Harder (6 page)

He nods. “Just let me get my stuff. We’ll go out on the grass.”

I shrug, hating that he’s going to come either way, and hating that I don’t mind if he does.

I walk out ahead of him and shade my eyes and look for a good tree. Somewhere not too isolated but not in the middle of anything either. I find one and go over to it, chuck my bag down beside me and slump against the tree with closed eyes and folded arms.

When I close my eyes I’m alone, alone in the right way. My mind is my own. There’s no one demanding I look at them, no one expecting an interaction. Days like today I don’t want interaction. People see me as friendly, and I guess I am. But when it comes to anything more than surface level, I don’t let anyone in. In that way I’m very alone and I always have been.

“Can I join you?” Ryan’s quiet voice intrudes on my solitude.

“Sure. You’re going to anyway, aren’t you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

I open my eyes to see if he’s serious. This is what I don’t get about the guy. He’s so pushy about being around me, but then so willing to do whatever I say. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Your signing was cool today,” I say.

“Thanks. It’s just speaking for me. Like speaking English for you.”

“I don’t exactly get any compliments on my English.”

He laughs and sits beside me and I close my eyes again. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel him beside me. The air is a little less cold, and the hairs on my arm stand up. I can hear him breathing as he rummages in his backpack.

“Your signing is really good Ally. Do you want help with something else? History maybe?”

“Why, because I’m stupid?”

“No.” He’s back to one-word answers. I’ve noticed that after signing he speaks much more freely, but then after being around enough speaking, or under stress, he starts to shut down again.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. Not history, math. I need help with math.”

“Really? Somehow I thought you’d be good at math.”

I shrug. “I’m not book smart. Let’s put it this way, no one’s asking me to TA.”

He frowns. “I’m surprised by that.”

“Whatever. I’m over it.” But I can hear my voice saying that I’m not. Sure, sometimes I wish I was a smarty pants raised by other smarty pants. But that’s not my life and no point being bitter about it. I’ve done a good job with what I have, and most days, that’s enough. It’s just that seeing someone like Ryan, so classy, so smart, sparkling up at the front of the classroom, being patted by the teacher after, I’m stung by what I don’t have. What I’ve missed.

I try to stay empty but the emotion is slowly filling me from the bottom up. I need to do something. Need to go somewhere. “Want to go to my place?” I ask, praying he’ll accept and let me get out of here.

“Sure.” His eyes widen slightly, but he stands and picks up both of our bags. I yank mine back from him. I don’t need him like that. I stomp away towards the parking lot. There are several huge rails that I would normally slide down if no one was watching, but for now I just storm down, taking the stairs two or three at a time and hoping Ryan doesn’t trip behind me.

“Do you see Big Blue?” I scan the lot, unable to remember where I parked.

“There.” Ryan points. It’s like he has super vision. He’s always the best at picking out small things at work too, from long distances. Maybe because he uses his eyes to hear and speak, he’s just more observant than most of us.

We get in my car, and the drive home is so simple I do it on autopilot. I live in a large, old complex. It’s just a tall, old brick building, with lots of small apartments inside full of people he wouldn’t want to meet on the street.

But every time I pull up all I feel is pride. It’s my own place, I pay my own rent, and no one has a right to be here unless I want them to be.

I walk up the flights of stairs to my place. I pull out my key, put it in the lock, wiggle it just right and when it clicks open, I grin back at Ryan in triumph.

“Home sweet home,” I say, sweeping inside and spreading my arms as if I’m presenting him with a pile of diamonds. It’s my most prized possession.

He remains silent, his hand on the strap of his backpack, and walks forward into the living room, drinking it all in. He makes the place look smaller because he’s so large. He walks into the living room and stands in front of the TV for a moment, then turns in a circle, taking it all in. My holey couches, my ottoman that’s just a box that the TV came in, my moldy looking carpet. He doesn’t see what I see when I walk in. Safety. Space.

I brace myself for what he’s going to say about it, putting up a wall so I don’t get hurt.

“It’s nice,” he murmurs, setting his bag down on the couch. “Homey.”

