MELODY
I glance at two of my friends in the back seat of my parents’ station wagon when my mom pulls up to the curb in front of Mary’s Café instead of parking in the dusty lot in the back. The apprehension on my face triples when she thrusts a bundle of notes at me across Carmen’s chest before telling me she’ll collect me after she finishes running some errands.
Excluding school, where either her or my dad drop me off and pick me up every single day, she’s never left me alone. Our home invasion didn’t just create cracks in my parents’ marriage, it completely changed their outlook on life. They don’t trust anyone—not even me—so I’m not just surprised by her decision today, I’m truly shocked.
Carmen snatches the bundle of notes I’m too stunned to accept before bumping me with her hip, demanding I scoot out of the relic dual bench-seat car before my mom changes her mind. Her bossy demeanor has us joining our friends on the footpath in a record-breaking two seconds, and even quicker than that, my mom pulls away from the curb.
While my friends count out my mom’s generosity, which, in case you’re wondering, is an impressive fifty-eight dollars, I watch my mom in her rearview mirror she’s fiddling with while pulling into the steady flow of traffic.
Our eyes remain locked until the generous pitch of a rusty F150’s roof steals them from my view. Her gaze is unsettling, and it sets off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach. It’s not the same type of flutter I get when Brandon loads the DVD player with the corny romcoms we watch most weekends. It’s ickier than that.
“Come on, Mel,” Carmen signs before pointing to her lips, so I can read the words she can’t sign. “This is what freedom feels like. You’re supposed to relish the loosening of the reigns, not rebel against it.” She curls her arms around my shoulders, guides me into Mary’s Café, then stops to stand in front of me. “You’re eighteen next month. You’re practically an adult. Live a little.”
A smile tugs on my lips when the undeniable scent of peanut butter filters into my nose when I roll my eyes at Carmen’s theatrics before walking into the main part of the café. Brandon should have patented his warped sense of taste. He would have made a killing from Mary’s alone. It appears as if everyone here is giving his Peanut Choc Crunch Shake a try. I’m not a fan of peanut butter like Brandon, but I can admit the frozen version of his concoction is drool-worthy. That might have more to do with the fact we share the same spoon while eating, but it’s still delicious, nonetheless.
By the time my friends have decided what flavored milkshake they’d like, twenty minutes has ticked by on the clock. I’m not necessarily counting down the minutes of freedom I have before I go back to the strict, no-leeway household I was raised in, but I’m curious as to how long my mom will be gone. Today is so out of character for her, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m dreaming.
I’m startled to within an inch of my life when a tattooed hand glides down my forearm. “Any tips for a novice milkshake mixer?” The fact the stranger speaks slowly reveals he knows I’m deaf. I’m not surprised. When you’re the only deaf person at your school, word gets around. Also, I’m certain we’ve met previously, but his name is slipping my mind.
A smile full of praise raises my cheeks when I point to Brandon’s concoction.
My guest twists his puffy lips while signing, “Peanut butter and milk. I am not convinced.”
“You can sign?”
He smiles at the excitement on my face before jerking up his chin. “My mom is deaf.”
“Sweet. Then you can trust me when I sign that that milkshake is the bomb.”
My reply is a little dramatic, but it’s fun interacting with people who can understand me—for a change. I don’t see that being the case if it were an everyday occurrence, but since it’s a rarity in my life, I’m going to treasure it. Although it won’t be closer to what Carmen is suggesting behind the stranger’s shoulder. She’s air-humping him from a distance while pulling faces not suitable for public, but between those unladylike gestures, she’s giving me clear live-it-up signs.
“All right.” The stranger holds his hands out in front of himself like he’s seconds from being arrested. “I will take your signed oath.” After placing an order with the dairy clerk behind the counter, he shifts his blue eyes to me. “What are you having?”
I wave my hand through the air, shooing away his offer as if it’s a fly. “Thanks for the offer, but I am okay. I’m not just ordering for me. I am going to take an afternoon treat home for my friend.”
He slants his head to the side, his smile cocky. “Do you live with this… friend?” Even a sign language novice wouldn’t have missed the disappointment in his unvoiced question. His facial expressions are very telling.
“Ah… no. He lives next door.” I want to sign, and he is more than a friend, but since that isn’t technically true, I keep that snippet of information to myself.
I’ve liked Brandon for years, but excluding the times his hands are hidden by a blanket, he doesn’t touch me. Part of me thinks it’s because he’s trying to be respectful to my dad, but sometimes I worry that it’s more than that. Perhaps he doesn’t like me as much as I do him? My girlfriends assure me that isn’t the case, but considering they think Brandon is below my league, they’re not the best judges of character.
Although, I bet their opinion changed after watching Brandon take down my dad. When Suzie talked about him the entire twenty-minute drive to Mary’s, she spoke so fast, I only caught parts of her gushing, and Racheal’s nods of agreement were way too eager for my liking. I care for my friends, but Brandon is out-of-bounds for both their negative and positive praise. From my father’s drills to creating our own secret language, it has always been us against the world, and I want to keep it that way.
The stranger returns my attention to him by clicking his fingers before signing, “What would your neighbor like to eat?”
My friends swarm closer like they did when Brandon removed his shirt as I reply to the stranger’s gall with a touch of his cocky attitude. “He is a growing man, so his choice in meals will most likely be out of price range.”
He doesn’t even flinch at the snarky expression on my face. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”
“Okay.” I peruse the menu board, acting as if I don’t already know the most expensive item on the menu. I order it every time Madden is trying to act flashy in front of his friends by paying for everyone’s meals. “He will have the Wagyu beef burger with sweet potato fries and onion rings… if you can afford it.”
As the stranger chews on the silver ring in the corner of his bottom lip, his eyes rake my body. His prolonged stare is similar to the one Madden gave me earlier, just less creepy, although it does advise I’m treading in water way out of my depth.
I feel the vibrations of my friends hollers when the stranger asks, “And you? What would you like to eat, duchess?”
6
BRANDON
