Date: Monday, September 30, 2020
Leo Araya's POV
The morning light filters softly into the kitchen, casting a warm glow over the half-finished mugs of tea. I move quietly through the routine, dressed in loose brown trousers and a linen shirt tucked under a soft vest. My fingers brush over the woven bracelet from Mom as I pour myself tea - English Breakfast, like always.
Carlos was bouncing in his chair, halfway through a bowl of cereal, and already talking about baseball practice. "Coach says we have a practice game today! I've been practicing my slides all weekend." He mimed one dramatically, nearly knocking over his glass. I caught it before it tipped.
"You'll do great," I signed, smiling as he grinned back. "Tell Dani and Marco hi."
Ray passed through behind us, coffee in one hand, camera bag in the other. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept much - he has been like that since he decided to start looking for a new house. Mom thought it would be good for them to move out, away from the memories. I gave him a nod, and he returned it with a small squeeze to my shoulder.
Julie appeared at the bottom of the stairs, backpack - fully decorated with pins and patches - slung over one shoulder, wearing a red plaid shirt layered over a bright race car graphic tee. She has a deep red cap pulled low over her eyes, the brim shadowing her face as she clutches a neon blue binder to her chest like it might anchor her. Her eyes were puffy but open. Focused. She didn't say anything at first, just moved to grab toast.
"Even if you can't sing today," I say, signing slowly too, "remember that you always have us." I offer a warm look, one that asks for nothing in return.
She doesn't speak but gives me a quiet nod. Her shoulders ease just a little as she pulls her headphones over her ears.
Carlos barrels over to the front door, still tying his shoelaces. "I'm gonna slide into home today," he announces. "Coach says I got the moves!"
I crouch down for a high-five. "Good luck today, champ. Knock it out of the park."
Then the door closed behind Carlos and Julie, and the house fell quiet again.
I stood for a while in the kitchen, stirring my tea. The silence after her footsteps felt too wide. Rose used to hum through mornings like these, a soft background to the chaos. Now it was up to the rest of us to fill the quiet with care.
So, I finished my tea and got ready for school.
First period is art, thank the stars. I lose myself in colors and brushstrokes, finishing the shading on a landscape inspired by a beach I remember from a family trip years ago. The classroom smells like oil pastels and pencil shavings. The silence, even with my implant in, is manageable here. Safe.
Since the first day of school, I've been going through old sketchbooks and stored canvases, looking for pieces that feel honest enough to include in my final portfolio. Today, I picked out two for Ms. Navarro during our feedback check-in. She studies them carefully, tilting her head, the way she does when she's about to be both kind and direct.
"You've always had a strong sense of atmosphere," she says. "But this one—" she taps the older landscape I nearly didn't bring— "this one says something deeper. Let it stay in the mix."
I nod, writing a quick note in the corner of my sketchpad.
She asks if I've started any new work, and I show her the early mind map for a larger piece, it's still just a rough idea. She doesn't say much, just smiles and tells me to keep sketching.
"You're circling something," she says. "Don't rush it. Let it tell you when it's ready."
By second period, the calm fades.
In the hallway before history, the noise ramps up—shouting, footsteps, locker slams. I hear Flynn before I see her.
"Hey, underachiever," she calls to Julie, then lowers her voice just enough to say to me, "Sub whisper."
Julie rolls her eyes. "Hey, disappointment."
I offer Flynn a smile and raise my fist for a bump. She knocks it gently.
Flynn's purple metallic jacket catches the hallway light. Her braids sway as she shifts her weight, one hand adjusting a strap on her bag. The dangling "WHAT" earring on one side flashes as she talks.
"Okay, I know you don't want me to ask," Flynn starts, glancing toward Julie's bag, "but have you figured out what you're gonna do today?"
Julie exhales. "I'll know in the moment."
"Really, Jules? That's all you're giving me?" Flynn lowers her voice again. "Mrs. Harrison said this is your last chance."
"I know. I was there." Julie's voice is flat. She shifts the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.
A girl walks by, chipper and clueless. "See you at the rally!"
Julie groans. "Ugh. What is she handing out?"
From down the hall, Carrie's voice cuts through the chaos. "Hi!" she says brightly, fake smile wide as she tosses pink flyers into outstretched hands. She is dressed all "Legally Blonde" vibes—plaid pink set, glossy curls.
