Page 1 of The Silence Between

1

THE NEW KID

LEO

FRESHMAN YEAR

Istood frozen at the entrance to Riverton High, my knuckles white around the fraying strap of my backpack. The double doors loomed before me like the gateway to another world—one I wasn't sure I belonged in. Mom had promised this move from Oakland would give us stability after Dad lost his job at the warehouse. The small town of Riverton, with its paper mill and promise of steady work, was supposed to be our fresh start.

But fresh starts still came with first days, and first days still sucked.

Through the glass doors, I could already see how the school divided itself. On one side, students with pristine backpacks and expensive sneakers laughed together, their voices carrying across the quad. West Riverton kids. On the other, students in worn hoodies and work boots gathered in smaller groups, their postures a little more guarded. East Riverton.

And then there was me, wearing my cousin Carlos's hand-me-downs that hung too loose on my frame, carrying the special kind of invisibility that only the new kid mid-semester knows.

“Mijo,” Mom said beside me, her voice dropping to a whisper, “estás bien? You look pale.”

“I'm fine,” I muttered, though my stomach churned like I'd swallowed stones.

She smoothed a hand over my hair, a gesture that would have been comforting if we weren't standing in full view of what felt like the entire student body. “Remember what your father said this morning? New town, new opportunities.”

What Dad had actually said was those exact words while staring blankly at job listings in the local paper, the hope in his voice wearing thin like an old t-shirt passed down too many times. But I nodded anyway.

“Let's get your schedule,” Mom said, limping slightly as she pulled open the heavy door.

The administrative office smelled like coffee and industrial cleaner. A secretary with tightly permed hair glanced up from her computer, her gaze sliding over my mother's factory uniform before landing on me.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to stand.

Mom launched into rapid Spanish, explaining how we'd just moved and needed to finalize my enrollment. With each word, the secretary's expression grew more pinched.

“Um, we're here for my schedule,” I translated, my voice coming out quieter than intended. “Leo Reyes. I should be registered.”

The secretary's fingers clacked against her keyboard. “Leonel Reyes?”

“Just Leo,” I corrected, ignoring the familiar twist in my gut whenever someone used my full name.

Mom continued in Spanish, asking about bus routes and free lunch programs. The secretary's eyes darted between us, impatience radiating from her pursed lips.

“She doesn't understand,” I told Mom in Spanish, quiet enough that only she could hear. “Let me handle it.”

Mom's face fell slightly, but she nodded, squeezing my arm. I asked the secretary the necessary questions in English, translating her curt responses back to Mom. By the time we finished, a small line had formed behind us, and I could feel stares burning into my back.

Finally, the secretary handed me a printed schedule without meeting my eyes. “Your homeroom is 103. The bell rings in ten minutes.”

Mom turned to me, her dark eyes soft with worry. She pressed a kiss to my cheek before I could duck away. “Te quiero, mijo. You'll do great.”

Behind me, someone snickered. Heat crawled up my neck as I mumbled, “Love you too.”

As Mom turned to leave, I noticed her limp was worse today. Only two weeks at the factory, and already her body was paying the price. She paused at the door, digging something from her pocket.

“Para valor,” she whispered, pressing a small object into my palm. For courage.

It was a smooth river stone, one she'd painted with a tiny hummingbird. I closed my fingers around it, the familiar weight anchoring me as I watched her disappear through the front doors.

The hallway stretched before me, a gauntlet of unknown faces and closed classroom doors. I slipped the stone into my pocket and gripped my schedule like a shield.

New town. New opportunities. New bullshit.

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