Page 13 of The Silence Between

Leo nodded, making notes in cramped handwriting on the margins of a page he'd clearly used and erased multiple times. We'd been working for nearly two hours, and I was surprised by how well we complemented each other. My academic approach balanced with his real-world insights created arguments stronger than either of us could have developed alone.

“The outcomes they measure are standardized test scores and college acceptance rates,” Leo said. “But education should be about more than that. It should be about opportunity, about opening doors that would otherwise remain closed.”

The passion in his voice made me look up from my notes. “That's good. That's really good, actually.”

He shrugged. “Just speaking from experience.”

“Your perspective makes our arguments better,” I admitted. “Most of what I know comes from articles and statistics.”

“Most of what I know comes from living it,” he replied without self-pity. “Bad textbooks, overworked teachers, counselors with caseloads too big to know your name.”

A comfortable silence fell between us. I found myself wanting to continue the conversation beyond debate prep.

“Read anything good lately?” I asked. “Besides debate research, I mean.”

Leo looked surprised by the question. “Steinbeck, actually. 'East of Eden.' Found it at a yard sale for fifty cents.”

“I loved that book,” I said, genuinely excited. “The whole Cain and Abel parallel, the idea of choosing your own destiny...”

“'Timshel,'” Leo said. “'Thou mayest.' The idea that we have a choice.”

“Exactly.” I hesitated, then admitted something I rarely shared. “I write sometimes. Poetry, mostly. Nothing good, but it helps me think.”

Leo's expression shifted, interest replacing surprise. “I wouldn't have guessed that.”

“No one knows. My parents would consider it a distraction from more practical pursuits.”

“Like debate and future law school?”

“How did you?—“

“You're not the only one who observes things, Webb.”

Before I could respond, Mari approached our table, looking embarrassed but determined. “Leo, I need help with this math problem. I've tried three times and keep getting different answers.”

Leo immediately started to shift his papers aside, but I found myself saying, “I could help. If you want. Math is kind of my thing.”

Mari glanced at her brother, who nodded slightly. “Go ahead.”

I followed her to the other table, where she showed me a problem involving proportions. As I explained the solution, she worked through it carefully, asking smart questions. Between calculations, she mentioned things that painted a clearer picture of Leo's life than he had ever revealed directly.

“Leo checks my homework every night, but he was working late yesterday.”

“Diego—that's our brother—says he wants to be a scientist like in the books Leo brings home from the library.”

“Leo makes the best pancakes. He made some this morning, even though we were running late.”

Each casual reference revealed the extent of Leo's family responsibilities. When Mari finally solved the problem correctly, her face lit up with such pride that I couldn't help smiling.

“Thanks,” she said. “You explain things differently than Leo. He's always in a hurry.”

When I returned to our table, Leo was watching me with an unreadable expression. “She get it sorted?”

“Yeah. She's really bright.”

“She is,” he agreed, pride evident in his voice. “She deserves better than what Riverton schools can give her.”

We worked for another thirty minutes before Leo checked his watch. “I need to get Mari home soon.”

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