Homey. I’ll take it. He coughs and waves his hand in the air in front of him and I laugh.

I set my bag down in the kitchen, on the small wooden table I found out in the parking lot. It’s not that I couldn’t buy furniture, it’s just that money saved is money available on a rainy day. Or a day when I need to run away.

“So you moved here from where?”

“Ohio.”

He folds his arms. “I thought you were from back East. That’s solid mid-west.”

I shrug. He has a knack for getting shrugs out of me. He makes me feel things, and I have to work harder to stay apathetic. “Who said I was from back East?”

“Rain.”

“Girl sucks at geography. But I guess everything’s East compared to Cali.”

“True. I guess you don’t need help with Geography then,” he says.

I slump in one of my chairs. “I don’t really need help with anything. I’m not like you. I’m not planning some smarty pants life in academics. I just want a degree so I can move up at the park.”

“So you only want to be a lifeguard?”

I nod.

“Forever?”

“Yeah, that or a mechanic. I thought about going to tech school, but I hate the douchebags I always had in my shop courses.”

He takes a long breath and lets it out in a sigh. “You’re one of a kind Ally.”

“And you’re talking more.”

“I know. You bring that out in me,” he mutters, voice smooth and low.

“You have a good voice. If I sounded like you, I’d never stop talking.”

“I do?” He sits back in his chair and pulls his hair out of his ponytail and readjusts it.

“Yeah, you could be a DJ or something.”

“Ha! A DJ who hates speaking. Novel.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, realizing how stupid that sounds. “Do you really hate speaking?”

“Not so much anymore, I guess. You’re kind of helping me with that.”

And we’re back where we started. I reach into my bag and pull out my math book. “So, math? How you feel about math?”

“Do lifeguards need advanced math?”

Damn. “I don’t know.”

“Either way, I’ll help. What chapter are you on?” He leans in and he smells effing delicious. I shouldn’t have brought him to my house. All I can do is look at his hot bod in those nice clothes and think about how my bedroom is just twenty feet away and he’s right here, right now, and I want his hands on me. I clear my throat and take the book from him.

“I’m here,” I say, folding the page and sliding it back to him.

“Ah. That’s a lot of angry faces,” he says, staring down at my doodles.

“Yeah,” I say, blushing and rubbing my neck to hide it. “I tend to draw when I’m upset.”

“Ally, are you in any art classes?”

“No,” I mutter. Like I would be. Maybe in another world, if I had parents like a normal person, I could have made something of it, but they’re just doodles. They’ll always be just doodles. Doodles don’t pay rent.

“You sure? Why didn’t you take classes? Some of these are really good, even if you shouldn’t be doing them on your textbooks.”

Now I wish DJ voice would shut up. I take the book back. “It’s none of your business.” I slam it shut. He reaches for it again and I pull it away. I wanted his help, not for him to look into my life and analyze me.

“I want to see.”

“And I don’t want to show you!” I throw the book on the floor and the spine tears. Tears of frustration immediately spring to my eyes as I bend to pick it up. It’s going to cost too much to replace. I’ll need to tape it.

“Ally, what’s wrong?” Ryan signs, coming in front of me. It’s the first time he’s signed to me when I’m alone. There’s so much sincerity when he signs that I can’t not answer.

“Nothing.” I make the sign jerkily and put my book on the table so I can try to tape it.

“I’m sorry,” he signs.

“It’s fine.”

The signs aren’t the same as the words. “It’s fine” is just a hand to my chest, but somehow it’s a very clear way of communicating.

“No really, I’m sorry. I’ll make you dinner to make up for it,” he says, switching to voice.

I set down the book, suddenly intrigued. “You cook?”

He nods and goes to the fridge. I feel a blush coming on, because I know what he’s going to see when he goes there.

Nothing.

“Ally, there’s no food in here.”

“I like to go out.” I shrug.

“Let’s go to my place. You can meet my parents. Well, you already know my dad.”

“I can’t believe you’re twenty and you live at home.”

It’s his turn to shrug, but he smiles. “I don’t have any reason to leave.”

“Good food there?”

“Lots to cook with.”

“Fine. I’m in.”

