Chapter Text
Chapter 1: “Quiet Talk”
It’s a Tuesday morning at exactly 9:17am when Maxine Baker decides they are going to be best friends.
She knows the exact time because her teacher, Mrs. Howard, has just pointed to the big clock and said, “When the little hand is on nine and the big hand is on twelve, that means quiet time.”
Max loves rules. She loves knowing what things mean. She loves to know exactly what is happening and when so she never misses anything important.
The new girl does not look like she loves anything at all. Abby Littman is sitting cross-legged on the rug, hands balled into the hem of her rainbow sweater. Her hazel eyes are shiny in a way that makes Max’s chest feel tight. She's not crying exactly — but she's close. Max should know her mom always cries at those movies on tv (but pretends not to).
Max scoots closer.
“Hi,” she whispers. Abby doesn’t answer.
Max tries again. “I like your shoes.” They’re sparkly and purple two of Max’s favourite things. Abby nods once but her eyes never lift from the floor.
Max leans even closer. “Are you sad?” Abby shrugs.
That means yes. Max knows it means yes because her dad says sometimes people -Like her twin brother Marcus- don’t use words to express their feelings because words sometimes just feel too big.
Max’s dad is deaf. He says sometimes quiet is easier. Now Max doesn’t understand how words can possibly feel big, she says everything that’s in her head out loud. But she knows Marcus gets it and she thinks maybe this girl understands quiet too.
She studies Abby carefully, silently for a few moments. There’s a little wrinkle between her eyebrows, like she’s thinking too hard about something kids shouldn’t have to think about.
Max just sits there until after a moment a small voice whispers. “My mom and dad were loud this morning,”
Max tilts her head. “Like yelling loud?” Abby nods.
Max thinks about that. Her parents don’t yell much. When they argue, her mom signs fast and her dad signs faster, they laugh sit together on the couch and drink tea. Max has learned something important from that. There is loud talk. And there is quiet talk.
Quiet talk is different. Quiet talk feels safe.
Max scoots even closer until their shoulders touch. “My dad can't hear us when we talk out loud because he is deaf,” Max says very seriously, “ so instead we use- what my mom calls- quiet talk.”
Abby blinks, finally casting her shiny eyes up to look at Max. “What’s that?”
Max lifts her hands. She wiggles her fingers. “It’s when you say things with your hands instead of your mouth.”
Abby’s eyes widen a little. “Like magic?” she asks.
“Kind of,” Max says proudly. “It’s a secret language. Only the most special people know it.”
Abby looks at her like maybe this is the first interesting thing that’s happened all day.
Max lowers her voice to a whisper. “If you’re sad and you don’t want to say it out loud… you can use quiet talk. And tell me.”
Abby hesitates. “But I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay,” Max says immediately. “I’ll teach you.” She holds up her hand and signs slowly, carefully: ‘F R I E N D.’
Her fingers are small and slightly clumsy. “This means friend,” Max says. “You hook your fingers together like this. Because friends stick together, no matter what.”
Abby copies her. It takes two tries. Their pinkies tangle wrong the first time and they both giggle.
Mrs. Howard shushes them gently.
They lean closer, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. “See?” Max whispers. “I knew you were special.”
Abby smiles a watery smile and looking down at her hands says “Can we use it anytime?”
“Anytime,” Max says firmly. “When you’re scared. Or when your mom and dad are loud. Or when you don’t want other people to hear.”
Abby bites her lip. “It’ll be our secret?” she asks.
Max doesn’t even hesitate. “Our secret.” She signs it the best she can — ‘S E C R E T ‘— even though she gets the S wrong and it looks more like she’s squeezing invisible lemons. Abby giggles again.
For the first time that morning, she looks lighter.
At recess, a boy named Press tries to take Abby’s purple sparkly shoe because he thinks glitter is funny.
Max plants herself in front of her like a very small, very dramatic bodyguard. “You can’t,” Max says. “She’s my best friend.” Abby looks startled.
“Since when?” she whispers.
Max shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since 9:17.”
Abby doesn’t understand the joke, but she smiles anyway.
--------------------
The first time Abby uses quiet talk without being asked, it’s a month later.
They’re sitting under the big oak tree during snack time. Abby’s apple slices are untouched.
Max notices. She always notices.
Abby’s hands move slowly, awkwardly.
She signs something wrong at first. Fixes it. Tries again.
Max watches carefully.
‘Scared.’
Max’s heart squeezes. She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t say it out loud.
She just hooks her pinky with Abby’s.
'Friend'.
Then she signs back, a little surer this time: ‘I’m here.’
Abby leans her head against Max’s shoulder.
They sit like that in the grass, two five-year-olds with juice boxes and enormous feelings.
No yelling. No speaking. No noise. Just quiet talk.
And a promise made at 9:17 a.m. on a Tuesday.