Chapter Text
Julia sat at the front steps of Morston High School, watching the latest Flash episode while waiting for Cleo to finish cheerleading practice. There was something about Grant Gustin’s eyes that made her heart melt. Oh how she wished she could be Candice Patton so she could stare longingly at him all day. Sadly the poster in her bedroom would have to do in the meantime.
She knew that someone like her would never be good enough for someone like him. The blonde, bespectacled teenager coughed a little through the hole in her neck. She detached the cover to her stoma to allow whatever tickled to exit. Only specks of dust this time. She shooed them off with her hand and resumed the episode. No matter how jealous she was, she still though it was sweet whenever Barry and Iris kissed. She sighed through the stoma, the air catching as she exhaled.
It wasn’t long before Cleo came up behind her, startling Julia a little. “Hey, Jules,” she said. “We’re finished for the day.”
Julia smiled in response. She stood up and walked beside Cleo to her car. She made quick gestures with her hands. Sign language.
“Next Friday,” Cleo said in response. “I trust you’ll be there?” She smirked.
Julia nodded and smiled again. But she paused after a second, frowned, and made a few more gestures.
“Aw…” Cleo groaned. “Next time then?”
Julia nodded again.
They arrived at Cleo’s car, got in, and drove off.
Julia thought about next Friday. The regional cheerleading competition, and Julia wanted to be there to support Cleo, but she forgot about a doctor’s appointment that same day. She touched the cover of her stoma, the reason for the appointment.
Cleo looked over at her. “Does it hurt?”
Julia shook her head and made a few signs that Cleo likely couldn’t see as she drove. She sat back and looked out the window. She couldn’t believe it had been ten years. It did hurt some days, but not physically.
Thinking about everything sent a sting through her neck. She gasped a bit through her stoma.
She was six years old when it happened. She only remembered bits and pieces, but the most distinct part of the memory was the pain. The intense stinging pain left behind when the paintball hit her, the world going black as she lay in the grass, and then waking up with a hole in her neck. She saw her tearful mother next to her and attempted to say “Mommy,” but nothing came out.
She sometimes felt like she had been robbed. Not only her literal voice gone, but that often meant her figurative voice was gone as well. Constantly having to rely on others to be her interpreters, only occasionally giving up and going along with whatever they thought she meant.
She couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like. For as long as she could remember, she’d been using her hands to talk, and because of that, she often felt no one understood her. No one wanted to be friends with the freaky mute who flapped her arms around like a madman. Cleo was the only one who seemed to have patience with her, picking up sign language the more they hung out as kids, and acting as her interpreter when necessary. She’d gotten used to having someone be her voice. Someone who understood.
She and Cleo spent the remainder of the afternoon doing homework in the En-Nils’ dining room and watching TV. Their friendship was simple, but it meant the world to Julia. She couldn’t ask for a better friend.