Leap of Faith - Cassidy Shay (children's ebooks free online txt) 📗

I’m done. 
    I check my voicemail, and hear my cousin Joe's voice. “I just got done listening to your show. Dude! That chick was freaky! Call me. I wanna know what you thought about it all.” That’s a surprise. At school, everyone knows me as the good kid. I’m the one who goes to church every Sunday, who reads his Bible in class. Heck, I’m the guy who’s on the Christian radio station each day. While some might think it would make the outcast of the school, it’s actually boosted my popularity. People love my confidence in my beliefs, how I’m not afraid to let everyone know how I feel. But, even though they admire the way I go about my life, my friends rarely listen to my show. Most high school students won’t take two hours out of their day to listen to Christian music. 
    I listen to the rest of my messages. It’s not much. One from Mom, saying she’ll be home late. One from some bill collector who has the wrong number. Then, I call Joe back. I want to know what he thinks about the whole situation. “Hello?” 
    “Hey, man. It’s Mikey.” The water is boiling now, so I pour the noodles in. 
    “Mikey! I was wondering when you’d call. Man! That was weird, wasn’t it? I mean… woah!” Joe has a way of talking that always sounds like he has an exclamation point at the end of most sentences. It makes him sound, at times, like an over-excited cheerleader. 
    “So, do you think she was telling the truth?” 
    There’s a pause before he says anything. His voice is serious, a rarity for Joe. “I didn’t consider for even a minute that she was lying. You could hear the awe and amazement in her voice!” He laughs, and when he speaks again, it’s in his normal, joking tone. “At least, you could, until you pissed her off!” 
    “Hey! I just told her what I thought. That’s what I always do.” 
    “I know, I know,” he says. “But think about it! If you were deaf, and suddenly started hearing again, would the first thing you wanted to hear be some kid on the radio telling you that a homeless guy is better off than you?” 
    I shake my head. He’s right, which doesn't surprise me. He can seem pretty goofy, but he's good at understanding things, including people. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.” 
    He laughs again. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow! Miranda’s calling me.” I say good-bye and hang up, then turn my attention to dinner.
    The noodles are done, so I drain the water. I open a can of tomato sauce and another of stewed tomatoes, pour them both into a pot along with the hamburger to warm up. It’s simple, and pretty plain if you ask me, but it’s how my dad likes his spaghetti. 
    While I wait for my dad to get home, I start working on my homework. 
    My dad comes home shortly, and we eat dinner, mostly in silence. That’s how it usually is when it’s just us- we’re both lost in our own thoughts.

