The night the most popular girl in school stole my song to win the top prize, I exposed her in front of everyone. But my childhood best friend, the boy I loved, defended her. “You’re mute, Mia, you can’t sing it anyway. So what if you let Chloe have it? “Why be so stingy? Just write another one.” Later, I joined a senior from my program on a reality music show. Our on-the-spot composition and duet went viral. We were photographed checking into the same hotel. My ex-best friend showed up that night, pounding on my door. “I’m reporting you for taking advantage of a disabled person!” My new partner, his bathrobe hanging open, traced my lips with his thumb. “Darling, tonight, let’s just be deaf, okay? “That’s the deal. Just deaf. Not mute.” 1 “And the winner of the eighteenth annual Northwood Conservatory Prism Prize for composition is… Chloe Reed! Congratulations!” “Wow, the top prize. I wonder what the piece is like.” “We’re about to find out. I heard the judges’ panel wasn’t just faculty this year. Leo Maxwell, who just got back from his European tour, was the guest judge.” I heard my dorm-mates buzzing about Leo as I came out of the bathroom. I knew that name all too well. It was because of Leo Maxwell’s music that Ethan decided to apply to Northwood in the first place. And because I’d been his shadow, his best friend since we were kids, and in love with him for… well, for years, I came too. Just a few minutes ago, Ethan had texted me, ecstatic that he’d just met his idol. “No wonder this is such a big deal. They even have a TV crew here.” I dried my hands and squeezed in between my roommates to get a look at the live feed on a laptop. One of them, fluent in ASL, quickly signed the winner’s name to me. But before she could tell me the name of the song, a familiar melody drifted from the speakers and flooded my ears. The first few notes were all it took. Suddenly, three pairs of wide eyes were fixed on me. I didn't even stop to change my shoes. I just ran. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the stage of the auditorium, the final notes of the piece fading into applause. I was panting, my chest heaving, and I opened my mouth. “Ah… ah… ah…” I’d forgotten. I’m a mute. On stage, Chloe Reed’s eyes widened in panic the second she saw me. But when all I could produce was that strangled, useless sound, a smug smile spread across her face. A professor finally reacted, rushing toward me. “Miss, we’re in the middle of an awards ceremony. Please, you need to leave the stage.” I pushed back against him, pointing at Chloe, then jabbing a finger at my own chest. My hands flew in a desperate flurry of signs. This song is mine. She stole my song! But he didn’t understand. Then, a voice cut through the confusion from the audience. “Mia! Get down here!” A flicker of hope. I waved frantically toward the sound. Ethan! Help me! I signed, my movements sharp with urgency. He strode toward the stage, his expression dark and thunderous. He didn’t stop until he was grabbing my arm, his grip rough as he hauled me down the steps. I tried to pull him back, tried to get back on stage, the pathetic “ah, ah, ah” sounds escaping my throat again. But he ignored me, dragging me into a shadowy corner and shoving me away. “Have you made enough of a scene?” he snarled. I stared at him, bewildered. I reached out, tugging on his sleeve. My eyes burned. My hands formed the words with a near-pleading slowness. Ethan, she stole my song. Please, help me. Just tell them for me, please? He slapped my hands down before I could even finish the last sign. “You’re a mute, you can’t sing it anyway. So what if you let Chloe have it? “Why be so stingy? Just write another one.” 2 It’s true, one song isn’t the end of the world for me. But it was my song. A song I wrote for him. I was going to play it for him next week when I finally told him how I felt. Because he’d said once, years ago, “If someone wrote a song just for me, I think that would be the most romantic thing in the world.” I held onto that for so long. Even though I have no natural talent for composition. Just like I don’t even really like music, but I came to a conservatory for him. Even though… I’m a mute. The tears that had been welling in my eyes finally spilled over, hot against the back of my hand. I flinched. I looked at him, my disbelief a hollow ache in my chest. You knew? “What if I did?” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a song, Mia. Is it really worth all this? This competition means everything to her. It’s about a scholarship. Her life isn’t easy, and she works incredibly hard.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a scolding tone. “Did you have to humiliate her in front of everyone? Do you want her to be a pariah at this school for the rest of her life? Do you want her to carry the label of a thief forever?” I carefully tugged on his sleeve again. But it’s my song. It took me a month to write. You know that. I had the flu, my fever was 102, and I kept writing. It was for you. He showed no surprise, no recognition. Just a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll have her apologize to you later, okay?” I don’t want an apology! I gestured wildly. I grabbed his hand and started pulling him back toward the stage. He tried to reason with me, and when that didn’t work, he yelled. “Mia, that’s enough! You know you’re a mute, right? Even if you did write it, who’s going to believe a mute could compose something like this anyway?” My hand dropped from his as if I’d been burned. When had Ethan become this person?
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