Chapter 3

A week later, I transferred into Vivienne's school.

The advisor, Ms. Coleman, seated me right next to Vivienne.

"Vivienne, your sister is new here. She doesn't know her way around yet. Look after her, please."

Vivienne smiled sweetly and nodded.

"Don't worry, Ms. Coleman. I'll take good care of Elena."

And she did take care of me.

When anyone was curious about why I didn't speak, she'd explain, her eyes shining with tears — that I'd had a very hard childhood, and please, please, don't judge me.

Within a day, the whole school knew the Ashfords had found their real daughter.

And they also knew that ever since I'd come home, my "muteness" had almost driven the family's beloved adopted daughter out of the house.

...

At lunch, a small group of girls gathered around my desk.

One of them had honey-blonde curls and long lashes.

Her name was Chloe Bennett.

Chloe smiled and signed a few gestures at me.

"Elena, I've studied a little sign language. Can you understand this?"

What she signed was:

How many books did you eat today?

A completely meaningless sentence.

I assumed she was confused, so I corrected her, patiently — the sign for book and the sign for food were different.

Chloe stared at me for two seconds.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Vivienne, she doesn't actually know sign language at all."

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped over to us.

Vivienne's eyes widened in shock.

"How can that be? Elena uses sign language with us at home all the time."

"Her hand shapes are a mess. So is her word order."

Chloe held up her phone.

On the screen were a few standard signs she'd looked up ahead of time.

"My aunt is Deaf. I've been signing since I was little. Real sign language doesn't look anything like what she does."

I pulled out my phone and typed:

Sign language has regional signs and natural variants. What you just signed wasn't a complete phrase.

Chloe read it and let out a small sneer.

"Making excuses now that you've been caught?"

Murmurs ran through the room.

"Didn't her foster parents say she could talk, too?"

"Probably just fishing for sympathy."

"The real daughter just came back. Obviously she's going to do whatever it takes to push Vivienne out."

I looked at Vivienne.

She immediately took my hand, shaking her head, defending me:

"Please don't say things like that about Elena."

"Even if she really can talk, I'm sure she has her reasons."

It looked like she was protecting me.

But she had just confirmed, in front of everyone, that I was faking.

...

That afternoon I went to the office to hand in some transfer paperwork.

When I came back to the classroom —

The notebook filled with my sign language notes had been torn to pieces, scattered in the trash can.

Chloe stood there with her arms crossed.

"Don't look at me. I didn't do it."

I knelt down and picked up the scraps, one by one.

That notebook had been a gift from Mrs. Whitaker next door, when I was six.

Mrs. Whitaker was a retired teacher of the Deaf.

Everyone else took me for a mute.

Only she — an old woman who truly could not hear — never once tried to force a word out of me.

The first sign she taught me was:

I'm hungry.

The second:

I did nothing wrong.

Vivienne knelt down beside me and helped me gather the pieces.

But her tears fell first.

"Elena, I'm so sorry."

"If it weren't for me, no one would be suspecting you like this."

I lifted my eyes to her.

She leaned close to my ear, and, in a voice only the two of us could hear, whispered:

"Guess —"

"Are they going to believe someone who can't even speak?"

"Or the daughter who's been with them for eighteen years?"

...

Before the last class of the afternoon, Ms. Coleman sent me to the main office to sign off on another form.

Once the classroom was empty, Vivienne picked up the phone I'd left on my desk and sent my mother a message:

Mom, I'm having some trouble adjusting at school. There are some things I'd like to tell you in person.

Could you all come to the school after classes?

After school let out, Vivienne sent me a message of her own.

I found the evidence — proof that Martha abused you.

She's afraid Dad and Mom will find out, and she wants me to delete it.

If you want it, come to the prop storage room behind the auditorium.

I stared at that line of text for a long, long time.

In the end, I walked to the auditorium alone.

---