Chapter Text
He had missed the bus. Again. Callum was never late for anything except the goddamn bus. Homework? No problem! Groceries? Right on it fam! But getting to school? Total failure. Fortunately, his step-dad had still been around to drive him, even though he earned himself a scowl and a halfhearted demand of “This better be the last time, please” as the man emerged from the bedroom, his eyes still half-closed. It was funny to see him this disorganized, usually, he emerged with a very positive attitude and well-dressed for his job as head manager of the biggest and only mall in a radius of sixty miles. Today, he was everything other than well-dressed with the white T-Shirt he used to sleep in. Never mind the pink underpants he was wearing.
“Thanks, Dad,” the boy said as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat as the distance to the school grew smaller by the second, almost knocking it over in the process. Harrow slowed down until the car stopped moving in front of the black iron gates flanked by a modest archway, sighed and his tired eyes were enlightened by a spark of softness, “You’re welcome, Callum. Have fun at school, okay?”
Nodding with a grin, Callum opened the car door and jumped out, his hair swaying in the soft breeze, “I will, have fun with mom!”
A small chuckle cut through the air, “Oh, I won’t have any fun as long as your mother hasn’t had her coffee and breakfast.”
With a shiver, Callum pictured his mom’s appearance every morning before breakfast. She was pretty but definitely not a pretty sleeper. In the mornings, her soft voice would mutate into a low croaking, her hair in a complete shamble, and her eyes puffed from keeping them shut for hours on end. In summary, she could have gone out as a witch for Halloween without disguise. He knew that parallel was mean to think of but it was just too similar for his mind not to make the connections.
He smiled at his dad and rolled his eyes before wishing him goodbye as one of his eyes spied the time on his watch. 7:40 am. The class started at 7:45. Crap. The air was slightly colder than anticipated, easily getting through his thin blue jacket as well as his red scarf with light gold ornaments, settling on his skin as he raced through the courtyard of his school, reaching the old red doors leading inside as fast as he possibly could. The paint was so old at this point that when he touched the frame, a small cloud of dark red dust rained from the wood, settling somewhere beneath his hurried footsteps. According to his principal, the building was so old it predated the second world war and it was certainly noticeable. Most of the yellow and white painted walls were smeared with names, jokes, or obscenities, just the kind of immature pictures fitting the school’s students and their ages. The floors were made out of red matte marble tiles, easy sliding-traps in winter when everyone carried defrosting snow into the hallways, Callum had slipped way too many times than he would have liked to admit.
Now, however, he needed to reach the classroom in time before his teacher arrived. If he didn’t, well, it would surely bring him another set of extra-work, especially with Mr. Ibis, his Physics teacher. The boy didn’t actually dislike him, but he had the preference to gravitate towards other classes that were not as boring as Ibis’. At least the continuous monologue he usually held gave him plenty of time to sketch and draw in his little sketchbook or count clouds but it was still not as exciting as say, art class. In his head, he was already sitting over a big piece of paper becoming a second Picasso when he rushed around the last corner in the hallway leading to his classroom. Without giving it a second thought he grabbed the handle and jerked the door wide open, his heart beating wildly as he stared at the crowd of students inside...all of them already seated. The sound of wood hitting concrete made him jump a little as the momentum he had given the door let it collide with the nearest solid object, which in this case was the wall. Chatter was cut short as every pair of eyes focused on Callum, a sheepish smile settling on his face as Mr. Ibis turned his head around so slowly the boy could hear the main themes of several horror-movies in his head. 7:47.
“Ah, Callum, I am glad you could join us after all.”
‘Well,’ he thought, ‘looks like another evening spent with extra-work.’
The teacher shook his head, “No excuse?”
“Would you believe me if I said my bike broke down halfway here?” he asked, trying his best to sound honest with an improvised grin on his face, only resulting in an awkward pause. Worst of all, he did not even own a bike.
The short silence filled the air, the boy’s eyes slowly wandering to the ground as he awaited his judgment. His face was now as red as a tomato and burning with the heat of the sun, growing more intense with every second that passed. Why did the teacher have to make such a scene every time he arrived late? Were teachers not supposed to be somewhat parental figures? In his head, he quickly realized this question had him cornered anyway, his parents would perhaps react the same way if he missed any important date.
“Hm, fine.”
Callum’s head perked up, his eyes radiating the surprising mix of emotions he was storing in his chest. Was Ibis willing to spare him or was this some sort of trick? The teacher nodded towards his student’s preferred seat in the very back of the class, “I am in a good mood today, no extra work for you.”
This not only made Callum feel extremely lucky, but it also got the entire classroom to whisper, the many silent voices adding up to a loud, continuous hissing as he walked back to his chair, quickly getting rid of the backpack on his shoulder. A small grin split his lips as he crammed out his notebook and pencil case from the frightening depths of the bag. Sometimes it felt like the bag was a portal to another dimension or a wormhole, swallowing belongings and never letting them reemerge, but this time, Callum seemed to have a streak of luck.
“Silence, please,” the teacher demanded, raising his hands in an over-exaggerated manner to calm the whispering storm down to sustainable levels. His eyes darted across the room, staring holes into the backs of those who had foolishly turned around in the belief he would not notice.
