Page 5 of The Silence Between

She smiled tiredly, but didn't argue, disappearing into the bathroom to shower away the factory grime.

When she emerged twenty minutes later, I'd managed to finish my math homework and start on the first act of Romeo and Juliet. Mom kissed my cheek again before collapsing onto the pull-out couch, not bothering to unfold it, her exhaustion too complete for such effort.

The apartment fell quiet except for Mom's soft breathing and the occasional creak of the building settling. I turned back to the play, the unfamiliar language swimming before my tired eyes.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene...”

I thought about Riverton High. The West Side kids with their confidence and plans for the future, the East Side kids with their defensive humor and premature hardness. Two worlds separated by a river, neither truly seeing the other.

The door opened just past midnight. Dad entered quietly, the smell of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. I looked up from my book, saying nothing as he crossed to the table.

“Still up, mijo?” he asked, ruffling my hair with a gentleness that surprised me.

“Homework,” I explained for the second time that night. “How was the interview?”

Dad's smile faltered, then returned too brightly. “Almost had it. Guy said he might have something next week.” He glanced toward the couch where Mom slept. “She work a double?”

I nodded.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow will be better,” he said, though whether to me or himself, I couldn't tell. He squeezed my shoulder before moving to the couch, carefully adjusting Mom's position so he could unfold it without waking her.

Alone again at the table, I turned back to Romeo and Juliet. The familiar weight of uncertainty settled over me, but as I read, something unexpected happened. The strange language began to make sense, the story pulling me in despite my exhaustion. These people from centuries ago felt real—their loves and hates and fears as immediate as my own.

I pulled my worn notebook from my backpack and began to write. Why did Romeo switch from loving Rosaline to Juliet so quickly? Was it real love or just infatuation? What would have happened if they'd just told their parents the truth?

The words blurred as my eyelids grew heavier. I fought against sleep, determined to finish the first act, but eventually my head drooped, coming to rest on the open pages of Shakespeare's tragedy.

2

PARALLEL LIVES

LEO

SOPHOMORE YEAR

The last sunset of summer bled across the Riverton skyline, painting the worn rooftops of The Hollows in fading gold. I sat on the fire escape outside our apartment, one leg dangling over the edge, watching as the day drained away. Fifteen now, I'd grown four inches over the past year, my shoulders filling out from carrying Sophie up three flights of stairs daily and hauling groceries home from the discount store across town.

Below me, The Hollows pulsed with life—kids chasing each other through uneven streams of water from a broken hydrant, competing music from half a dozen apartments creating a chaotic symphony, occasional shouts punctuating the melody. No longer foreign territory, this neighborhood had wrapped itself around us like a second skin. Home, for whatever that was worth.

Inside our apartment, Mari sat cross-legged on the floor with Diego, guiding his pudgy hand as he struggled to write his name on a sheet of paper. At eight, my sister had developed a startling patience, her dark eyes serious beyond their years as she praised Diego's crooked letters. Sophie, no longer a baby but a determined toddler, stacked plastic cups nearby, babbling a running commentary only she understood.

I watched through the window, a strange ache spreading beneath my ribs. When had Mari become a teacher? When had Diego grown out of toddlerhood? When had Sophie learned to stack anything besides consonants in her baby talk?

Mari shifted positions, and I caught the wince she tried to hide, the careful way she moved her arm. My stomach tightened.

“Mari,” I called softly through the open window. “Come out here a minute.”

She glanced up, her expression immediately guarded. “I'm helping Diego.”

“Just for a minute.”

With reluctance, she told Diego to practice the letter 'D' and joined me on the fire escape, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, her skinny arms wrapped around them.

“What's up?” she asked, not meeting my eyes.

“Your arm,” I said. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I bumped it.”

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