    The next morning when I get to school, I can feel people staring at me. I try to meet their eyes, but everyone looks away. I frown, not quite sure what’s going in, and walk to my locker. Joe is waiting for me there, holding Miranda’s hand. 
    “Did you hear the news?” As usual, he sounds excited and his eyes are bright. I look at Miranda, who just looks bored. “Dude. That girl? She goes to school here.” 
    That catches my attention. Not because I believe it, but because the idea is ridiculous. “What? Don’t you think that I’d know about it if a deaf girl went to school here? It’s not like there are a ton of people here.” Our city, small compared to most, has several schools in it, and ours is one of the smaller ones. 
    “No, she just transferred today! I heard her and her mom when I was talking to the lady in the office. She was posting the girl’s picture on the board. Go see!” 
    I grab my books and head towards the front office, where they post school news, including new students. Sure enough, I see Amia’s name, with a picture that was probably taken less than ten minutes ago. She has blue eyes, and a pretty smile. But I can’t help but notice the sadness in her eyes, even through the ink.
    Suddenly, a finger appears in my vision, poking the picture. “See? I told you it’s her!” The bell rings before I can tell him that we don’t know what she looks like, so that could be anyone.
    “See you later,” I say, and turn towards my first hour class. As usual, I get there right as the bell finishes ringing. I’m a teacher’s aide for the Chemistry teacher, so I figure it doesn’t really matter if I’m late or not.
    I look up to the front of the classroom at Mr. Thomas. The girl from the picture is standing next to him, talking to him about the class. 
    “…a test today, but you’ll be excused from that. I’ll get a new seating chart put together, but for today, you can sit with my TA.” He points over to me and starts passing out the test to his students. I watch as Amia crosses the classroom. I offer her my chair and go get another one. 
    “Hi. I’m Amia Chasor,” she says. She exhales slowly, but I don’t say anything. After a few seconds, she gets angry. “What, you won’t tell me your name?” she whispers, practically spitting at me. So far, she really doesn’t seem like a happy person. Is she always like this? 
    I laugh quietly and face her as I talk. “They’re taking a test,” I whisper. “But I’m Mikey Levis. I think we talked on the phone last night.” 
    The rest of the class, including Mr. Thomas, watches this exchange. If they didn’t listen to the radio last night, they heard all about it this morning. At the sound of my name, her eyes get wide. “Mikey? From the radio?” 
    I nod. “The one and only.” I lean closer to her and point to Mr. Thomas. “See him, over there? He’s Mr. Thomas, from the Chemistry classroom. If you don’t be quiet while his students take a test, you’ll be Amia, from detention.” It’s the beginning of the school year, so it’s a little weird that they’re even taking a test at this point. But the first unit was super basic stuff, so it only lasted about two weeks.
    She turns away from me and crosses her arms across her chest. I should probably let her know that I was just joking, that I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I don’t know if it would help anything. For the rest of the period, she doesn’t say anything. Even though I told her to be quiet, I feel like I’m being ignored more than she just wants to take my advice. I try not to let that bother me. When the bell rings, I can tell that she wants to leave, but I tell her to wait for me. She considers leaving, but then sits back down to wait. I wait until we get out into the hall to start talking. 
    “Why is it that you’re coming here now? I mean, to this school. Shouldn’t you be going to a school for deaf people? Wouldn’t that be easier on everyone?” 
    She stops, and I turn around to face her. “You have to look at me when you talk. I can’t hear, remember?” 
    I laugh. “Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.” I ask her the question again, walking backwards so she can read my lips. 
    When I’m done, she scoffs. “You’d think. My mom thinks that my ears will heal, now that I can hear the radio. She said it’s only a matter of time before I can hear everything, so she enrolled me here this morning. Seems kind of early to be making such a big guess, don’t you think?” She sighs, and I think about the way she talks. It’s not too loud, not too quiet. There’s something a little strange in her inflection and enunciation.
    “The school is going to have to pay for an aide to come in and sign everything to me while I try to take notes. Which means I’ll have to be watching the aide, plus looking at the examples on the board, plus taking notes all at the same time. And I’ll probably end up needing a tutor for most of my classes. It’ll be difficult for everyone. All because my mom decided to be optimistic and stick me in regular school.” 
    We get to the Spanish classroom and I stop. “Hey.” I lightly grab her arm, so she’ll look at me. I’m a little worried that I’ve overstepped my boundaries. I mean, we just met each other an hour ago. She doesn’t say anything, but as soon as she looks at me I drop my hand so I don’t make her uncomfortable. “Are you going to call, later on?” 
    “I haven’t decided yet,” she says, walking away, and I don’t see her for the rest of the day.

    The final bell rings at 3:05, and I hurry to my car just like I do every day. I get to the studio at around 3:20, and start setting up for the show. By 3:30, I’m ready to go. I used to always be late for this, but my dad told me I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore if I wasn’t on time. As soon as I’m on the air, I play the song “Background.” While it’s playing, I start to create a playlist from the requests that I have in my inbox. Once the song is over, I play the playlist. It’s the same routine that I go through every afternoon. 
    The playlist will last me a little over an hour, and then I’ll play some of my favorites, plus any new requests I get. Then I’ll take a few calls, and, hopefully, I’ll hear from Amia. I can’t help but wonder about her, her whole life, what she likes to do, the difficulties of being deaf. I go through the whole show without really noticing anything. When I start accepting calls, I’m kind of surprised at what people say. 
    “Have you heard anything about that deaf girl?” 
    “I really want to know if that girl can still hear the radio, or what happened with her.” 
    “I’ve been thinking about that girl, I thought the whole thing was pretty cool.” 
    “I hope that girl calls back, and you get a chance to talk to her more. I want to hear her story, and what happened to her. I just can’t imagine all the stuff that had to happen to her that something so amazing and incredible can happen, and she refuses to believe that it was a miracle.” 
    The calls continue, every one of them talking about Amia, wanting to know more. Finally, I have to go. 
    “Well, it was great to hear so many calls, and it sounds like we all have the same thing on our minds. Unfortunately, I have no answers. Amia, you’re the only one who can answer our questions.” I glance at the door, and I can see George’s face through the window. 
    “It’s time for me to say good-bye now. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, Amia. You’ve got fans waiting.”