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Chapter One: Nineteen is the Goal

**Lyric POV**

**Flashback**

I remember the red and blue lights of the cop cars flashing like strobe lights, the constant wail of sirens piercing the air, and the golden-haired paramedic gently pulling a cloth over my shoulder. He carefully immobilized my leg while another paramedic held a tiny flashlight, peering into my eyes.

"She looks healthy, aside from a few scratches here and there. The fracture will heal in a month or so. She will be fine," he announced, but I paid no attention to his words; my eyes were glued to the ambulance.

I stared at the stretcher, horrified as an arm rolled off it and hit the ground. One of the paramedics quickly followed, picking it up and placing it back on the stretcher as if it were a loose gumball. I cringed at the sight of my favorite candy ring adorning her index finger. I had given her that ring.

"What is your name, sweetie? Who is the lady on the stretcher?" he asked. I gave him no response-not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. My lips suddenly forgot how to move. Tears streamed down my face as my shoulders began to shake. The paramedic cursed under his breath and stared at me intently, his eyes filled with pity. "I think she's in shock," he murmured.

---

"Aunt Lyric, Hanna is hugging the bathroom to herself and doesn't want to come out! I have to pee!" Lana, the youngest of the triplets, exclaimed, dancing in place as if trying to hold it in. Her blonde ponytail bounced with each movement. They were all identical: same hair, same eye color, even the same voice, but I could spot their differences with just a glance.

It was just another chaotic morning at the Spencer house. I had a crying eight-month-old, Derrick, on my hip-he was the youngest of the family-while a six-year-old begged to use the bathroom, and the second triplet, Catherine, played with her train set in her underwear in the living room. Meanwhile, our aspiring pop queen was rocking out to Madison Beer in the bathroom.

Great. Just great.

I turned off the stove, leaving the eggs barely cooked, and rushed to the bathroom to coax Hanna out. The one silver lining of having triplets was not having to deal with triplets and an infant. Derrick's cries grew louder with each step I took, and I didn't blame him. The poor kid was hungry. His mother had weaned him at six months, which left me to deal with it.

My aunt, Stephanie, loved giving birth but despised everything that followed. I often thought the idea of being paid during her maternity leave excited her more than the children themselves.

I pounded on the bathroom door-three hard knocks-hoping Hanna could hear me above the blaring music. I pictured her inside, probably slathering my lip gloss over her lips while lip-syncing to the catchy tune.

I despised introducing her to music at such a young age.

I hit the door again, wishing I could suddenly yell at this six-year-old to end my suffering by opening the door. It was fifteen minutes past five in the morning; I needed to prepare the triplets for school and Derrick for daycare so I could catch the bus early and arrive at school on time. Today was my first day of sophomore year. I was excited, despite last year being a disaster.

I hit the door again.

Unfortunately, there was still no response.

Lana tugged at my sweatpants, stained with vomit, pee, and remnants of a food fight, as she continued to dance around the room. There was only one bathroom in this three-room apartment, and it was horrifying.

What happened in that bathroom sometimes scared me. I worried the kids might get infections due to their father's constant infidelities. That was why I washed the bathroom twice a day.

She pulled on my pants again. "Aunt Lyric, please tell her to open the door! I want to pee!" she emphasized, her face scrunched in desperation.

I reached out to ruffle her hair when Catherine, the bane of my existence and the rudest of the triplets, piped up, "Don't waste your time on Aunt Lyric. Don't you know she's mute? Dad says she's defective and probably doesn't understand what we're saying." She pointed at her head and performed the weirdest sign language I had ever seen-just a figure eight and some random symbol. It was ridiculous.

As much as I wanted to remember that she was just a six-year-old fed nonsense by her alcoholic father, I couldn't help the pang in my stomach or the sting of tears behind my eyes.

Being called mute was my sore spot.

I knew I couldn't talk, and it was my worst insecurity. I used to speak freely, but now I didn't.

"Aunt Lyric hears just fine; she can't talk, that's all," my favorite, Lana, snapped back at her sister. My face lit up with happiness until I felt something warm and liquid hit my feet.

