They say don’t shoot the messenger. They never said I couldn’t kill the interpreter.
The teacher droned on about the socio-political background of the Boston Tea Party. No one took the life out of already-dead people like Mr. Stein did. Instead of admiring his supreme talent, I focused on Evie, the sign language interpreter at the front of the room. My “notes” were a list of points Evie mis-signed, misrepresented, or missed altogether. Tasmin could check them later to make sure the bungled interpreting hadn’t tangled her too much.
Tasmin glanced over, and I gave a minute facial expression, the slightest squinching of my nose, to indicate Evie was doing semi-okay. Her twitch of an eyebrow in return was code for a sigh. She faced front again to watch the interpreter’s hands fly, for what it was worth. Such tiny changes in expression would have been ambiguous at best to anyone else, but we read each other’s faces perfectly—pretty easy when the face I looked at was my own.
We were identical in every feature, from the chestnut shade of our hair to the way our second toes were slightly longer than our big toes. Our ears were the only difference. Mine worked flawlessly; Tasmin hadn’t heard anything quieter than a jet engine in sixteen years. So I endured the monotone drawl of Mr. Stein, while she wondered what she was missing.
As I jotted down that the Whigs called themselves the Sons of Liberty, not the Husbands of Freedom, I noticed my sister was pondering the lecture less idly than usual. Looked like she was distracted by something and trying to compensate by focusing on Evie more intently. Not the first time, but it had been happening more lately, enough to make me curious. No chance to ask about it in the middle of class, though.
Ten minutes dragged by before the bell rang, mercifully releasing us for lunch. As everyone gathered their things and filed out, Tasmin noticed me glaring after the interpreter.
Lareina, don’t, she signed. It’s not her fault.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, freeing my hands. It’s her job.
She’s five years out of practice, and she only worked in elementary schools before.
Yeah, I know, and interpreters don’t grow on trees. What would they do if there were other deaf kids here, though? Make me interpret for you?
Only if they didn’t realize how much colorful commentary you’d throw in.
We left the classroom and retrieved our lunches from our lockers. Not like it matters, Tasmin continued. Almost everything Stein says, I can read in the book.
For history, sure. Other classes aren’t like audiobooks, though.
So, we work it out, like always.
We took advantage of the cloudless autumn day, eating our lunches at an out-of-the-way table in the courtyard. Eating outside turned out to be a popular choice, and various cliques staked their territory. Cheerleaders flirted with jocks, drama freaks made every moment look and sound like an audition for Shakespeare, and the in-between “normal” kids laughed and had a good time.
Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to be less serious. Tasmin once asked if I would make more friends if we split up and went to different schools, but I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. She tried a school for the deaf when we were younger, and we both hated it. She hadn't felt challenged enough and missed having me around; I’d been even more closed-off and serious, unable to understand the silliness of the other kids.
Deep down where I kept secrets even from my sister, I had a gut-feeling there wasn’t time to be silly. I couldn’t pin it down—so annoying—but it was real. Something important lurked at the edge of my awareness, and I wanted to be ready when I figured it out.
Something else important sat right in front of me. I watched Tasmin nibbling on a carrot stick, still with that ultra-focus going on. No carrot was interesting enough to warrant the attention she gave hers.
I waved in her line-of-sight. My hand could have been invisible, because she didn’t even twitch. Something was wrong.
Tapping her knee finally got her attention, and I signed, What’s up with you?
What do you mean?
You’re distracted.
For a moment, it was clear she wanted to say it was nothing. She sighed instead. If I don’t concentrate on what I’m doing, I get distracted by things I see out of the corner of my eye.
So she concentrated her way out of seeing me wave? Maybe.
That fantastic peripheral vision of yours has drawbacks?
Yeah, I guess so.
She was holding back, I was sure of it, even if her explanation made sense. I knew how visually-oriented she was, how any flash of movement could be like a slammed door to a hearing person. Maybe she was just tuning out the visual noise. As well as I knew my sister, I didn’t entirely understand what it was like to be her, to be deaf in a hearing world. Still, it felt like something more.
There was no chance to dig into it, because Jonathan Kinsey and his friends were sauntering over. I resisted the urge to groan. When we arrived at the start of the school year over a month ago, Jonathan decided we were interesting. Not a big deal in itself—others found us a novel diversion as well—but these boys were different. My skin went into creepy-crawly mode when they were around.
“How are you lovely ladies this afternoon?” Jonathan asked, sliding into a seat opposite me and next to Tasmin.