"Desperation?" Julie mutters.
Carrie sweeps up to us and holds out a flyer like it's a blessing from on high. "Here you go. My group's performing at the spirit rally this Friday. I'm sure you guys have nothing better to do." Her voice is syrupy. Sarcastic.
Flynn gasps in exaggerated delight. "Oh my gosh, Carrie. Thanks!"
Carrie mirrors her tone flawlessly. "Oh my gosh, Flynn. Don't bother coming!"
Then she turns to me. "Here you go, Leo." Her smile flickers for half a second, and then she's moving to hand flyers to someone else.
"Come see Dirty Candy this Friday!" Carrie calls, flouncing down the hall like it's a runway.
Julie makes a small sigh, and as I look in the direction she is looking at, Flynn rolls her eyes and sighs. "Nick? Still? You know they're gonna get married and have a bunch of unholy babies."
Julie manages a small smile. "Nick's a sweetheart."
I glance at her. "You'd actually have to talk to him to know that."
Flynn smirks. "And only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby. Demon!" She yells, and as Carrie turns to look, they crouch down. Julie bursts into quiet snickers, and I can't help but smile too.
"There's that smile," Flynn says, nudging her shoulder.
I wait a beat, then nod toward the music room. "Now," I say, voice soft but firm, "go and prove everybody wrong."
When school lets out, I lean against the iron gate near the music wing, sketchbook under one arm. Students filter past. I don't look up until I see Julie, no longer wearing her red shirt, eyes red-rimmed, walking fast.
I don't say anything. I just fall into step beside her.
She doesn't stop me. Doesn't speak. But she doesn't walk away either.
Julie claims the kitchen table for homework the second we walk in. Her eyes flick up to me in silent request, and I nod, already turning toward the garage.
"I'll be out here if you need anything," I say gently, then close the door behind me.
The air in the garage is cooler, the dust dancing through golden light. I unzip my bag and set my sketchpad down with care. The soft fabric of my coveralls settles against my skin, and I ease the cochlear implant from behind my ear, placing it neatly into its case.
Silence folds over me like a favorite blanket. I exhale.
My brush finds its rhythm quickly. Color blooms. I don't track time. I just follow shape and shadow, layering light onto a stretch of painted hillside.
The light flickers off, then on again. Once. Twice.
I pause, then glance up.
Ray stands by the switch near the door, hand still resting on the wall. He waits until I meet his eyes, then signs casually," You wanna come to Carlos's game?"
I nod before he even finishes the sentence.
School drained me, and the idea of sitting in a cheering crowd with my implant in makes my head ache just thinking about it. But I don't need sound to show up. And I like watching Carlos play.
I clean my brush and pack up with practiced efficiency. Ray gives a little smile as I sling my bag over my shoulder.
"He'll be happy you're there," he says, signing "thank you" as we leave.
We step out into the soft afternoon light, heading to the field while Julie stays behind in the house.
The car ride is quiet at first, windows cracked just enough to let in the breeze. Ray hums under his breath—something low and steady—and taps the wheel with his fingers. I can't hear it, but I feel the rhythm in the air between us.
By the time we arrive at the field, the game's already started. Carlos is on second base, crouched and locked in.
Ray raises both hands and cups them around his mouth. "Let's go, Carlos!" he shouts.
Carlos glances toward the stands, squinting, then beams when he spots us. I raise both arms high and wave them side to side, hands open. Deaf/HoH community style. His face lights up as he gives a proud little fist pump.
We find seats near the back row, slightly out of the densest crowd. I settle in, arms folded, legs stretched, just watching. The game unfolds in motion and shape. I don't need to hear it to follow.
Carlos plays hard. Slides. Dives. Runs like there's no tomorrow. And even though he doesn't make it home this time, I catch his grin from across the field.
He saw us. That's enough.
Carlos jumps into the backseat, eyes wide. I catch his animated expression in the rearview mirror as he speaks. "I slid into home! But I was just a fraction too late, and the ump called me OUT. It was so close! Coach even argued with him."
Ray winces in sympathy. "That's tough, bud. But nice hustle."
"Yeah," Carlos says, still breathless, "next time I'm diving sooner. Like—like a superhero."
I turn in my seat and grin, signing alongside my words. "Just don't break anything. You're our best ghost hunter."
