Free Silence by Deborah Lytton Page A

go?” Jeremiah asks.
    “Sure th-ing,” I tell him. I step into the shaded part of the nursery. The indoor plants are neatly arranged in circles on a large table. In the middle is a giant fern. I smile at my display, which is much better than the one Jeremiah had before—the plants in complete disarray. Now they look like they belong.
    I fill a giant blue watering can from the nearby faucet. Then I give each of the plants a long drink. I watch as the clear stream pours out of the neck of the can, disappearing into the shiny green leaves.
    If I’d had a friend when I needed help, if I hadn’t been so alone, maybe things would have been different. Maybe.
    I think of Stella’s last text message. Maybe.
    I move around the circle, watering each of the plants. A ray of golden sunshine trickles through the awning. I watch as it showers light on the leaves of the giant fern, and I add water to it. I can almost see the leaves stretching before me, reaching to the sky.
    I think of Stella again. Maybe she needs a little sun and water. Maybe that will help her reach out.
    And that’s when I know exactly what we will do tomorrow.

SIGNS
     
    —  Stella  —
     
     
    It’s 1:45. I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror.
    Half of my head is shaved. A bandage is on one side of my head. My eyes are still sunken, the bruises faded to a pale green. Add that to my inability to stand without getting dizzy, and I’m not exactly looking my best.
    But I made a bargain, and I am going to keep my word.
    So, looking in the mirror, I make a decision. I won’t worry about how I look. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it anyway. The decision is surprisingly freeing. I’m letting go of what is on the outside. Letting go of what is out of my control.
    I pull on a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I push my feet into my sneakers, lean over to tie them, but the room begins to swim, and my stomach churns. I leave them unlaced.
    I open the front door and sit on the front step. Mom is at work. Emerson is at a friend’s house. I am the only one here.
    I have no idea why Hayden is coming here. Maybe he’s the type who likes charity cases. Like the people who bring home stray kittens and injured baby birds. Maybe he thinks he’s responsible for me because he saved my life. Or maybe (and this is the worst possibility of all), he likes me. The thought is so scary that my throat closes up. I gasp for air.
    No boys has been my mantra for two years. It has anchored me to my other mantra, Someday Broadway.
    That mantra is gone now. I’m set adrift without an anchor. I don’t like being tossed about on the currents of the unknown. It makes me feel even more unbalanced. Confused. Through the haze, one thought becomes clear—I am going back inside.
    Just at that moment, his blue truck pulls up. I close my eyes and will myself to normalcy. When I open them again, he is walking up the sidewalk to my front door.
    Taller than I remembered, blonder than I remembered. And definitely handsomer than I remembered.
    But his eyes are just as I remembered. Piercing.
    He’s wearing faded jeans and a blue T-shirt with a plaid shirt tied around his waist. No clue from his clothes where we’re going. But I do know that I have dressed appropriately.
    He’s smiling at me, and before I realize it, I am smiling back. The haze has disappeared. I can see clearly now. I see Hayden.
    I stand, a little shaky. I wobble slightly as he towers over me.
    “Hi,” he mouths slowly.
    I smile back.
    “Ready to go?” he asks, again slowly enough for me to read his lips.
    I nod. He notices my laces and looks at me, a question in his eyes.
    I shake my head. “Dizzy.”
    “May I?” he asks.
    I lower my eyes. “Thank you.”
    Butterflies crash around in my stomach as I watch Hayden tie my shoes for me. I’m not sure I even breathe as he stands up again and grins.
    I walk beside him to the truck. Wait while he opens the door for me. I climb in, and he shuts the