I jumped back, startled, as I noticed the pee pooling on the floor and Lana's wet skirt. She clapped her hand over her mouth in shock.

One, two, three-I counted to stop myself from thinking about mopping the floor again. Lana broke into giggles. "I don't need to go to the bathroom anymore!"

I shook my head, exasperated, as Derrick, who had gone quiet, suddenly let out a wail louder than a fire alarm. Speaking of fire alarms, an actual one blared above my head. Before I could react, the system unlocked, and water from the ceiling began to rain down on us.

"It's raining!" the kids shouted in unison, their laughter echoing through the chaos.

Hanna's music blared even louder as Lana twirled in delight beneath the unexpected shower.

I dashed across the room for the mop, but my foot slipped on the wet floor, and I fell hard. I managed to secure Derrick in my arms, making sure he didn't get hurt as I went down.

I blinked the tears away, thinking ' I hate my life.'

Quickly, I got to my feet, shaking off the water and focusing on the triplets. I struggled to sign with Derrick on my hip. <>

Due to their young ages, the triplets had learned to comprehend my signs better than my uncle and his wife. In fact, Catherine was the only one among them who still struggled.

The giggles and chaos began to fade as the kids realized they needed to help. Catherine stared down at me with her hands on her hips, "Why would I do that? Aunt Lyric, it's your job to take care of us. Daddy said you're our maid."

Of course, I was the maid. I was also the tutor, the cook, the lawn mower. Ever since I lost my parents, my uncle had taken me in. I became a maid for them.

I started cooking at nine, washing their clothes, going to the market. And with my disorder, everything became so much harder with every human contact.

Nonetheless, I pretended I didn't hear that. Catherine had been calling me the maid since she was in diapers. It didn't matter; everything would get better when I turned nineteen. I reminded myself of that.

Lana listened to her sister and ran off somewhere, while I went back to ensure the stove was off and the eggs weren't completely burnt. They were the last three eggs we had.

The music grew louder, and my aunt yelled something from her room upstairs. I leaned against the kitchen sink, trying to hum Derrick to sleep.

My phone pinged with a message from our school website. I ignored it, focusing on cleaning the dishes with Derrick on my back. He must have fallen asleep as he nestled against me, but my thoughts were interrupted by his soft whimpers before he settled down again.

I continued to hum while secretly repeating my mantra in my head.

*Nineteen is my goal. Nineteen is soon. Nineteen will be the best.*

---

Author's Note

The female character is mute so I will use this symbols ' << >> ' when she is communicating/signing. Thank you.

Chapter Two: Bad idea

It had been barely twenty minutes since I arrived at school, and someone was already yelling at me. As if it were my fault that they decided not to use the pavement and chose the pedestrian path.

At the entrance, I was taken aback by the poster of the school hockey team, the *Velmont Sharks*.

It featured a group photo of six hockey players and their coach, all wearing huge smiles for winning the Stanley Cup three years ago. That win did great things for our town; it basically put Velmont on the map. Despite being a town of farmers and bikers, it was known by the world as a town of hockey.

Three recruits from our school played exceptionally during the playoffs. It went viral online-we had memes, posters, everything leading back to our tomato-bearing Velmont.

I sighed, making my way to my locker, when I suddenly felt someone slam into me, and I crashed against the locker. Pain reverberated through my body, and I bit my lip to deal with it.

It took only a waft of her intoxicating perfume for me to guess who it was-Emilia Davidson, my school bully and arch-nemesis. She towered over me with a smirk, showcasing her dimpled chin and forest green eyes that stared daggers at me.

As if being in school were the last place she would see me in this small town of two thousand people.

"Guess what the shark dragged in-the mute dumbass, Lyric Spencer," she taunted, venom coating her every word. It is a tradition in Velmont to use "shark" in place of other popular nouns. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulder. Emilia is the campus belle of our school, with her olive skin and round, gorgeous face. She is the postcard of beauty and arrogance.

Her backup, Ruffina and Cindy, who are shorter, took a stance poorly imitating her dominance.