“Today,” he began, nodding towards what seemed to be somewhere close to Callum, “We have a guest. Well, not a guest exactly, a new student who will be part of our class for the rest of the year.” Again, the silence was parted by a gust of whispers, a new student? The new semester had begun months ago, who was brave enough to enter in the middle of the learning process instead of waiting for another three months? Looking around, the boy noticed a figure sitting at the next table to his left. In his hurry, he had not noticed the newcomer. The figure was wearing a thick dark green hoodie, a few specks of brown along the torso which, however, was mostly covered by the crouched position they were sitting in. Their pants had a similar, slightly darker shade of green to them, beginning in a lighter color that grew increasingly in opacity the farther down the eye went, almost like the rising night sky. It was secured by a dark brown belt closing with a strange buckle formed like two intertwining half moons and a pearl where the tips met, forming almost a perfect circle. At last, the figure’s boots seemed to almost melt into the shadows, black sneakers of the same shade the ending of the trousers had, building a perfect bridge between them.
“Would you like to introduce yourself?” Ibis asked the stranger, a look of kindness settling in on his hard features.
The figure hesitantly lifted their head, their hood still covering most of the face hiding between the folds of fabric. A set of hands appeared from the insides of the sleeves where they had been hiding, presumably shy from the cold. As the hands ascended further, a small ray of sunshine hit the darkness underneath the veil, casting light onto the features of a girl. Her dark blue, almost purple eyes squinted as she avoided the light shining onto her pearl white skin. As she did so, a strain of white hair decided it had suffered long enough from captivity and escaped the innards of the mantle, falling straight across her face like a solid ray of moonshine. Callum knew it was rude to stare but something was hypnotizing about her contrasting appearance, the striking looks of her eyes which scanned the room, timidly and slightly scared as she began bending her fingers into shapes the boy immediately recognized.
My name is Rayla, she signed quickly, Callum could feel her unease over being watched, Nice to meet you.
Mr. Ibis smiled, “Her name is Rayla, she is pleased to meet all of you. As you can see, she prefers to communicate via sign language. Does anyone present speak ASL?”
The boy’s eyes scanned his classmates, none of them raised their hand. He gulped down his own anxiety, his aunt Amaya had been born both deaf and therefore mute, she and his mother had taught him sign language from a young age. Now was the time to prove his skills, was it not? Besides, the girl, Rayla, seemed nice even though shy, why not help her out, right? He raised his arm, immediately feeling the gaze of the girl wander over to him.
“Why, Callum?” the teacher said, a slight surprise able to escape his masquerade of professionalism, “That is indeed a pleasant surprise. Would you be willing to guide Rayla through the school and show her everything?”
“Sure,” the boy agreed, giving the girl a friendly nod as Ibis turned away, pleased with the outcome of the situation and his arrangement skills. She nodded back, her face still a shy mask without the ability to muster a smile. Callum knew how hard it was to settle in with new people. When he had moved here, it had taken him well over a month to make any sort of friends. What had especially bothered him was the target he had been and still was for bullies. Being the new kid was hard, you either made a strong first impression or someone would find something to bother you with. Rayla’s timidity would most likely result in the latter.
Hey, he started signing after reassuring that the teacher was not looking, is it just me, or was he surprised I actually did something right for once?
She looked at him with the same cautious look she had put on before, her dark blue eyes filling with an expression of light amusement, No, it’s not just you.
He turned back to face the blackboard, there was something more to this girl than just her being the new student in the class. Something, hidden behind her looks, tried to stay secret in the mirrors of her soul. It was always the eyes that fascinated him the most, no matter what person. With one look, he could see through the veil they built around their appearance, clearly recognizing the real character of someone instead of what they were trying to make you believe. For Rayla it was...sadness. Maybe she was sad because she had to move here? No, it was something deeper.
Before he could solve the riddle, he noticed the almost full blackboard, white letters one line away from reaching the bottom. Pulling out a pen, he allowed himself one more look over to the newcomer. She was rummaging through the contents of her bag, looking for something to write with on the silver notebook in her lap. After a few seconds, her lips opened as she sucked in air with something resembling the beginnings of panic settling on her face. Callum, immediately understanding what she was missing, pulled out the second pen in his case, the one he always reserved for times like this. He waited until she looked up with a silent cry for help on her lips, letting her eyes wander across the room until they, once again, stuck to the boy holding the emergency pen in his hand, showing it to her to sign, You can have mine, don’t worry, afterward.
She froze, Callum, right? her eyes riddled with confusion, Why are you being so nice to me?
The boy scratched his chin. That was a question he did not know himself. Why was he so aware of her needs and immediately willing to help her?
Hey, we are both fluent in this linguistic, he stopped his hands for just a second as thoughts raced through his mind, Wait, is it linguistics if we use our hands? Shouldn’t it be something more like...I don’t know, finguistics?
There it was, the faintest of all smiles moving Rayla’s lips as she shook her head and replied, You know that you are kind of a dork, right?
Callum grinned as he passed the pen over to her, receiving a grateful nod in response. Once more, it was her eyes speaking for her instead of her lips but still, these purple pools of light were able to express more than words ever could.
When the boy turned back around, Rayla tucked the strain of hair back that had popped out of her cloak. That small smile Callum had noticed, she had not meant for it to happen. Clicking open the pen, she tried focusing on the letters on the blackboard. Her mind, however, was still on the same thought that sat like a boulder in the river.
The boy did not know how long she had not smiled anymore.