Page 17 of Speak

Someone in the back says “freak!” behind a cough and other students murmur something along the lines of, “faking it.”

Maverick looks up to see who's said what but then he glances back down at me and quirks a dark eyebrow as his eyes bounce between Jonas and me. I blink back the tear that wants to escape again. “Explain.”

“Look, I know you’re new here and don’t know much about this place, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that in front of everyone.”

I could kiss Jonas.

Professor Harrington sighs. “See me after class. Both of you.” He takes his leave of us and heads back over to the whiteboard and directs us to open the textbook to page thirty-four, chapter one.

“You okay?”

I shoot him a side-glance in appreciation, barely nod once and keep my eyes locked on my textbook for the next eighty-minutes, barely glancing up as Harrington pulls down a screen, turns on a projector and begins to write KEMPER.

Harrington’s eyes drift to me every now and then, glaring. When someone starts childishly shooting spit wads into my hair, he just continues on with his lecture until Jonas sits up, turns around, and screams at whoever is doing it tofucking stop.

Maverick’s eyes only narrow when he sees Jonas reach under the desk to put his hand on my thigh and squeeze.

______

After class, Jonas and I stay behind. But that doesn’t mean students aren’t staring at us (me) as they leave the classroom. Professor Harrington is sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. I can’t help but stare at the ink crawling over his skin now that he’s folded his sleeves over them. He did that during class, his eyes on me while he did so and I couldn’t help but feel that stare go straight to my core. He only looked away once he saw me squirm in my seat. Jonas had looked over at me, too but I ignored his hazel gaze.

When we reached him, I couldn’t help but squirm under his stare again, shifting from foot to foot, then looking straight at his chest where those tattoos on his forearms were exposed. What’s wrong with me?

“So, what is this about a verbal issue?”

Jonas sighs heavily. “There was an incident on campus a few years ago, Professor. You can Google it yourself, but she can’t tell you her story, and I won’t either. Just know, due to the incident, she can’t talk.”

Maverick nods and then shrugs. “Miss Monroe,” I look up at him. “Do you sign? Can you get an interpreter?”

I blink once, look at his shoulder, then back up at his face and blink again.

“I see. Well, Miss Monroe, you should probably drop this class and find another. The debates are critical to your grade and if you can’t speak, and refuse to get an interpreter, then you’ll fail this class.”

I can’t control how rapidly I blink.That wasn’t on the syllabus.I want to argue. I inaudibly gasp a few times, my mouth opening andclosing. The words want to come out. They do. But it’s been so long since I’ve used my voice. I don’t even know if I can form the right syllables anymore. I scrunch my face up, face turning red, panic rising. It’s only when Harrington realizes I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack, his peridot eyes widen, and he holds up his hands.

“Okay, okay. Let’s breathe,” he says, concern in his voice but it’s too fucking late for that. I hate myself. No, not myself. What happened to me. I hate what happened to me and what became of me afterwards.

“Look, Prof, in her defense, she probably took this class because youdidn’thave open debates on your syllabus.” Jonas argues, putting his hand on my back and begins rubbing slow, soothing circles. His touch should hurt. It should burn me… but it doesn’t.

Jonas deserves a fucking blowjob. If I ever learned how to give one.

I point at him, Maverick’s gaze once again bounces between us, while I try to gulp down air.

How am I supposed to go to my other classes now? My face is entirely numb and probably red as fuck. This is so embarrassing. Why? Why can’t I just be fucking normal again?

“C’mon, Raven, let’s go get you some water. Maybe some breakfast.” His hand slips down to my waist and he tugs me closer, his thumb rubbing circles under my ribcage where my lungs still hurt from semi-seizing, leading me away from the hot professor glaring at me.

“Yes, in the meantime, Miss Monroe, I believe we’ll both have to make some decisions going forward.”

Shit.

Chapter Four

Maverick.

The last thing I needed this morning was to be running late to get to class. But when I park my matte black Navigator in the faculty parking lot, I’m met with a swarm of students in the hallways all trying to also not be late for their very first day of whatever semester they’re in.

“She looks different. I think she used to have highlights. Now all she has is that weird silver streak. You think that’s fake, too?”

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