Page 3 of The Silence Between

“I manage,” I said instead.

As lunch ended and we stood to leave, Jackie touched my arm. “Hey, just so you know, the factory has this family night thing coming up. If your mom wants to bring you guys, my mom and I could show you around. Sometimes they give out decent free stuff.”

The kindness caught me off guard. “Thanks. I'll tell her.”

As the group moved toward the exit, I glanced back at the corner table. The boy with the book was gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty chocolate milk carton.

I slipped into English class seconds before the bell, scanning the room for an empty seat. The only one available was in the back row, which suited me fine. Less chance of being noticed. I slid into the desk, hunching my shoulders as if I could make myself smaller through sheer force of will.

The teacher, a woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose bun, wrote “Romeo and Juliet—Act III” on the whiteboard. Great. Shakespeare. Nothing made a new kid stand out more than stumbling through four-hundred-year-old English in front of strangers.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, turning to face the class. Her gaze swept the room and caught on me like a snag in fabric. “Ah, it appears we have a new face. Mr...”

“Reyes,” I supplied when she trailed off. “Leo Reyes.”

“Welcome to Riverton High, Mr. Reyes. I'm Ms. Abernathy.” She smiled, the expression warming her tired face. “We're in the middle of our Romeo and Juliet unit. Have you studied the play before?”

“Not really,” I admitted, feeling twenty-five pairs of eyes swivel toward me.

“Well, then. Since you're joining us mid-unit, perhaps you'd like to share your first impressions of the reading? Fresh perspectives are always valuable.”

My mouth went dry. “I, uh, don't have the book yet.”

The silence that followed felt endless. I stared at the scratched surface of my desk, wishing I could disappear into it.

“Ms. Abernathy,” a voice called from across the room, “the office probably wouldn't have had time to issue textbooks yet. He just got here.”

I looked up to find the source of the voice. It was the boy from the cafeteria, the one who'd been reading alone. He didn't look at me as he spoke, his attention focused on arranging his notebook and pen with careful precision.

Ms. Abernathy's expression shifted to embarrassment. “Of course. How thoughtless of me.” She moved to a cabinet at the side of the room and extracted a worn copy of the play. “Here you are, Mr. Reyes. We're discussing Act III today, but perhaps you could catch up by reading Acts I and II tonight?”

I took the book, nodding. “Thank you.”

As she launched into a discussion about star-crossed lovers and fate, I glanced toward my unexpected defender. From this angle, I could see his profile clearly—straight nose, serious mouth, the kind of focused expression that suggested his mind ran a mile a minute. He wrote in his notebook continuously, not in the hurried scrawl of someone taking dictation, but in careful, thoughtful lines.

When class ended, I gathered my things slowly, watching as he was immediately surrounded by friends. West Riverton kids with confident voices discussing weekend plans and college application essays. He transformed among them, his reserved demeanor giving way to quick wit and easy laughter.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door, any thought of thanking him evaporating. What would I even say? Thanks for noticing I exist? Thanks for the reminder that I don't belong here?

But as I passed the group, our eyes met briefly over his friends' heads. He gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to his conversation.

Recognition without acknowledgment. The story of my life.

* * *

The walkhome stretched three miles from Riverton High to our apartment in The Hollows, the poorest section of East Riverton. With each step away from school, the world changed. Trimmed lawns gave way to patchy grass. Maintained storefronts surrendered to boarded windows. The air itself felt different.

By the time I reached our ground-floor apartment, my shoulders ached from the weight of my backpack and the new textbooks I'd been issued. Before I even reached the door, I could hear Sophie crying inside—the high, frustrated wail that meant she'd been at it for a while.

I took a deep breath, my hand on the doorknob, mentally shifting gears. School Leo. Home Leo. The border between them growing thinner with each passing day.

Chaos greeted me when I stepped inside. Sophie sat red-faced in her high chair, banging a plastic spoon against the tray. Mari stood beside her, a jar of baby food in one hand, frustration written across her small features. Diego raced toy cars across the worn linoleum, making engine noises with his mouth and occasionally crashing them into the table legs with enthusiastic sound effects.

“Leo!” Mari cried when she saw me, relief washing over her face. “She won't eat for me.”

I dropped my backpack by the door and crossed to them, ruffling Diego's hair as I passed. “Hey, little man.”

“Vroom!” Diego responded, not looking up from his cars.

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