“Great.” He grabs his stuff and leads the way out, and I turn one last time after turning off the lights to survey my apartment. I love it here, but I don’t want to be alone right now.

I’ve been alone too long.

Chapter 6

I take a deep breath of fresh air the second we get outside Ally’s apartment.

That place is a hellhole. I’m tempted to sneak back in and clean it when she’s gone. I wonder how hard it would be to steal her key when she’s not looking…

There’s no food in the house. I would have said something about it, but I was already insensitive enough about the art thing. The more I know her, the more she’s a mystery to me.

She dresses like a guy, swaggers around like she owns the place, and lives in a hovel with furniture most hobos would probably reject.

And her fridge is empty. And her math book is full of hauntingly beautiful doodles.

Why did she leave home, wherever it was, to come here? To have that?

It reminds me of something that’s been bothering me. She came here middle of summer last year. Lifeguards don’t relocate mid-summer. It’s our main working season.

No wonder she wants the promotion. Then she’d get some normal furniture. The box she was using as an ottoman didn’t even look new. It was so used it was sagging in the middle. What’s the point of a disposable ottoman if you don’t replace it once in a while? I sigh again and she looks back at me but I wave her off.

I give her the directions to my home and wait for the inevitable as we pull up the final drive. My home sits on a hill in a part of town where property values are intense. My parents have lived here a long time. My dad inherited a lot of money, but wanted to keep teaching. Plus they’ve invested heavily in the deaf community here.

“This can’t be your home.” She comes to a screeching halt at the bottom of the driveway.

“You’re right, it’s my parent’s home.”

She turns off the car, like she’s afraid to take it any closer to the house. She stares up at it, hands over the steering wheel, and sighs. “Why do you work as a lifeguard?”

“Parents thought it would be good for me. Good to be around hearing people. Good to learn a work ethic. Plus I like it.”

She lets out a low whistle. “No way I’m going in there.”

“There’s food.”

“Okay.” She opens the door and steps out, leaving her backpack behind.

She walks up the hill in front of me, but stops in front of the doors, wiping her hands on her cargo shorts and looking herself over as if she’s not sure she’s okay to go in. I put my arm around her thin shoulders, and pull her along with me.

The door isn’t locked and I push it open. I reach out and ring the doorbell so my parents know we’re here. The lights flash above us and their upstairs bedroom door opens.

It’s my mother, looking elegant even in a paint covered apron and sweats. She must be working on the bedroom. She peers over the banister at us and then smiles widely, makes a loud noise of excitement that she most certainly can’t hear and which makes Ally jump beside me, and comes down the stairs, untying her apron as she goes.

She signs to me, asking hearing or deaf, and I tell her hearing, but that Ally can sign. Her impossibly bright smile widens further. She pushes her bushy red hair out of her face and rummages in her apron for a hair band. Then she slips her hair into a ponytail and comes forward to shake Ally’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” my mom signs after releasing her. She turns to me and signs. “Cute, like a boy.”

I wince, but it’s how deaf culture is. Blunt. I turn to apologize to Ally but she’s laughing.

“Yes, like a boy,” she signs.

My mother beams and waves us towards the kitchen. She opens the fridge and starts to pull things out while Ally takes a seat on one of the counter stools. I look over to see how she’s handling my mom’s invasion but she looks fine.

My mom sets down some smoked salmon and pulls out cucumbers and Feta to go with it. Ally’s nose starts to wrinkle in disgust and I smile and pretend not to notice.

“Why like a boy?” my mom signs.

Ally just stares at her, as if she’s never been asked such a thing. Surely other people have wondered, but probably it takes a deaf person to just come out and ask.

“Because I like,” Ally signs simply. My mom nods in approval but still seems a bit confused.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask my mom.

She nods, looks once more at Ally, gives a quick wave and follows me into the living room. Once there, we sign differently. We don’t go slowly for Ally.

She rapidly asks me who the girl is, says she’s nice. I say she’s from school and work and she’s helping me. I tell her I like her, that I’d like time alone, and she signs back that she’ll just make something for us first real quick. I sign back that I’d rather do it.