“Kenna, come push your sister out to the car.” I swing my backpack onto my shoulder and jog down the stairs just as I hear the school bus pull up to our driveway and beep. “Can’t you do it? I don’t want to have to walk again. The bus only waits five minutes, and Anna is really hard to push over the gravel.” “Don’t argue. I’ve got my hands full with your brother, and I have to get this roast beef put in the crock pot. You’re perfectly capable of walking to school, and it’s a nice day,” Mom replies, pulling three-year-old Leo’s hands from her apron strings and retying them. Sighing heavily, I rest my hands on Anna’s wheelchair handles and push. Her wheelchair inches slowly towards the door. By the time I have Anna just outside, I hear the bus brakes squeal as they let up, and the driver and the load of kids begin to roll away. Holding back angry tears, I shove the wheelchair the rest of the way to the van. “They don’t pay me enough to do all this,” I grumble, even though I don’t get paid at all. I pull open the van door and help my sister into the seat. Folding her wheelchair together, I lift up the trunk door and heave it inside. Pushing the van door closed, I shove my hands deep in my pockets. Without saying goodbye to my mom, I start off down the driveway. A little finch hops along at the same pace as me but keeps a cautious few feet between us. It turns its head and chirps at me, but even the cheerful singing of a pretty little bird can’t lift my spirits. “Kenna, come push your sister out to the car” I sigh and turn away from the bird. “It seems that every day of my life, I’m stuck taking care of Anna. ‘Kenna, come help Anna eat.’ ‘Kenna, come read to Anna.’ ‘Kenna, do this.’ ‘Kenna, do that.’ It’s not fair,” I say in a hushed, irritated voice. “I’m always doing stuff for Anna. But what is she doing for me? Nothing, is the answer. All she does is eat and drool and constantly smile at me.” * * * It’s only a few minutes past eight o’clock when I reach the school. I hear the warning bell ring as I hurry inside my classroom. Luckily, Mr. Regardo has his back turned and doesn’t even notice me. I take my seat next to my best friend, Piper. A seat behind Piper sits one of our mortal enemies, Ruth. Two summers ago, we were all best friends. But she went to a sleep-away camp this past summer, and now all she’s interested in is the latest hairstyle and fashion magazines. Apparently, she roomed with the group of girls who bully everyone here at school. Now Ruth isn’t really nice to me or Piper. She just hangs out with those girls. “All right, class,” says Mr. Regardo presently, turning around and grinning at us. “Seeing as it is almost time for fall vacation, and Thanksgiving is approaching quickly, I have a surprise for you.” The class gives a small cheer at this, all except for Ryan Hoss, who always has to get everyone’s attention. He jumps out of his seat and throws his baseball cap in the air, whooping and hollering. “That’s enough, Ryan. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to have to go to the principal’s office—again,” Mr. Regardo says, with a warning look. Ryan, grinning with pride, gives one last attention-seeking toss of his baseball cap and plops down in his chair, his cap landing on top of his desk. “What I was saying—before I was interrupted,” Mr. Regardo goes on, pointedly turning his eyes toward Ryan, “is that, instead of our usual English worksheets, we will be doing a Thanksgiving craft!” This gets the class going again, and Mr. Regardo walks to the rear of the classroom and puts a hand on Ryan’s shoulder before he can get all riled up a second time. “All right now, let’s keep quiet. I’m going to hand out craft packets to you all. They have ten leaves and a tree trunk in them, as well as a picture of the ground and the sky on a piece of paper. Paste your tree and leaves onto the paper, and then write what you’re thankful for on the leaves.” “This is too easy! Can’t we write the names of all the presidents on the leaves or something?” Ryan pipes up. “This isn’t homework, Ryan,” Mr. Regardo replies. “This is a craft to put up on your fridge.” “I’m not allowed to put things on my fridge,” a girl named Ria answers. “Well, do what you want with it,” Mr. Regardo says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So… I can throw it away?” Ryan calls, putting his hand in the air. “No. Ryan, although this is not homework, it is an assignment, so treat it like one,” Mr. Regardo says sternly. Ryan drops his hand to his packet and begins tearing out the pieces. I take all of the pieces out of my packet and lay them across my desk. There are red, yellow, and orange leaves, a brown tree trunk, a blue sky, and green grass. I always notice colors— they’re my favorite thing in the whole world. I love getting out my art stuff and making gradients. Red to orange, yellow to green, blue to purple. Smiling, I take the glue stick out of the packet and pop off the cap. The smell of glue always appeals to me. I take a long whiff until I see Piper looking at me strangely and Ruth giving me the evil eye. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I hunch over my paper. I begin rolling the glue stick over the back of the tree trunk, careful not to let my hair get in the sticky
Special-Needs
Speak