“We were fine,” I retorted. I was ready to interpret so Tasmin wouldn’t be lost, but she wasn’t looking. Instead, she stared at her lunch more attentively than ever. Weird. Usually I worried she’d be taken by Jonathan’s phony charm.
“You know, I’ve been thinking—”
“Oh, your parents signed the waiver?” Snide remarks worked on everyone else who thought identical twins and sign language were novelties. Jonathan and his crew were persistent, though.
He ignored me, as usual. “If you and Tasmin are identical, why is she deaf?”
Great, someone declared it Stupid Question Day. “Easy, her deafness isn’t genetic. Most isn’t.”
“What is it, then?” piped up Ramon, Jonathan’s right-hand crony. “She jam pencils through her eardrums when she was a baby or something?”
“No, I’m afraid we can’t all be as remedial as you.”
Ramon also let the insult slide. I doubted he understood it.
Jonathan kept pushing. “Something had to make her deaf.”
“Obviously, but we don’t know what, and it doesn’t matter.”
“She really can’t hear anything, can she?” Jonathan reached over to touch Tasmin’s hair. She was aware enough to bat his hand away, but she didn’t look. So much for the “visual noise” theory.
“No, she’s been faking it for sixteen years.” Fed up, I stood and took Tasmin’s arm. Let’s go.
We both gathered our things and left the table to head back into the building. Just as we reached the door, Jonathan cut between us, resting his arms on our shoulders. My instincts said to punch him in the nose, but so far I'd avoided trips to the principal's office at our new school. It’d be nice to keep it that way. I tried walking faster, but he kept up.
“Come on, Lareina, what do you have against friendly conversation?”
“Like you give a damn about us.”
“I’m hurt! I just wanted to know how deaf Tasmin is.”
“Deaf enough.” We’d arrived at the math classroom. “Are you joining calculus?”
When Jonathan saw the teacher inside, he smirked and backed off. “Not today. I’ll see you around, ladies.”
Tasmin finally looked at me after we settled into our seats. What was that all about?
Typical Jonathan, nosing around. What was with you? I would’ve interpreted if you wanted to participate.
She shrugged uncomfortably. Wasn’t in the mood for conversation, I guess.
Another hedging answer. This wasn’t like her—not with me, at least. I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her. Something was definitely going on.
#
Last hour of the day was physics, our favorite class, which solidly qualified us as geeks. Mr. Zabriskie was the liveliest teacher in the school. He didn’t lecture—he explored. Class was full of activities, demonstrations, and experiments, everyone posing questions or offering ideas.
“How are my favorite biological aberrations?” he said when Tasmin and I entered with Evie.
“Some say twinning may be the norm,” I replied. “Which means the only thing ‘aberrant’ about us is that we both held on more than a few days after the split.”
“Then welcome to my favorite survivors. Do you intend to argue with everything I say all year? If so, perhaps I should clear my schedule.”
We smiled for what seemed the first time that day, knowing he was teasing. Mr. Z liked us arguing, because arguing meant questioning and looking for evidence, taking nothing for granted.
With that in mind, I said, “I don’t know. Are you going to keep fighting my idea of dimensional layers?”
“Ah, that entertaining essay of yours will prove to be the seed that grows into your Nobel Prize, or the most outlandish piece of science fiction ever written.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll thank you when I win that Nobel.”
The hour was spent discussing the properties of electricity, involving everyone getting shocked at least once, but nothing much worse than a carpet-induced static charge. We also had fun playing with a Van de Graaf generator, taking turns having our hair stand on-end.
After the bell rang to dismiss school for the day, Mr. Z held both of us back, along with Evie to interpret. “I know you’re only juniors, but have you girls started thinking about college?”
I caught Tasmin’s eye. “You know our situation. The only way we’re likely to go is with scholarships.”
“Based on your work so far this year, it shouldn’t be a problem. Thought about majors?”
“We both like science and math, so probably something with those.”
“If I can be biased and selfish, let me recommend physics. Your dimensional layers theory may be crazy, but it also shows you’ve got a mind that could take you far in that field. And Tasmin, the insightful detail in your lab reports is spectacular. Think about it.”
We said we would and thanked him before leaving the classroom. Once Evie was on her way, Tasmin smirked.
Can you imagine, you, a physicist? You’d blow up the planet.
Give me some credit, I retorted. I’d only blow up the parts I don’t like.
Leaving what?
Her teasing was refreshingly normal, and I smiled.
Okay. Maybe you have a point.