Our silent symphony

Monday mornings are my quiet escape. While the rest of the world groans about alarms and homework, I slip on my headphones and go live, sharing a little broadcast about Sunday’s church teaching. It’s silly maybe, but it feels like someone is listening, even if it’s just me talking into the void. “Gwen!” My mom’s voice crashed into my peace, muffled through the door. “Are you still on that broadcast?” I winced, closing my eyes. Great. Perfect timing. “Yes, Mom,” I called back. “Well—was. You just ruined it.” “Breakfast. Come downstairs.” “Okay,” I muttered, more to myself than her. I peeled the headphones off and left the mic behind. In the bathroom, the shower steamed up the mirror while I scrubbed away the last of my mood. By the time I dressed for school, glasses in place and backpack thrown over my shoulder, I had stitched myself together again. Everyone was already seated when I hurried into the dining room. My dad gave me a quick glance, but my sister Dominique… she rolled her eyes the second I sat down. Classic. I adjusted my glasses and slid into the chair beside Dad. The prayer was said. Silence followed. I liked it that way—still, calm, like maybe we could pass a meal without drama. Of course, I should’ve known better. Dominique stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. “Where do you think you’re going?” Dad asked. “None of your business.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Dominique!” His voice shook the table. “Get back here!” Before she could, Mom jumped in, voice sharp. “Let her go. She doesn’t need to explain herself.” Dad slammed his hand down. “This is exactly the problem. You let her do whatever she wants!” “She’s our daughter!” “And Gwen isn’t?!” His shout made my chest tighten. “You’ve never treated Gwen half as well!” My spoon hovered halfway to my mouth. My stomach clenched, but I didn’t move. Then Mom said it. The words that dropped like a stone in the ,” I said, shoving my chair back. “Gwen—” Dad started, but I was already at the door. Outside, I dragged my feet against the pavement, trying to shake their voices out of my head. Zee, our retriever, came trotting up, nudging his nose into my leg like he could smell the storm inside me. I crouched and buried my fingers in his fur, letting the tears escape before I could stop them. “Thanks, Zee,” I whispered, wiping my cheeks. I stood straighter, bracing myself as I walked toward the bus stop. That’s when I saw him—a tall figure sprinting down the street, shirt half-unbuttoned, flapping wildly behind him. Bert Greenwood. Despite myself, I smiled. My chest bubbled with something warm, something safe. Whatever else happened at home, at least I had him. Bert finally reached me, breathless but grinning like he’d just won a marathon he hadn’t trained for. Without warning, his hand landed on my head, ruffling my hair into chaos. “How’s my plushie doing?” he asked, eyes sparkling behind—wait. Glasses? I blinked, forgetting to answer his question because… Bert Greenwood was wearing glasses. My best friend, the same guy who laughed at me for “hiding behind mine,” now had a pair perched on his face like he was born with them. He noticed my stare and chuckled. “Oh, these? Found them in my sister’s old stuff.” He leaned in closer, tilting his head so I could see. “Look familiar?” My gaze dropped to the tiny golden bird etched on the frame. I nodded. “It’s exactly like mine.” “Which means,” he declared dramatically, “we’re officially twins now.” I couldn’t help it—I laughed, the sound bubbling out before I could stop it. “You’re impossible.” He smirked. “And you love it.” Rolling my eyes, I pointed at him. “Speaking of impossible… your shirt’s undone.” “Exactly,” he shot back. “Because you’re in charge of buttoning it. I did your hair last week, remember?” I gasped, clutching my chest in fake offense. “Oh, so this is blackmail?” “Fair trade,” he said with a smug grin. Muttering under my breath about best friends who think they’re kings, I stepped closer and began buttoning his shirt. He stood there, perfectly still, like it was the most natural thing in the world. When I finished, I gave him a dramatic pat on the chest. “There. Try to stay presentable for at least five minutes.” “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute, which only made me roll my eyes harder. Together, we fell into step, walking toward the bus stop. The bus screeched to a stop at the corner, and Bert and I climbed on. Just like always, we were last to get picked up. Translation: no seats. Well, no seats except one—by the window. “Go on, plushie. That’s yours,” Bert urged, nudging me toward it. I folded my arms. “And where are you supposed to sit? On the floor?” “I’ll stand.” I frowned. “No way. That’s ridiculous.” He grinned mischievously. “Fine then, I’ll just lap you.” My eyes widened, heat rushing to my face. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my laugh. “Ugh, fine. You win.” Sliding into the seat, I muttered, “Drama king.” Satisfied, he headed toward the back. Someone soon hopped off and he slid right into the empty spot—unfortunately, right beside McKenna Schneider. Of course. McKenna: my personal rival, sworn hater, and self-declared Bert’s number one fan. She tossed me the slowest glare in human history before flipping her hair and leaning closer to him. I turned away before my eyes could roll into next week. Sliding on my noise-canceling headphones, I pressed my forehead against the cool bus window. The quiet hum drowned out the morning chaos, but it couldn’t drown out the memory of Mom’s voice calling Dominique special. My phone buzzed. I peeked down. Bert: You good? A small smile tugged at my lips. I typed back: I’m fine. Promise. Then I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me gently. My vision was blurry when I opened my eyes, but even without focus, I knew that face. Bert. “Lost these,” he said softly, holding out my glasses. Apparently, they’d fallen onto the bus floor. He slipped them back onto my face, and the world sharpened again. “Thanks,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes. “Are we at school already?” “Yep. Come on.” He held out his hand, and I took it, hopping off the bus beside him. As we walked, I stuffed my headphones back into my backpack and tried to smooth down my hair. “You sure you’re okay?” Bert asked suddenly, his voice heavy with concern. “I said I’m fine,” I replied, brushing past him. But he didn’t move. Instead, he stepped in front of me, blocking my way with those stubborn eyes. “You can tell me anything, plushie. You know that.” The words scraped against something raw in me. “Bert, stop prying! It’s personal, okay?” My voice came out sharper than I intended as I pushed past him. For a second, I thought he’d let it go. Then his voice caught me mid-step. “So personal I don’t need to know? Am I a stranger to you now?” I froze. Guilt twisted in my stomach. He wasn’t wrong—I was being harsh for no reason. Turning around, I sighed and walked back to him. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I really am fine.” He studied me with that look—the one that said he didn’t quite believe me. I laughed to ease the tension and tugged his sleeve. “Come on, twin. If we’re late for class, that’ll be on you.” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, and just like that, the heaviness lifted—at least for now.