Carlos beams, clearly proud of that title.
The sun's setting by the time Ray and I walk back up the path to the house. The air smells like jasmine and cooling pavement. I don't hear it, but I feel the sharp burst of movement before I even see her, Julie, sprinting up from the garage path, now wearing her yellow jumper draped loosely over her t-shirt. Her cap is gone.
Her mouth moves fast. She's shouting something.
"Dad!"
Ray startles. "Whoa! Hey!"
She reaches us, out of breath, wide-eyed. Ray grips her shoulders gently, trying to ground her.
"Slow down," he says, his voice calm but alert. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I have!" she blurts.
Carlos peeks out from behind Ray, eyes lighting up. "Cool."
Julie shoots him a withering look. "Not cool!" Then she bolts into the house.
Ray and I exchange glances. I can't hear the chaos, but the energy is loud enough. I tilt my head after her, then glance at Carlos, who's already pulling out his tablet.
"She's screaming again," he signs. "Upstairs, I think."
I arch a brow.
"Ghosts," he says matter-of-factly. "They get louder if you talk about them after dark. That's what the internet says. Also, salt. Or jellybeans. Depends who you ask."
I fight a smile and ruffle his hair. "Let your dad handle it."
We sink onto the couch, Carlos booting up his tablet while I open my backpack and start on calculus homework.
I'd barely started reviewing derivatives when my phone buzzed next to me.
A message from Dylan lit up the screen:
DJ DY:
bro u seriously missed out
music night was 🔥
u better have a good excuse
I grinned and typed back with one hand while flipping my notebook open with the other.
ME:
Very good excuse.
Carlos had a baseball game. He was the MVP.
(Also: how dare you be cool without me)
Before I could go back to my notes, a second ping.
Zay:
I got to play Boccherini's Cello Concerto in G!!!
Dylan made a whole remix of it on the spot
we were like a cello-dj duo lol
That made me pause. I could almost feel what that must've sounded like. The floor was vibrating under their shoes. The way Zay always glows when he plays something hard and nails it.
ME:
That sounds awesome.
I'm sure everyone else felt that mashup in their bones.
Sorry I missed it — cousin duties. Carlos hit a triple and ran like a maniac 😆
A minute later, a third message popped up.
EILEEN:
Event was a success.
Hope it reached the right people.
I smiled softly. Trust her to keep the heart of it all in mind.
ME:
Zay absolutely loved it.
And I'm pretty sure everyone else did too.
Even if it was on a Monday 😅
EILEEN:
Lol thanks
Dean was just as miffed about the day
but it was the only one that fit. We survive.
I tucked the phone into the couch cushions and went back to my notes, still smiling. It was nice, knowing that even when I wasn't there, they were still making music. Making noise. Making space.
About four hours later, the sun has shifted, I have long since finished my homework for the day, and Carlos has half-finished a game on his tablet - we see Julie walk back down the path from the house, out the front door. Her pace is steady but urgent. She's gripping something in her hand. As she gets closer, I recognize it: a small wooden cross.
Carlos leans toward the window, eyes wide. "She's got a cross," he signs. "Like, an actual one. This is serious."
I glance up from my backpack, eyebrows raised.
"You know," he continues, hiding his hands from the window like it's classified information, "if you wave one around while shouting in Latin, some ghosts just, like, disappear. That's what the forums say."
I nod slowly, trying not to laugh. "Noted."
Carlos boots up his tablet again. I flip open my notebook.
We settle into the couch, ghost defense theory hanging gently in the air.
The scent of tomato sauce and warm bread fills the air. I help Ray set the table, arranging the plates and cutlery with quiet precision.
Carlos goes to fetch Julie as I stack the napkins neatly beside the water glasses, pausing to light one of the candles mom brought last week. It smells like vanilla and citrus.
At the table, Ray folds his hands. "Your turn, Carlos."
Carlos clears his throat solemnly, sitting up straighter than usual. "Thank you for our leftovers and the power of the mighty microwave. Amen."
Julie cracks a smile. "Amen."
I smile and sign, "Amen". I didn't close my eyes; I needed to read Carlos's lips for the prayer. Ray chuckles beside me and adds, "Amen."
Ray looks over. "So, Carlos tells me he found you in the studio."
