Page 89 of Juliet's Echo

Yahya reached for me, but I pulled away.

“Talk,” I signed again.

Mega started speaking, but my hearing had already begun fading. Everything sounded underwater. Muffled. Distant.

And the pain...

The pain was indescribable.

But if I had to explain it, it felt like my brain was causing my ears to bleed from the inside out. I needed to hear his explanation. Needed him to make me understand why, in that bookstore, he looked more sorrowful than angry at the foul shit Ava had spewed from her mouth.

I needed my eyes to focus. Needed my breathing to slow down. Needed something. Anything.

I held up a trembling hand and forced myself to take deep breaths. Mega stopped talking and looked at Yahya. Yahya looked at me.

“I need to completely understand,” I signed. “Sign for him.”

I didn’t know what would go completely first, my ears or my eyes, but I needed clarity on my friend’s behavior back in that bookstore.

She nodded, her own eyes wet now.

“Go ahead, Mega,” she instructed. “Breathe, Juliet. Breathe slowly and look at me.”

“Okay,” I signed.

Mega swallowed hard.

“Okay. Look, back in eighth grade, at our awards dinner, I overheard some moms talking.”

My stomach dropped, and all I could do was shake my head because rich women loved sitting around spreading the nastiest stories in the city.

“One of them said she thanked God you survived everything you went through.

I frowned.

What did that even mean?

I was born with my condition. There wasn't any tragic accident or life-altering adjustment period that I knew of. I had always been this way.

He continued.

“Then another mom chimed in and said it was so sad that you'd never know your mother.”

The world stopped completely.

And it was far worse than my ears shutting down.

My fucking heart was breaking.

Another thing about gossip amongst rich folks—it usually stems from some truth. Maybe the details get twisted. Maybe the facts get stretched. But somewhere in the middle of all the mess sits a tiny piece of reality.

And because Echo was who he was and knew who he knew, I could only imagine how smothered this story had been. How many people stayed quiet because they feared consequences? How many whispers died before they ever became conversations?

I stumbled backward.

“Ju-Ju!”

Yahya rushed forward.