Whisper Read Online Free PDF Page A

course I didn’t really know. Nadia’s little brother Jasper appeared beside his dad.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ he asked.
    â€˜Show them, Lockie,’ I said, and I didn’t worry about whether I sounded weird, because these were my friends.
    Lockie didn’t need much encouragement. Jasper watched him, appalled. He moved to the centre of the room, blocking the TV and taking Lockie’s place.
    Nadia rolled her eyes with embarrassment, but I was impressed. Jasper was light on his feet and his arms easily supported him when he flipped into a handstand. Lockie moved beside him, mirroring Jasper’s cool moves with his own clunky ones. Everyone cracked up.
    I loved it. I remember thinking that I might be deaf but that I still belonged there with my friends.
    I push off the wall into another lap. My rhythm is being altered by the waves from the action in the lane next to me.I move back to the left-hand side of the lane. I focus on my stroke for a lap, still thinking of that moment at Nadia’s.
    I slowly realise I am in perfect sync with the swimmer in the lane next to me. Every time I lift my head to breathe on that side, I see him lifting his. Our arms rise up together, slice the water together. It works that way for a whole lap.We touch the wall at the same time. When I turn, though, he’s switched to butterfly and the moment is gone.
    I switch to breaststroke. I don’t have the best technique, but I go deep, right down with the stroke. I could do breaststroke forever. It’s like moving between two worlds.The underwater one is blue and dense and the black line at the bottom of the pool stays put. The world above is lighter, and the black line beneath the surface splays and shifts like a trick.
    I do a couple of laps, enjoying the easy transition between the air and the water. Up ahead there’s a group of guys gathered around the edge of the pool. Their coach looks serious. He has swimmer’s arms, a drinker’s belly and skinny legs. He reminds me of a flip book I had when I was young, where you match a giraffe’s head to a monkey’s torso to a pelican’s legs. The coach gets the guys lined up, and they start diving in, one by one.
    The guy next in line to dive looks at me. He’s cute. I think he’s smiling but I might be wrong. For some reason I feel sure he was the one who was swimming in sync with me.
    I go under. I’m at the end of the pool, about to do another flip, when I feel a hand placed firmly on my head. It’s the skinny blonde from reception. Her mouth is moving and her eyes are narrowed, angry.
    She’s talking quickly and I don’t get it but I know it’s because I’m swimming in the wrong section. She looks mad, like she’s been yelling. She thinks I’ve been ignoring her. I feel my face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
    I hate this sort of thing. It’s moments like this when I think I might actually like it if everyone could tell that I’m deaf. Would it be better if they knew instantly, like with Erica and her cochlear implant? Or others that wear hearing aids?Of course, it wouldn’t help once I was in the pool – I’d have to take them off anyway.
    I stand up. I duck under the lane rope to the lap lane and swim off, wanting the cool water to wash away the humiliation. The now-familiar feeling of missing out on the details, of being on the outer, makes me think again of that day at Nadia’s.
    After the boys went home, Nadia, Shae and I lined up our mattresses, three in a row. Shae was in the middle and I was wishing that I was, and wondering if I could say anything.
    Nadia got up, pulling her bunny dressing gown around her. It was the one with little rabbits hopping in different directions. It’s really daggy. It’s my favourite.
    I couldn’t believe it when Nadia turned the light off without telling me.
    I wanted us all to go to sleep, because I was blocked out now.