My eyes immediately found the floor; I knew the drill. I couldn't stand up to these girls when I couldn't even talk. Even if I did anything, I would lose my scholarship, and that would mean no nineteen glory for me.

I refused to give Millie-Emilia-that.

In an instant, I lowered my head in apology, my fingers pressing against my index finger to control my anger. Even if I got angry, I couldn't do anything to Emilia. I couldn't.

"Did you say something?" Emilia asked, flaunting her French-manicured nails in my direction. She broke into laughter. "Oh, I forgot you can't talk."

As if on cue, everyone in the hall burst into laughter; the joke was old and not even funny. But if Emilia said it, then it was hilarious.

Instead of staying, I reached into my locker to grab my books from last year, which I kept in case those triplets got snooping in my bag again.

That was how I lost a biology book I got from the library. To this day, the librarian hates me for bringing the book back in pieces.

I nodded my head to apologize again and started to leave. Suddenly, pain spread through my body when she pulled on my short hair, which I had forgotten to wash that morning. It was staggering back; tears filled my eyes as I struggled to search for a teacher.

It was hopeless, though. Emilia was the mayor's daughter. The mayor happened to be the principal of this school, the only college in Velmont that gave me a scholarship. No one would come to my rescue.

I could only swallow down my pain rather than punch her in the throat like I wanted to. I didn't even know why she hated me this much.

"When I am talking to you, don't fucking walk away," she said, holding my hair tighter, and I felt like my scalp was on fire. I tried to peel her hands off, but Ruffina slapped them down.

"Let go of my best friend."

My shoulders sagged in relief upon hearing that. My best friend, Wren Evergreen, came to my rescue. She pushed Emilia away and held me against her bosom as if I were a kid. Her perfume engulfed me as I took in her clothing: a bright red, above-knee-length dress and giant gold hoop earrings. Her hair was professionally done into a beautiful braid I could only find on Pinterest.

As always, my bestie was overdressed. Wren loves dressing up, even to sleep. Meanwhile, I felt like Selena Gomez in my button-up shirts and blue jeans.

"Wow, do you step out of a catalog, Wren?"

"How did you know? It was one of those your father's underage whores love to keep around. Emilia!"

That response elicited a gasp from the entire school. Unlike me, Wren's father was wealthy and a huge investor at the school, so she didn't have to walk on eggshells around Queen Bee to keep her scholarship.

If I had her life for a day, I would rub Emilia's face in the ground and make her beg for my mercy. I loathed her and every other bully and supporter of hers in this school.

Breaking out of her tongue tie, Emilia thumped her designer shoes on the ground, her face red with anger. She seethed, "You watch out, Evergreen."

"And you too, Davidson!" Wren snapped back, narrowing her eyes. She was pissed and not trying to hide it. I could only imagine what she was thinking of doing to Emilia.

Whatever it was, mine was worse. Probably a felony, and I would be awarded jail time for smacking her into unconsciousness with her ten-inch heels.

"Babe," she called me fondly, her eyes searching my face, "Why do you let that insect on long legs treat you like that?"

I avoided her gaze because she knew why. I knew why. Apart from the scholarship, Wren knew it was more than that.

I secretly hoped Emilia would never know why. She would despise me even more and might even kill me just to exact revenge. At my height of five-five and Wren's five-eight, I looked like her younger sister, even though I was older by three months.

"Won't you answer me?" she purred, fiddling with the rabbit-ear case of her iPhone. I bet it's the latest version.

<< You know why. I need this scholarship >> I signed back.

Wren sighed. She wrapped her arm around mine, squeezing me into a hug. "I miss you."

Before I could sign back, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of Gavin Hawkins. I could feel the rush of blood to my heart, and my head started to spin at the sight of him. All six of the hottest hockey players in our school walked side by side, chatting and playfully punching each other. But my eyes were only for Gavin.

Everyone was stuck on them.

Gavin, aka "the wall," is the goalie of our school hockey team. At six-five, he looked like heaven from down here. I found myself drooling whenever he ran a hand through his golden wavy hair.

I had a crush on him since the first day of freshman year when he bumped into me in the school gym. Although he only apologized in a hurry, I still remembered the way he sounded.

