Whisper Read Free Page B

grin.
    Keisha doesn’t seem to be wearing hearing aids, and I can’t see a cochlear implant. I wonder if that means she’s as deaf as I am.
    â€˜B block is over there,’ she points. ‘Walk with us?’
    I nod.
    â€˜Don’t you hate English?’ Keisha continues, and without waiting for a response goes on, ‘it’s so crap’.
    The sign for ‘crap’ is like making quote marks with both hands and lowering them quickly. Keisha mouths it as she signs.
    I love English – it’s my best subject. But I nod as though I agree. It’s almost second nature to keep my real thoughts to myself these days. Avoid conflict.
    â€˜Who needs a second language?’ Erica signs.
    She and Keisha laugh. And I feel myself smile, just a little, as I shrug. I’ve never thought of it like that. But I guess if you’ve signed all your life, English probably does seem like a second language.
    I fall behind the girls. It’s not even 9.30, but I’m feeling tired already. I don’t even try to keep up with their conversation as we walk down the corridor.
    There are noticeboards on the walls. I glance at one with photos as we pass. The next noticeboard is covered with pieces of handwritten work. It’s obviously done by kids in the primary school. The writing is messy, the spelling all over the place.
    It suddenly makes me think of Harry’s note to me.His spelling was also adorably terrible, but the message was clear. That note had floored me.

    My parents had been slowly leaking the truth to me.
    There were hopes. Meningitis only leads to permanent, profound hearing loss in a small number of sufferers.
    The hopes rose and fell with each visit to a new specialist.As Mum kept saying, a diagnosis was only an opinion, and an opinion was subjective. There were medical references, the doctors of friends, Google searches. Each would bring up more possibilities.
    I attached myself to Mum’s hopes. She had always been unstoppable, my mum. She would find a way to lead me out of the silence that suddenly, horribly surrounded me.
    When Mum wrote her messages about the next doctor’s visit on the pad next to my bed, or on the newly installed whiteboard in the kitchen, Dad often stood behind her, frowning. It was like he had something to say that he thought had to stay unsaid. I sensed he somehow disagreed with what Mum was doing.
    Unless you want war, it’s best not to disagree with Mum.Dad is a scientist and this is an indisputable fact.
    Dad annoyed me then. Actually, he hurt me. I felt like he had given up on me. I couldn’t understand it. Dad and I had always been close. We were allies against the united front of Mum and Flawless.
    But Dad just stood back with that look on his face as Mum ploughed on. She ploughed on and on until my whole life seemed to revolve around doctors and new tests and different technology. In a way, she’s still doing it. But now I know her hopes are hopeless, and her trying to make me normal again is what’s annoying.
    Thinking back I realise the truth was there, written in the deeply etched lines on Dad’s forehead, long before I let myself believe it. As Mum and I trudged off to specialist after specialist, those lines softened and turned into something like acceptance.
    But because I didn’t want to read those lines, it was Harry, my little nephew, who forced me to face the facts. He was five at the time. He snuck into my room, blond fringe flopping over his eyes. I was reading one of the tacky romance books that Nadia had bought for me, since I’d devoured every decent book in the house. The sticker on the back of the book declared the reduced price of $6.99. The content declared that $6.99 was a rip off.
    Harry crept in like a cartoon character, high tip-toed steps to my bedside. He had probably been told not to disturb me.He picked up the notebook and pen from my bedside table.Then he sat in the chair and entwined