Chapter 2

I slept in the school dorms that night, curled on a narrow mattress.

By 7 AM, my homeroom teacher was calling me into her office.

Victoria was already there when I pushed the door open.

Crumpled tissue in her hand. Eyes swollen to slits.

She shrank back the moment she saw me. That perfect, practiced flinch.

"Ella." Ms. Hartley's voice was flat. "Tell me what you did to Victoria yesterday."

Victoria sucked in a trembling breath.

"Ma'am, please don't. Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway. She called me a cuckoo in someone else's nest. Said she'd make sure I couldn't stay at this school."

Ms. Hartley picked up her phone.

"I've already called your parents. They're on their way."

The office door opened minutes later.

Dad walked in iron-faced. Mom came in right behind him, already reaching for Victoria's hand.

"Is she at it again?" Dad's voice was a grinding wheel.

Ms. Hartley folded her hands.

"Based on Victoria's account, Ella has repeatedly targeted her with verbal abuse and threats, including threatening to get her expelled. This school has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying."

Dad turned on me. The disappointment in his eyes had weight.

"Are you trying to destroy everything? Is that your goal?"

I opened my mouth. Air. No sound.

My hands came up, fingers starting to sign *no*, when his palm cracked across my face.

The slap rang through the room. My head snapped sideways. My ear rang for three full seconds.

I turned back slowly. Tears were already falling.

"You want to cry? After what you did?"

His voice dripped contempt.

"You're performing. Always performing. Trying to make everyone feel sorry for you."

Victoria tucked herself against Mom's side and made a small, wounded sound.

Mom looked at me like something spoiled.

"Born rotten. Can't stop going after my girl."

The office door had drifted open. A few classmates pressed into the gap, necks craning.

"So she actually did all that."

"Seemed so shy and harmless. Funny how that works."

"No wonder her foster families kept sending her back."

I breathed in. Counted. Raised my hands again and signed: I didn't do it.

Ms. Hartley cut me off.

"Ella. I need you to stop doing that. If you have something to say, say it out loud. Don't perform for the room."

My hands dropped.

So even my silence was a performance.

Then, from the doorway, small and unsteady:

"She's not performing. That's ASL."

Everyone turned.

A girl stood at the threshold, fingers twisted in her jacket hem, chin barely up.

"My little brother is Deaf. I grew up with sign language. She just signed I didn't do it. And I think..." She swallowed. "I think she might be mute."