You never truly know what you have, until you try to live without it. Until something you love is taken, you don’t know how fortunate you are. You take everyday things for granted, like listening to the wind swirl around the branches of a giant oak or hearing the night owls call farewell to each other in the mist of the evenings. Sometimes I want the sounds. Since birth, all I have heard is silence. It makes me sad, not to be able to hear the waves crash against the sand or the strum of talented fingers on a guitar. All I hear is silence. Complete and utter silence. It has always been my dream to listen. Often I stare out of my window and watch the world, wondering about the sounds. I watch the birds, seeing their mouths open, but hearing nothing. What does their song sound like? I’ve seen the wind skip across the lake, creating hundreds of miniature tidal waves. What does this sound like? Once I watched a young woman hurrying home from the crowds. In her hands she held a bouquet of flowers, all different shades of color and beautifully bright. She stepped onto the curb and in her hurry dropped a daisy. It fluttered to the ground gently, lost and abandoned. Had anyone heard the flower fall? I will never know. With the gift of voice comes the great form of verbal communication: talking, singing, shouting. Without it I am left with hands. By age four I had mastered the amazing language of signing. My parents and siblings could talk to me, but few of my friends understood my strange motions. Often I stare out of my window and watch the world, wondering about the sounds My name is Naomi. I live a completely normal life, except for the fact that I am deaf. I’ve never been able to hear, I was born this way. I’d gotten used to signing and was happy. Even so, something was missing; a void in my existence that had never been filled. When we first moved to Minnesota, I was terrified. A new home, a new school—who wouldn’t be a little nervous? Headed to a new state hundreds of miles away, I had left my friends and old city behind. But in the wake of my fear was a sense of thrilling excitement that I didn’t recognize. * * * The doors of the giant school building opened and closed behind me, letting hundreds of students inside. The aroma of fresh paint and the crisp winter breeze filled my nose as I took in all the sights. There were so many more children here than where I used to go to school, and I could feel my face growing hot as I entered and stared. Watching everyone talking, I tried to smile and seem confident, though in reality, I was terrified. Chin held out, trying to ignore the flapping butterflies in my stomach and avoiding glances, I quickly walked to my first class. Little did I know that when I entered those doors, my life would change instantly. I had no idea that a hidden talent was deep inside me, for never had I been given a chance like this before. Forcing a smile, I looked at the small sign posted on the classroom door: Room 103, Music. Taking a deep breath, I entered. Immediately I fell in love. The room was so bright, with posters of every possible shape and color scattered across the walls in no particular order. Instruments lined the shelves, smooth and clean. Kids laughed and talked to each other as they prepared for the lesson, but patiently and silently, I sat alone. As I set my bag down, something caught my eye. There, in the very corner, was a grand piano. It was old and dusty, but the black and white keys mesmerized me. I held my breath as another student sat at its bench and pressed the keys. Right then I felt completely alone and desolate, a longing to hear the beautiful music filling me. The clear morning sunlight flashed through the tinted windows. It felt warm against my arms and face, almost helping me relax. The sunlight had always comforted me, giving me warmth, providing me with a sense of safety. Finally the teacher arrived. She was a young, beautiful brunette, with a sort of kindness filling her eyes. The students shuffled to take seats and I smiled at her. She grinned back and started to say something to me. I shrugged my shoulders, signing to her that I was deaf. A wave of realization swept over her, and she nodded quickly and continued to unpack. This action alone surprised me. Usually, my past teachers would smile sadly at me or give me an unspoken apology for my inability to hear their words. It made me wonder why this woman was different, why she hadn’t acted like the others. Immediately I liked her. Once the class had quieted she began to speak. I studied her lips, trying to understand what she was saying. It seemed like she was taking each student one by one, talking to them for a few minutes, then giving them an instrument to play. Children eagerly stepped up and picked up an instrument, then awkwardly tried to play a few notes. They would all cringe at the noise, and the teacher would laugh, then show them a short tune. Panic flooded me as I watched her turn and motion for me to step forward. Cautiously I stood up, my face turning a deep, violet red as the children looked at me. I hated attention, preferring the spotlight to be on someone else. “I am Ms. Germain,” the woman politely smiled and mouthed slowly. “Have you ever played an instrument before?” I shook my head, trying to ignore the seemingly hundreds of eyes that bore into my skin. The room suddenly felt stiff and uncomfortable, so I
Notes to Each Other
