As his last class of the day came into Mr. Burton’s room, he didn’t speak, and of course, neither did the students. The bell rang, and all the kids watched him as he put a stack of lined paper on the front desk of each row.Then he turned to the chalkboard and began to write.
Today there will be writing only. Nothing will be turned in, but everyone must write all period long, and everyone must communicate with at least four other people. You may not stop writing for more than fifteen seconds. As soon as you have paper, begin.
In less than one minute, every kid had paper.And in less than two minutes, the first notes were changing hands.
Todd wrote, “I still think this no talking thing is stupid,” and he passed the paper to Kyle.
Kyle read the note and wrote, “I sorta like it. It’s different. A challenge.”
And then Todd wrote, “Challenge? What challenge? The teachers already know about it. Like Mr. Burton. He’s just messing with us. Thinks it’s great we’re not talking. I LIKE TALKING!”
Kyle read, and he wrote back, “Too bad. Think how hard it is for all the blabby girls—we’re gonna win this contest. Beat the girls! Beat the girls! Beat the girls! Get it? It’s a silent cheer, like at a basketball game. Cool, huh?”
Todd wrote back, “Cool? Dude, it’s lame. Here’s my silent cheer—Kyle’s a Dork! Kyle’s a Dork! Kyle’s a Dork!”
Kyle read the note, made a face at Todd, and then turned his back on him and started up a chat with Eric. No talking made it very simple to tune someone out.
A few seats away, Emily was having a hot argument with Taron. “I did not say you couldn’t come over after school. I just said what’s the point? If we can’t talk.That’s all.”
Taron read the note, shook her head, and wrote, “I know you don’t like me as much as you like Kelly. So stop pretending.”
Emily rolled her eyes and wrote, “Don’t be like that.”
Taron shrugged and wrote,“Like what?” Emily used block letters for emphasis. “ALL SNIFFY AND SNOOFY AND OUCHY—I HATE THAT.”
“See?”Taron wrote. “Hate.That’s what you said. You hate me.”
Emily scribbled, “Don’t be an idiot! I don’t hate you. Come over after school. Really. We’ll think of something to do. But we’re gonna want to talk. I know we will. And we can’t.”
And Taron wrote back, “I’m NOT coming. You think I’m an idiot.”
Emily read that, and then ripped the paper to pieces. And she reached across the aisle and patted Taron on the arm, and smiled her warmest smile, and then wrote on a fresh sheet of paper, “After school. My house, okay?”
Taron smiled back and nodded.
All around the room, kids were having to figure out the new rules for communicating.And for most of them, writing was a lot harder than talking. It was
slower, like instant messaging—only less instant, and less fun because there was no computer to mess with. There was so much less give-and-take than there was with talking. The Unshushables weren’t used to that. At all.
Dave had just finished a frustrating set of back-and-forth messages with Bill.
Bill couldn’t understand how to keep from getting called offside during a soccer game. Dave had explained it three different ways. He had drawn pictures and diagrams and everything, and Bill still couldn’t figure it out.
So Dave passed a note to Ed, because he was the best junior league player in town. “Bill doesn’t get the offside rule. HELP!”
Ed read the note, nodded at Bill, bent over his paper, and began writing.
Dave looked around for a new partner, and he saw that Lynsey was passing notes with Helena.They seemed to be having a great time, nodding a lot and cracking each other up. Probably gossiping, he thought. About something really stupid.
He grabbed a clean sheet of paper and began a note to Lynsey: “What’s the difference between you and a toxic waste dump?” But he decided that riddle was too harsh, even for Lynsey. Even if it was true.
He crumpled the paper and took another sheet. But before he started writing, he got up, walked to a bookcase, and grabbed a dictionary.
He flipped the pages and then ran his fingers down a column of words. And there it was:
um also umm ([ə]m)
interjection. Used to express doubt or uncertainty or to fill a pause when hesitating in speaking.
So Lynsey had been right about something. For once.
He sat back down and wrote, “Hey, Captain Burgess, how’s the war going? Ready to surrender?”
Dave nudged Jason, handed him the note, and pointed at Lynsey.
Jason nudged Lynsey and held the note out to her. And when she glared at him, Jason shook his head and pointed back at Dave.
Lynsey made a face and then took the paper, holding it between her thumb and forefinger like it was a squashed toad.
She read the message, wrote a little, and nudged Jason, who passed the paper back to Dave.
Her reply was, “It’s General Burgess. Check the score, dimbo. Girls rule, boys are losers. As usual. You’re gonna get totally schooled!”
Jason handed the paper back to Dave. He read her message, made a snarly face at her, and then wrote, “Don’t count on it. Always the big talker.”
And sitting there frowning at the paper, once again Dave felt this overpowering wish that he could show Lynsey who was the boss, settle the question once and for all, really put her in her place.
And in answer to this wish, an idea popped into his head—an idea he probably should have ignored.
