Where Silence Finds Us

Chapter One

In a room roughly arranged, a drum set leaned in a corner of the medium-sized space, medals hung on the wall, and trophies sat on the cabinet. The bathroom door was next to the cabinet, while posters and books about music academies were scattered on the floor. A drawer beside the bed held a cup of water and an alarm clock. Above the bed, a poster of a girl’s picture stared down.

The owner of the room finally removed the duvet from his head, distracted by the opening of the door. A woman in her early eighties peeked her head through the door, shouting at the top of her voice:

“Dave, aren’t you late already?”

He turned to look at the alarm clock on the drawer: 7:56 a.m.

“Oh!” he exclaimed and jumped out of bed.

“You had better hurry,” she told him, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Dave looked around his room and scratched his hair. He bent down to pick up the books from the floor and placed them on the bed. He wondered, as he always did, why he couldn’t keep things in order, even when it really mattered. Then he rushed into the bathroom to take a bath. Minutes later, fully dressed with his bag dangling on one side of his arm, he descended the stairs. His grandmother looked up from the kitchen, already annoyed.

“Will you keep on going late to school?” she asked.

“I love you, Nana! Bye,” he replied and hurried out.

“Gosh, that punk,” she muttered to herself, then sighed.

Dave skated to school, arriving just as the bell rang. He ran through the hallway toward his class. Students turned to look at him, especially the teacher, who shook her head in pity.

Davis, his best friend, elbowed him. “Stayed up all night again?”

Dave smirked. “Maybe…” His gaze flicked to Ella, who rolled her eyes at him across the hallway, whispering to her friends. He caught himself staring longer than he should, and he immediately felt guilty for being distracted.

Davis snorted. “Even though she’s brilliant and beautiful, she still gives you that glare?”

Dave pouted, tilting his head. “Stop teasing me.”

“I know what you need to do,” Davis leaned in, grinning.

“What?”

“Get ranked up in SAT and make Ella notice you.”

Dave’s lips twitched. “Uh… maybe.” He couldn’t admit how much he wanted her to see him — not just as the funny, careless guy — but as someone worth noticing.

“Stop playing,” Davis warned. “Do you really like her, or will you just use her and go to Music Academy?”

“I…care,” Dave muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Then the intercom crackled:

“Dave Bretford, report to the Principal’s office.”

The hallway went quiet. Eyes followed him as he walked in, skateboard under one arm, bag dangling from the other. A tiny knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach — he hated being called out in front of everyone.

Dave stood in front of the principal in her office, hands behind his back. A teacher, Mrs. Thomson, sat facing the principal. The principal adjusted her glasses, almost reaching the tip of her nose, annoyed at his dressing — shirt untucked, tie hanging carelessly around his neck.

“Just take a look at yourself,” the principal told him. The teacher looked at him as he adjusted his tie and tucked in his shirt.

“Dave Bretford,” the teacher began, “Your homeroom teacher just told me about your frequent lateness to school. You are now here because I want to know the reason why,” she said in a funny accent. Dave tried to hide his laughter by bowing his head gently.

“Can’t you talk?” his homeroom teacher asked. Dave finally looked up.

“I…,” he began, then paused.

“You do what?” the principal asked, frustrated.

“I stay up all night,” he admitted. He hoped they wouldn’t see the mix of guilt and pride he felt — staying up late was part of who he was.

“Do you read, or what?” the principal asked, but there was no reply, which frustrated her more than adjusting her glasses did.

“Bretford… do you know you are a scholarship student?” the principal asked. Still no reply. She sighed.

“Stop staying up late if it makes you come late… do you understand?” she added. No reply.

“Do you have to promise me?”

“Do I have to do that?” he asked, innocently. The teacher looked surprised. The principal sighed.

“Just go,” the principal finally told him, signaling him to leave. He bowed gently, then left. Both the principal and the teacher shook their heads. Dave exhaled, a tiny thrill running through him — he had survived, for now.