Page 92 of The Silence Between

West Riverton students whose parents drove luxury SUVs would read alongside East Riverton kids who took the bus. Their work would be organized by theme rather than grade or achievement level. The refreshments would be served on mismatched plates that somehow looked deliberately eclectic rather than merely cheap.

“You're smiling,” Mari observed, appearing at my elbow with a stack of napkins. “It's a good look on you.”

“Just happy with how it's coming together,” I deflected, though the truth was more complicated. This event represented something I'd never allowed myself before, work connected to genuine passion rather than mere necessity. Managing the bookstore wasn't just another job to pay bills; it was the beginning of a career aligned with what I actually loved. Books. Words. Stories. Things that had kept me sane during the insanity of raising three kids before I could legally drink.

“Mr. Webb just pulled up,” Diego announced from his position near the window. The casual way he used Ethan's name still caught me off guard sometimes, the natural integration into our lives that had happened while I wasn't looking. Like he'd slipped through a side door when I was busy guarding the main entrance.

“I'll help him with the equipment,” Mari offered, heading for the door before I could respond.

I watched through the window as they met on the sidewalk, Ethan carrying a portable projector while Mari took a box of cords from his car. Their easy conversation, the way she laughed at something he said, created a strange ache in my chest. Not jealousy, but something adjacent to it, wonder at how quickly he'd earned her trust when she guarded it so carefully with everyone else. The man had superpowers, clearly.

When they entered the store, Ethan's eyes found mine immediately, a smile warming his features. “This looks incredible, Leo. Seriously.”

“Couldn't have done it without you,” I acknowledged, meaning more than just the event.

“Team effort,” he replied, understanding passing between us that extended beyond the professional collaboration.

For the next hour, we moved in practiced synchrony, making final preparations as students and families began arriving. I greeted parents at the door while Ethan helped nervous teenagers organize their readings. Sophie distributed programs with solemn dignity while Diego handled the audio setup with surprising technical skill. Kid was probably going to be running NASA by twenty.

“You've built something special here,” Eleanor said, appearing beside me as the store filled with people.

I followed her gaze to where my siblings moved confidently through the crowd.

“They built themselves,” I said, throat unexpectedly tight. “I just tried not to get in the way.”

Eleanor's knowing look saw right through me, like I was made of cellophane. “That's not how they tell it.”

Before I could respond, it was time to begin. I moved to the front of the store, suddenly aware of all the eyes turning toward me. Public speaking had never been my strength, too many years keeping my head down, avoiding attention that might bring scrutiny to our family situation. Nothing says “please don't notice me” like being a teenage guardian terrified of social services.

But as I stepped to the makeshift podium, something shifted inside me. Taking a deep breath, I looked out at the expectant faces.

“Welcome, everyone, to Second Chapter Bookstore's first Student Writing Showcase.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “I'm Leo Reyes, the new manager here. When Eleanor Chen and I first discussed hosting community events, we wanted to create something that would bring people together through stories.”

I gestured to the displays around the room. “What you'll hear tonight isn't divided by grade levels or academic standings. These writings are organized by themes that connect us all – family, identity, belonging, change. Some of these young writers grew up in West Riverton, others in East. Some have parents who attended Ivy League universities, others have parents who never finished high school. But tonight, they're all just storytellers, sharing pieces of themselves through words.”

The faces looking back at me weren't intimidating anymore. They were just people, listening.

“In a town often defined by what divides us, these students found common ground in their English classes, in their love of language, in their courage to put thoughts on paper. I hope as you listen tonight, you'll hear not just what makes each voice unique, but what connects all of us across whatever boundaries we think separate us.”

I turned slightly, finding Ethan in the crowd. “And now, I'd like to introduce Mr. Ethan Webb, Riverton High's English teacher who made this showcase possible by believing in these students and their stories.”

Our gazes held for a moment longer than strictly necessary. The silent communication steadied me more than any words could have. I tried not to read too much into it. Really tried. Failed miserably.

The evening unfolded better than I could have imagined. Students who'd never had an audience beyond their classrooms shared stories and poems that left parents wiping away tears. Teenagers who rarely spoke to each other at school discovered common ground through written words. East and West Riverton mingled over punch and cookies, the invisible boundary temporarily dissolved by shared appreciation for their children's creativity.

And through it all, Ethan and I moved in orbit around each other, close enough to exchange glances across the room, far enough to maintain the careful boundaries we'd established. Professional partners. Friends. Something still evolving that neither of us had dared define. Like we were characters in our own Jane Austen novel, communicating through meaningful glances and the occasional brushing of hands while passing a stapler.

When the last family left and we began cleaning up, I felt lighter than I had in years. Not because the weight had disappeared, the custody review still loomed, bills still needed paying, responsibilities still waited, but because I'd found a way to carry it that didn't require surrendering everything that made me who I was.

“Good night?” Ethan asked quietly, joining me as I wiped down the refreshment table.

“The best,” I admitted. “Thank you for suggesting this.”

“Thank you for making it happen.” His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that made my chest tighten. “We make a good team.”

The simple observation contained layers I wasn't ready to unpack, not here, not with my siblings within earshot, not when I was still learning how to want things for myself without guilt. Like saying “the sky looks nice today” when what you mean is “I think I'm falling for you again.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, allowing myself to meet his gaze directly. “We do.”

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