But he didn’t.
Pressing down hard with his pencil, Dave wrote, “How about you and me go head-to-head, have our own special no-talking match? Starting right now, you and me. Unless you’re scared. And the winner gets to write a big L on the loser’s forehead. With permanent marker. On the playground after lunch on Thursday. How’s that sound?” And he gave the paper to Jason.
Lynsey grabbed the paper from Jason and read it, and there was no hesitation. She looked at Dave, nodded a big yes, held up her hand with her fingers making an L, and pointed at him. Then she wrote something and handed the paper to Helena, who read everything, wrote something, and passed the paper back to Lynsey, who wrote something more and then passed the paper to Jason, who passed it back to Dave.
Lynsey had written, “Helena, you be the witness. Sign here.” And Helena had written her name. And below Helena’s signature, Lynsey had added, “No backing out now, fatmouth. Which color marker do you like best—red or black?”
Dave pointed at her and pretended to laugh and laugh. She stuck out her tongue and then turned away and picked up her chat with Helena.
Dave felt like he’d lost that skirmish. Lynsey always had a way of firing the last cannonball.
Then he smiled as he thought how much fun it would be to paint a big L on her forehead. If he could win, that is. Otherwise . . .
Dave wouldn’t have put his feelings into these exact words, but he sat there in the quiet room sort of wishing it didn’t have to be a war. Because it was . . . well, it was very interesting. Not talking was interesting all by itself, even without the extra fun of the contest. And the extra risk of his new private battle with Lynsey.
And he suddenly wondered what Lynsey thought about it, about the whole idea. And he wondered if she’d be honest enough to tell him.
So Dave grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and wrote, “I’m kinda glad we’re all doing this—the no talking thing. Like, I really didn’t know ‘um’ was a word. It’s pretty interesting. At least it is to me.” Then he gave the paper to Jason.
Jason tapped Lynsey’s arm and handed her the new note. She read it and then gave Dave a short, suspicious look. And then she bent over the paper and wrote.
Jason handed him the paper, and Dave read her message. It said, “It is to me, too. I’m thinking and thinking and thinking. Pretty amazing.”
Dave turned and caught Lynsey’s eye, and they half nodded at each other. For one tiny fraction of a second, it wasn’t boys against girls, and it wasn’t a battle. It was two smart kids enjoying an idea.
Jason handed Dave another note, from him this time. “I’m not your personal delivery boy. Maybe you and Lynsey should sit at the same desk—ha ha ha!”
Dave’s face felt hot. He scribbled “You’re crazy!” onto Jason’s note and jammed it back at him.
And at the bottom of the page he and Lynsey had passed, he wrote, “Yeah, but no way are you gonna win this fight. You and your stupid friends are going down, big-time!”
And as Dave tossed the note above Jason’s headso it landed on Lynsey’s desk, he made an ugly face at her, and then shook his hands, like he was trying to flip something gross off his fingers.
He didn’t wait for Lynsey’s reaction. Dave turned away and began writing a new note. To Scott.
• • •
All during seventh period Mr. Burton sat at his desk, watching. He wrote some notes too, but they were notes to himself.
—No hesitation–everyone jumped right in.
—Some frustration with writing–it’s slow.
—Some anger displayed.
—A lot of nodding and gesturing, some hand signals.
—Tapping on desks and arms and shoulders to get attention, some poking, too.
—Mouth sounds–tongue clicking, lip popping, raspberries.
—Some animal sounds–quacking, whistling, barking, sometimes to get attention, sometimes to bother.
—Not much boy-girl or girl-boy note passing–but more than I’d expected from this group.
—A lot of smiling and frowning and other face-making
—Not one single word out loud!
Mr. Burton was taking a class at the state university two nights a week, studying for his master’s degree. The course was called Human Development, and one of the topics they had studied was the way children learn to use language.
Of course, this wasn’t watching kids learn to use language. These students were already good with words. Almost too good.
No, this was watching children try to change how they expressed themselves, trying to use language in a new way.
Mr. Burton was pretty excited. It was like having his own private language lab. He thought, If I keep careful notes, I bet I can write my big research paper on this! I can do interviews with the kids—once they start talking again. And I can gather information from the other teachers, too. There’s so much good stuff to work with. This is great!
When the last bell rang, Mr. Burton was sorry the class had to end. And he couldn’t wait for his first class on Wednesday morning.
• • •
For the fifth graders, that last bell on Tuesday meant something else.
It meant they had to go ride a bus. And not talk. The bell meant they had to go to sports practice, or to dance or music lessons. And not talk.
It meant they had to go home and deal with moms and dads and brothers and sisters and neighbors and everyone else. And not talk.
No one was sure how all that was going to work, including Dave.
But Dave was absolutely sure of one thing: He was going to do everything just right. Because if he messed up, it meant he’d be walking around school on Thursday afternoon with a big L on his forehead.