Gavin Hawkins is one of the reasons I get excited to come to school every day. He is a senior; this will be my last year of seeing him, and I might just have to make the most of it by gawking like a fool in the school hallway.

Ouch.

I was startled when Wren pinched me in the arm. Her stepbrother is part of the hockey team, the captain. I glared at her, and she laughed. "Don't start drooling again."

Hence, she is immune to all their hockey hotness. She sees them every day and says they sweat like pigs on fire.

I sighed, clearly swooning. << He is perfect. >>

"Go talk to him already," she urged me with a push toward his direction. My steps came to an abrupt halt, and my pupils went wide.

Talk to him?

Did she mean sign or text?

Who would be dumb enough to engage with someone who can't speak? He had a list of speaking girls who were hotter and smarter.

Bad idea!

"Hey, don't look at me. This is their last year, so if you don't tell him your feelings quickly, you might miss this chance forever. Gavin is a prodigy; he will be recruited by the NHL by the end of the year and will become a star player. Don't you want to say you kissed him?"

Butterflies filled my stomach at the image of my lips on his. I had never kissed anyone, but I heard it was wet. I wouldn't mind if it were with Gavin.

Although her idea was tempting, I wouldn't risk the embarrassment and rejection by engaging in any conversation with him.

Nineteen might mean better, but Gavin is a never.

# Chapter Three: Gavin Hawkins was an Asshole

The first hours of school went on smoothly until literature, when the teacher talked about the bullying she had suffered back in school. It made me remember when I was younger.

I had been a shy and quiet kid, but my mutism had made me an easy target for bullies. They called me "silent treatment" and said I was "ignoring" them, even when I was trying my best to communicate. They pushed me around, tripped me in the hallways, and even stole my lunch money.

This was college, and so much had changed. Some people had realized it was a disorder and not my doing; only Emilia had changed.

I shook my head, trying to get those thoughts off my mind.

"Are you okay, Miss Spencer?"

The literature teacher, Miss Beth, had inquired, her face contorting in worry. It warmed my heart that she cared about me. Only a few people cared about me.

Before I could gesture that I was fine, someone beat me to it. I didn't know who in a class of a hundred students. I only detected that it was a male voice: "Maybe she has Tourette Syndrome. It wouldn't surprise me that she is a walking disorder."

The class had laughed in unison. It wasn't even funny.

"You should be ashamed of yourself for bullying someone like her. Billie Eilish has Tourette too. Would you think of her any less?"

I had been fine with Beth talking until she said "someone like her." I hated people thinking of me only as a disorder. Although I needed them to acknowledge that I was different and needed more patience, I didn't like being thought of as broken or defective, as my uncle loved to call it.

The class grew quiet at Miss Beth's scolding. I sent her a polite smile, and she smiled back at me. This made me happy. I thought I might like this woman.

In the next class, it was mathematics-my favorite course, as it involved less talking. I could just solve my way through the day without having to explain anything. That year, we were getting a new teacher from New York. I hoped he would be better than the last one, who kept sleeping in class.

Suddenly, my phone began to ring. I reached into my pocket to answer when someone bumped into me, and it fell to the ground. My heart shattered along with the screen of my phone; I had been using it for two years now. I still needed it until I could work enough to pay for another.

"I am so sorry," he said softly, picking up the phone. Our eyes met, and I was stunned by how good-looking he was up close. My heart raced at the thought of kissing him. My brown eyes locked onto his, and I couldn't help but notice the striking sectoral heterochromia - his eyes were a mesmerizing mix of green and hazel. His wavy, thick, dark blonde hair was so enticing that I desperately wanted to ruffle it.

I couldn't react to him. I only gawked.

Gavin awkwardly smiled at me, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Miss, do you want a new one instead of an apology or a date?" He winked at me.

Again, I could not gesture back anything. I was frozen. Was he flirting with me?

"Tell me, beautiful." He offered me a smile, which made my insides go mushy. Gavin Hawkins just called me beautiful. I couldn't help but look over to his arm at the ink peeking from underneath the sleeves of his shirt. He licked his lips seductively, his eyes lingering on my face. "I am waiting for your answer, gorgeous."