CHAPTER ONE Emma and her family were walking home from the church meeting on Sunday, when her mother, Katherine Stuart, began to tell about the family that was coming to stay with them in a week. Mr. and Mrs. Keymon were some college friends of Emma’s parents. The Keymons had a boy and a girl, Mrs. Stuart said, Jerry who was fifteen, and Tansy, thirteen. She said she had never seen Jerry or Tansy and didn’t at all know what they were like. Emma just hoped maybe she and Tansy could be friends. Emma sneezed as she slathered lemon oil on one of the dusty old end tables that were on either side of the gold and warm-rose couch. Everyone was getting ready for the Keymons’ arrival. The Stuarts weren’t exactly the neatest people. If it weren’t for Katherine, Emma’s mother, the whole house would be in chaos. Just as Emma finished wiping down the end table, a minivan pulled up their winding drive that led to their yellow farmhouse. “They’re here! They’re here!” screamed Emma as she rushed upstairs to change her shirt. “What?” exclaimed Katherine. “They’re an hour early!” She rushed and put a pie in the oven, whipped off her apron and turned off the water in the kitchen sink. Sabrina came rushing downstairs with wet hair, patting it with a towel as she went. Emma sighed, thinking maybe ‘Tansy didn’t want to be her friend “So much for drying my hair,” she mumbled with a sour look on her face, very unusual for Sabrina. As the Keymons were opening the car doors and unloading suitcases, Katherine, Sabrina and Emma were peacefully seated on the plaid couch looking as though there were no reason to be alarmed. I wonder what will happen next, thought Emma with a chuckle. A man, a woman and two girls were heading to the door with large bags. Mrs. Stuart’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh boy,” said Sabrina, somewhat confused. Emma and Sabrina watched the Keymons as they walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Stuart looked at Sabrina and Emma and took a breath. * * * CHAPTER TWO Not what they had expected indeed. What they had expected was a man and a woman, an older boy, and a younger girl. “What in the world…” said Katherine, saying what everyone else was thinking. “Good thing we have a barn,” said Emma, laughing a little. Mrs. Stuart opened the door. In came a man, woman and two daughters, along with two cats, a dog and a rabbit. Sabrina looked as though she might burst out laughing any minute. Mrs. Stuart smiled. “Angela, Peter, it’s so nice to see you again!” Angela gave Katherine a bear hug. All the while Sabrina, Emma, Jerry and Tansy stared at each other. Tansy went back outside to get more bags. “Jerry” smiled at the two girls. She had a somewhat large mouth, with extremely white teeth. Emma thought it was pleasantly large. Sabrina thought she looked like someone from a toothpaste commercial. “Hello, I’m Jerry,” she said. Emma smiled back. “I’m Emma, and this is Sabrina.” “It’s nice to meet you,” said Jerry politely. The three girls began to make small talk, saying things like, “My mother told me you live in California. It must have been hard driving so far,” and “I’m so glad you brought your pets.” The latter comment was voiced by Emma, who loved animals, cats especially Jerry was a bubbly girl, always laughing and smiling. Where was Tansy? Oh there she was. Emma saw her peeking around the edge of the car watching a bird in the birdbath. She looked nice to Emma. She had long, sleek, honey-blond hair which Emma thought looked like gold. Her eyes were brown, no, that sounded too boring, thought Emma, maybe caramel-candy brown. She had freckles, but not too many. Jerry and Sabrina walked away arm-in-arm, laughing and talking. Emma sighed, thinking maybe Tansy didn’t want to be her friend. After all, she didn’t seem in too much of a hurry to go inside. Emma watched her through the sheer curtains. Tansy’s big eyes took in all their surroundings. The red barn behind the house, the wraparound porch, and the bales of hay in the distance. She thought she had never seen such a beautiful farm. Actually, she had never been on a farm. Mrs. Keymon saw Emma watching Tansy out the window. Angela walked up to Emma. Emma didn’t know what to say; unlike Sabrina she wasn’t very good at making small talk with grown-ups. “Emma, I’m Angela Keymon,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Keymon,” said Emma as she shook her hand. “No please, call me Angela,” she said as she winked at Emma. She seemed a lot like Jerry “About my girls, Jerry…” then she paused and laughed. “Well, it dawned on me that you probably thought she was a he. Her name’s really Jeranna.” Emma thought it was a beautiful name, very unusual though. The friends rode horses all day “As for Tansy, we didn’t think about telling you, but she is deaf. That’s why she isn’t coming inside yet, she was kind of nervous. But if you get to know her, she’s as enthusiastic and giggly as Jerry You have the most beautiful auburn hair, I always wanted wavy hair.” Now I’ll probably never have a chance of getting to know her, thought Emma. Well at least there’s Jerry But she’s already friends with Sabrina. Soon Tansy came in. She went to help Mrs. Stuart and Angela in the kitchen. Emma didn’t know how to introduce herself to Tansy. It looked like this visit would be a little awkward. * * * CHAPTER THREE When Emma woke up the sun shone happily through her window. She hoped Mom had made chocolate- chip pancakes, her favorite. She slipped her red robe over her pajamas and looked at the clock on the
