• She begins to speak, her speech quick and quiet, and I cannot hear her in this din called a cafeteria. I can hear the boy across the room yell about what he’s going to do to some guy over some girl and the bleach blondes two tables over gossiping about a newly bought necklace, but her speech is lost forever, consigned to the abyss of unheard words.
    She must sense my lack of understanding, as her gestures become frequent, frenzied, and flamboyant. She points at a nearby lunch table, holds up her milk carton, and then folds her hands into her chest, pouting miserably. I can catch the sound of a few words she speaks, even the occasional phrase or two, but their greater meaning escapes me. All I can perceive of the whole speech is her determination, the passion poured into this failed attempt at communication.
    Eventually, she stares at me, her eyes asking a question her lips cannot. A response is required. I nod fervently, muttering a nonchalant “Uh-huh.” I may well have agreed to a truly reprehensible deed or thought, but given the speaker’s innocence, it was a risk I was willing to take.
    However, I was unknowingly taking another risk, one whose consequences I would shortly face. She shakes her head fervently, improbable patterns emerging from her unkempt hair. She also slams her fist into the table, a gesture whose meaning I instantly discern: I had given the wrong answer. Disgusted, she ducks under her seat, rifling pointlessly through her backpack. The moment is lost.