-rah type.”
One dark brow arched elegantly. “Do I look like a rah-rah type?”
I shook my head, unsure if that was the right answer or not. I had nothing in common with cheerleaders. They were loud and talkative and popular and pretty and about a thousand things I had absolutely no experience with. Then again, I really wasn’t sure if all cheerleaders were loud and talkative and popular and pretty. Keira was the first one I’d ever met, so I was basing my assumptions off movies and books, and Lord knew, the movies and books kind of sucked when it came to stereotyping things.
Wincing, I realized just how offensive my statement could’ve seemed to her. The rah-rah type? Sometimes it was better not to talk.
She laughed softly. “It’s really fun. At least think about it, okay?”
The pen I was squeezing in my hand was seconds away from imploding blue ink all over my fingers. “Okay.”
Her smile spread across her cheeks. “Cool. You have B lunch, right? Next period? Thought I saw you yesterday, but I think you left the cafeteria. And I saw you in speech class, right? Then again, it’s hard to see anything other than Hot Hector.”
Nodding, I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.
“Well, if you get bored or anything at lunch, find me.” Flipping her gaze to her notebook, she wrote out the date at the top of the right-hand corner. “I’m usually up front—at the loud table. Hard to miss us.”
Was she inviting me to lunch? Oh my God, Paige and her Katniss braid could suck it. This was major. Like a huge step in the right direction, and as Ainsley would say, if I didn’t speak up, I might as well sew my mouth shut.
“Okay,” I breathed, feeling kind of stupid, but this was equivalent to four Christmas mornings rolled into one.
Keira shot me a quick grin. When the bell rang after forty long minutes of listening to Mr. Newberry wax poetic about dead male writers, she wiggled her fingers at me and then disappeared into the hall.
I made a pit stop at my locker, switched out books and was relieved that Paige didn’t pop out of one of the doors. I wasn’t going to think about her or who she was to Rider.
With a slightly stupid pep talk playing over and over in my head, I headed down to the first floor and past the stacked trophy case. I can do this. I can do this. As I stepped into the busy, crowded cafeteria, my throat tightened, and I decided I should probably get my lunch first.
But I couldn’t help but look at the table I’d seen Keira at before. She was sitting next to a girl but the seat on her other side was empty. My breath caught. I can do this. I started toward the lunch line.
“You’re breaking my heart.”
At the sound of Rider’s voice, I wheeled around, clutching my bag to my side. First thing I noticed was the faded Ravens emblem stretched over his broad chest, and then I forced my eyes up. The slight scruff along his jaw was gone. Nothing but smooth skin today.