"She was out there talking to herself," Carlos signs helpfully, taking a big bite of garlic bread.
Julie lifts her chin and signs while saying. "I was rehearsing for a play."
The others suddenly move to remove the extra plate we set out for Rose. Mom must have entered. She does not approve of them doing that, saying that it hinders healing.
Ray calls back, "Yeah, we're in here. Quick!"
She enters, wearing her green floral workout set, ready to palates, holding a large container, holding what smells like her Pastel de arroz con pollo.
Ray shrugs with mock guilt. "Yeah."
Julie grins, sitting up straighter. "Mm! Thanks, Tía. It smells great."
"My sister would kill me, may she rest in peace." Her face softens at the end, and for a second, silence hums around the table.
She glances around and adds, "Oh, I see things here are going better?"
Ray nods, inhaling deeply. "Actually, Julie has been cleaning out Mom's studio. Hopefully, we can get the house on the market and some offers soon."
"Well, I like the sound of that. Moving from here is only gonna help you move on. You've got to rip that Band-Aid off and get the pain over with."
Julie raises both arms dramatically. "That's me. Ripping off the Band-Aid."
Mom laughs, her face bright and warm.
Julie glances to the opposite side. "You shouldn't be here."
Mom gasps in exaggerated offense. "Oh, I'm just here to help, mija."
I lift my hands and sign with a teasing smile, "You should be at Pilates. Julie and Ray are very intense tonight."
Mom raises an eyebrow in amused recognition and gives me a little wink. Julie snorts softly into her glass.
"It's nothing," Mom continues, "And now that you're no longer in the music program, you can concentrate on classes that matter. You got the email from the school, right?"
Carlos and Ray share surprised looks, and I glance sideways just in time to see Julie's face flash with panic.
Ray stiffens beside me. "Yeah. We're still discussing it."
She tries to hide it behind her water glass, but it's there. Obvious to me, at least.
"Bueno. I'm off to Pilates."
I push my chair back and walk over to her, pulling her into a quick hug. She gives me a squeeze in return and kisses the top of my head before smoothing the fabric of my shoulder. It's her way of saying more than words allow.
She kisses the air toward Carlos, who catches it dramatically and swings his hand like a baseball bat.
As the front door clicks shut, I return to my seat just in time to see Carlos lean toward Julie with a hopeful smile. "So, Julie, wanna hear how I slid into home and was almost safe?"
Ray chuckles as he stacks his plate. "You're a good brother. That's not gonna work."
Carlos shrugs. "I tried," he sighs, slouching a little.
I reach over and tap his shoulder, signing gently, "Come on. Let's go set the plates in the sink."
Carlos gives me a look but follows without protest.
Music suddenly blasts from the garage, loud enough that I can feel the vibration in the floorboards without my implant. Julie rushes outside before anyone else can react, and I follow her with Ray, paint-smeared hands clutching a mug of tea. Not because I'm worried, exactly, but because it's late, and I want to go to sleep.
When we reach the studio, Julie is already there, standing rigid. Her face is flushed and sharp with emotion. Ray speaks, but I can't hear him—my implant is still off—and he's talking too fast for me to catch much. Julie's back is to me, her arms wrapped around herself.
"…just had to turn off the CD player," I catch from her, barely. Something about music flickers on her lips, and the word junk.
Ray runs his hands across the drums that Julie somehow has gotten down from the attic space. Julie speaks again, sharper now, but she turns away mid-sentence, and her mouth vanishes from my line of sight. I lose the rest.
I feel lost. Not just because I can't hear, this is deeper. Emotional static. I shuffle back a little, giving them space. But I linger at the edge of the room, hovering like a shadow near the paints.
Then Ray steps away, hands raised in a quiet surrender. His expression softens into something halfway between frustration and care. He nods at me on the way out. I raise a hand, a small wave. He's out the door.
I'm left with Julie and whatever weight she's holding.
She turns slightly and sees me, just a glance. No words. But she signs, "Goodnight", soft and slow, for me to catch it.
I nod, smiling faintly.
Then, she turns back to the center of the room and says something—words meant for someone else. Her shoulders are tense, but her back stays turned, so I can't read her lips.
I sit down again, watching her from across the space. I don't press. I don't ask. I just let the quiet settle back in.
Whatever's happening, it's not meant for me.