My cheeks burned redder at his compliment. Wren was the only one who had called me sweet names.Except for Austin, my last boyfriend, who I found out only wanted to sleep with me because of a dumb bet to find out if I was still a virgin.

Was Gavin Hawkins a part of the bet too?

No, no. It couldn't be. He was only teasing me.

Gavin Hawkins was the tattooed bad boy in our school, known for using girls like tissues and never being in a serious relationship in his life. His longest relationship had happened to be only a month old. He would not include himself in a bet when he could have anyone. He dated Emilia, after all.

"Miss??" He waved his hand, his voice growing hard with each passing moment.

"Don't waste your breath on her. She can't hear or talk to you. The girl is dumb and deaf." Someone from the hallway stopped and told him. He looked familiar; we probably shared a class together. He looked at me in pity, then smiled at Gavin.

Stupid. "Bless your heart" He murmured to me.

Bless your heart!

"Oh," Gavin Hawkins muttered. I hoped to hear disappointment in his voice, but I didn't. Instead, he took my hand and put a wad of cash into it. He offered a tiny smile, saying slowly and loudly, "I am sorry about your phone."

And like that, Gavin was gone. He thought I was dead and dumb.

This was the end game for me. Tears filled my eyes, and I tossed the cash into my bag and headed to class.

As I stepped into class, everyone stood up and gave me a standing ovation. I stared in confusion, wondering what I did to deserve it.

Was it because I had all A's and B's last semester? It couldn't be, could it?

No.

I was being ridiculous, but I enjoyed the moment, hoping this was not one of those stupid Emilia plans. I searched for her in the pool of faces and didn't find her, despite doing the same major. She was never in class but managed to get good grades for the next class.

"Congratulations!!" The whole class announced, lifting up a banner with it on it.

My face lit up at the banner. Was it all because of last year? Did I get another scholarship?

I raised my hand to gesture a "thank you," when a deep voice murmured behind me, "Thank you."

I almost jumped out of my skin at the voice. Gavin Hawkins stood behind me, watching me with a curiosity I couldn't decipher. His eyes lingered on my face, then he marched off to his seat.

Red crept onto my cheeks for thinking the poster was for me. I was silly.

I searched the class for a seat, but none were available.

A man in a grey suit, presumably the math teacher, walked in. He was a leen man with brown hair. "Everyone take your seats," he announced without sparing the class a glance. "You, why are you standing? Take a seat!"

He turned and pointed toward me, my stomach clenching at the cold sound of his voice. I hoped he was only having a bad day.

I gestured, <>

His face was etched with confusion and frustration. The teacher pointed at the door. "Use the door, bitch, or take a fucking seat."

Gasps rippled through the air at his use of profanity.

And calling me a bitch. I hated that name the most. It was an appellation my uncle used to refer to his side chicks. I didn't want to be anyone's side chick.

Once again, I tried to gesture to him that I couldn't find a seat because there were none. He did not understand sign language, so he only got angrier. His nose flared, and he yelled, "Get out of my class! Are you dumb?"

I heard giggles reverberate in the class. My eyes searched for Gavin to see if he was laughing too. I was pleased to find he was not. He had a blank expression. Our eyes crashed, and he looked away.

It felt like I had been shot with a bullet. Gavin got up from his seat and walked toward me, announcing, "She can have mine." He scrunched his nose as he ambled past me.

With that, he left the room, looking as if I made him uncomfortable. I was beautiful enough to flirt with, but the second he found out about my disorder, he couldn't look my way. My eyes began to get blurry as I made my way up to the tiny steps that led to his seat. I wiped it before sitting, as if it would take his scent away from it.

My head reeled back to the look on his face. Was it disgust or pity? I couldn't tell.

Soon, the teacher, who introduced himself as Paulo Smith, began teaching. As much as I tried to focus on the equations on the board, I couldn't help but think about how Gavin had scrunched his nose at me.

This was what I feared; just like the others, Gavin saw only my disability.

Lesson of the day learned: Gavin Hawkins was an asshole.