SBI Adoption AU

eight

warnings: selective mutism, disrespect of selective mutism, attempts to dispose of a comfort item, implications of unhealthy behaviors (unspecified)

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History was nice. The small teacher had excellently crafted lessons and guided notes, having certain volunteers act out historical scenes to illustrate a point.

Tommy met up with Wilbur and Techno, as Techno had said he would drive the other two home to avoid the bus. Techno then flashed a line of messages on his phone at Tommy, which explained that Phil was coming in his car to have a brief chat with a few of Tommy's teachers before he would take the boys home.

Tommy sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He slumped onto a bench, prepared to wait for a long time.

When Phil arrived, it was in an old gray dad minivan. He exited and waved at his older sons, before resting his hand on Tommy's back. "They want you to be present during our discussion."

Tommy nodded, swallowing and Phil led him inside, to the principal's office. He hated being in trouble. Mr. Graham and Mrs. Valent both sat on either side of the principal, who motioned for Phil and Tommy to take a seat across from them, which they did.

"It's come to my attention that two of Thomas' teachers have reported a lack of cooperation," the principal started, his hand clasped as he leaned forward. "If possible, I'd like to hear Thomas' rendition of the events." Tommy flinched.

"Well, that would be a bit of a problem, then, wouldn't it?" Phil said, briefly setting his hand on his foster son's shoulder. "Because Tommy's been having a few issues with speaking recently."

"Such as?" the principal asked kindly, while both of the teachers bit their cheeks.

"As you know, we recently got him from the orphanage to foster," Phil explained. "He's having issues with comfort and trust around trust around people he doesn't know very well, us included. He's been unable to speak to us since he had a personal problem at our house."

"I see," the principal said. "Yes, that does seem to be the issue. Both Mr. Graham and Mrs. Valent have reported incidents of him not verbally replying to them. I'm sure we can come up with a proper plan to accommodate his inability until it passes, or if it doesn't, the plan can be indefinite."

Tommy subconsciously leaned into Phil's arm, his right leg bouncing up and down, fidgeting with his fingers.

"For attendance, the teachers will need to be responsible for checking if he is present, rather than calling his name in class," the principal decided. "I'll speak with each of his teachers about not directly asking class questions if possible, and not to punish him for not speaking to them. I can see what we can do with his drama class, but I'm confident Miss Languesterniesch (suffer in trying to mentally pronounce that) can find something to help him. She's quite good at what she does."

Tommy let out a breath. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to work himself down from his tightly-wound bout of anxiety. It wasn't going so badly, he supposed.

"How will he communicate with his cooking group?" Mrs. Valent asked pointedly.

"That's for him to decide," Phil said surely.

"What's the point of all this?" Mr. Graham snapped. "He can speak, can't he? I've heard him sigh and groan, and like you said, it's just an emotional thing. He can say the words, so make him."

Tommy flinched, ducking his head, hunching his shoulders. Phil rubbed a hand along his back.

"He can't talk," Phil corrected sharply. "He just can't. He definitely won't ever be able to talk to you if you always make him so uncomfortable and unwelcome."

"Well, at least make him take off that stupid bandanna. Hats are forbidden in the school, aren't they, Mr. Morgenstein?" Mr. Graham glanced at the principal.

"It does not cover his head," Mr. Morgenstein said with a shrug. "Though, the point of the rule is to make sure each student is able to be recognized."

Tommy shuffled around in the backpack he'd worn in here, pulling out a stubby pencil and a post-it.

phil don't let them take it away please

"It's very important to him," Phil attempted. "Tommy is very stressed and paranoid when he's without it. Surely that would detract from his efforts at school?"

"I believe we can make an allowance," Mr. Morgenstein said happily. "I think that will be all, yes? Have a good day. I'll see you on Monday."

Phil led Tommy out of the school, and he and Techno got in the backseat of the car, as Wilbur claimed his legs were too long for the back. The drive home was silent, but not uncomfortably so, despite how south Tommy's school day had been.

When they arrived back at Phil's house, his two sons got out, while Tommy took his time. The juniors went inside, while Tommy looked over at Phil. He looked around rapidly to make sure they were truly alone, before letting out a little mumble.

"'Nk 'ou." Tommy looked away, grabbing his bag with a tight fist. (that says 'thank you' by the way)

"Huh? Did you say something?" Phil asked, masking his surprise decently well.

Tommy just nodded. He sighed. He went into Phil's house, taking off his shoes. He went to his bedroom and closed the door gently. He was tired, and did his homework as quickly as he could between the beginnings and ends of classes.

Tommy went into the bathroom quietly, running a warm sinkful of water. He put in some hand soap. He finally took off his bandanna, cleaning it slowly in the hot, soapy water. He kept rolling his shoulders in an effort to keep his creeping paranoia away. He knew this wasn't the best way to clean fabric, but he didn't want to offer it to Phil's laundry pile, at the mercy of a washing machine.

Tommy went back to his room, setting the bandanna on the windowsill to dry. He kept rubbing his face with his sleeves, not sure how to fill the missing spot while the bandanna dried. He dug through the closet, hoping somebody left an old turtleneck or something inside. He did find a tattered red scarf and wrapped it thickly across his face.

He found a sort of comfort in the bandanna masking his expression. It made him look untroubled, his emotions nearly impossible to read. He wished that were really the case. He appeared okay, composed, neat, even. Nobody could see the things that made him smile, and couldn't use it against him. Nobody could see what made him tick, either. Everything was secure when he was masked. He could go on.

As far as not speaking? There were a deckful of reasons to list. He didn't need to engage in social settings, which had so far been mostly negative, in Tommy's experience. He didn't have to listen to his grating little rat voice, which irritated him to no end, especially in film. He wouldn't be judged for his speaking missteps. Plus, he liked the quiet. It left him to his soft thoughts, lulling him in with whispers and promises, if he only tried a few things in return, first.

Tommy didn't have a voice or voices in his head. No, the gentle tugging, invasive whispers were family to him, in fact, he perceived them as a very part of himself. He was his voice, what egged him on and convinced him everything was okay, or told him how to fix the problem, maybe even just hinting there was a problem in the first place.

Why change a thing? His silence was his safety, his mask was his composure, and his voice (or distinct lack thereof, he would argue,) was his friend.

Who could ask for more?

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