When Marley Mason was eleven years old, his mother was arrested for drug possession. Unlike many at Marley's age, he knew exactly what that meant. Long court days, a divorce, a therapist perhaps, and worst of all, the end of his childhood. But to his surprise, he was wrong. In reality, things were much, much worse. The day his mother took the stand in court she pleaded mental illness and, well, in her defence, she wasn't lying.

Cynthia Mason had always been determined to lose her feeble grip on reality, if her three overdoses were any indication. But there was nothing Tafari nor Marley could do or say that would stop that. She had been that way for most of Marley's childhood and the few memories he had of her sober were blurred and choppy like a scratched CD. Sometimes, Marley likes to think that her arrest was a blessing in disguise. She had never confessed that she had a problem until that day when she stared into the hard eyes of the judge and her bravado came crumbling down. Finally, she could get the help she deserved. The only problem was that when Cynthia Mason went away, she never came back. Marley had written her but she never returned any of his letters. Not once.

By the time Marley Mason was twelve years old, his dad got the both of them their green cards and they hopped on the first flight out of Jamaica. Marley knew exactly what that meant, too. Foreign accents, big stores and smooth roads. A part of him wanted to be excited for it; maybe the change would be good for him after all. But the second he landed, Marley realized something undeniably horrific. He could no longer speak.

"Marley!"

Marley snatched off his headphones off and snapped around to see his father standing in the doorway, angrily folding his arms. "One day, I going bruk that ting yuh see," Tafari's nose flared, "Guh get ready."

"Why?" Marley asked aloud. "I want to walk alone today."

The thing was, Marley Mason could speak; just not in front of anyone who was not Tafari Mason. At first, the realization had upset his father to no end. Marley didn't speak to his teachers, bus drivers, even customer care over the phone. But both of them knew it was a result of the trauma they had to go through. It's just that neither of them had expected it to last this long.

"No, you're coming with me today. We have to work longer hours this summer and I can't afford Christina and Jimmy to come earlier so, it's me and you. We a run tings. Get ready."

Huffing, Marley sat up straight in his twin-sized bed. He had a playlist for times like this, he knew. For times where he felt like his life was pulling him along by the roots of his locs but he was ultimately going nowhere. For times when everyone else his age seemed able to do the things he could only dream of, like talking and kissing. For the times when he just wanted to escape. That playlist sounded like slow beats and deep notes that carried his mind far, far away until he forgot where he was.

Inside his small bedroom, in a small house, in a small neighbourhood tucked somewhere where people only expected small things to come from. Marley adjusted his headphones on his head and started the first track.

*

The summers were only getting hotter and hotter in Miami. In fact, Marley swore this heat was worse than Jamaica's, which was saying a lot. Jamaica might have been hot all year round but it never felt like this. Even where he was now, standing outside the double doors of Jah-Jah' Jamaican Jerk Foods as Tafari Mason pulled its locks, he expected their relative distance from the ocean to send some slightly cooled breeze their way. But, that didn't happen. As the sweat formed on Marley's forehead, he quickly tied his locs back into a bun and swiped the wetness from his face with the back of his hand. It was an oven out here.

Not many customers who came into Jah-Jah's complained, though. Not when they were all dressed in swimsuits or half-naked, much like the first customers of the day that strolled in. Parts of them were pasted white with sunscreen and small towels were drapes around their necks. The family consisting of a tall, haughty man, a skinny, red-haired woman and a small boy sat whom all sat in the far right corner of the restaurant, skipping through menus.

"What are these? Fritters?" the father of the family asked, lifting his sunglasses up to his forehead to read the fine text better.

Marley nodded his head, keeping himself from cringing at the man's mispronunciation, and smiled. He had to remember to smile.

"Alright, we'll have a plate of those and uh," the shirtless man sitting just far enough from the small table as to not give his round stomach the opportunity to topple it over, squinted at the menu, "you guys don't have pancakes or like, bacon or something?"

Again, Marley smiled. He showed off his apron, pointing to where it said 'Jamaican cuisine.'

The man nodded and laughed stupidly. "Sorry," he said dismissively, his eyes shifting back to peruse the menu.

The little boy, who Marley could tell was itching to arrive at the beach right now, stared up at him inquisitively. Marley resisted the urge to glare back, reminding himself that his parents were quite literally sitting right there. That, and his father needed their money. Marley inhaled and thought happy thoughts. Suddenly, the boy chirped up, "Mommy, why can't he talk?"

Immediately, his mother hushed the boy sitting next to her silent. She angled her face away from Marley and whispered, "He's deaf, sweetie. Be quiet."

To save her the humiliation, Marley didn't adjust his facial expressions. Deaf was an assumption he'd gotten often enough for the word to slap him and square in the jaw, leaving a redness that would simply blend in with the bruises before it. Marley supposed she was well-intentioned, anyway. She probably thought that he was reading their lips the whole time. If he had done something to make them the wiser, that would only raise more questions. Marley just kept smiling. It was easier.

"Ah, yes," the father began again, as if he didn't hear his wife, "We'll have your most famous Jamaican breakfast dish and a plate of fritters to go with it."

Ackee and saltfish it is. Marley scribbled down their order and went straight for the kitchen, tearing out the page and handing it to his father.

"How were they?" Tafari asked.

Marley shrugged. He didn't usually like speaking in the restaurant but since he and his father were the only people in the kitchen and that family were the only people outside, he whispered, "Same old, same old."

When the sunscreen-lathered family had finished eating and paid their bill, they tipped Marley an entire twenty dollar bill, to which Tafari couldn't help but smile. "Mi naah lie," he commented, "Yuh affi love white people." Marley laughed.

But as the day went on, the crowd in Jah-Jah's began to build. Marley found himself juggling the cooking and the waiting, slipping in and out of the kitchen and often times forgetting his notepad. This morning, there seemed to be a morning rush of people headed to the beach, though for what Marley could not understand. Sure, it was summer and everyone was looking for a way to cool off but the beach would be crowded and overpriced. It was better to stay inside and soak in some air conditioning in Marley's eyes.

By 9:30 a.m. the Bayside clouds had completely cleared and the sun was licensed to rain down hellfire. Marley was serving out plates of plantains to a family of five when Christina and Jimmy finally stepped inside. Gulping down water bottles and fanning themselves heavily, they turned to Marley and said, "Jesus, it's hell out there, Marley." She tossed him another water bottle from her bag. She warned, "Drink up, kid. You don't want a heat stroke today. Health care ain't free in this country."

"Amen to that," came Jimmy.

As Marley undid the cork, he watched them slip into the kitchen and awaited to hear his dad's voice shouting at them for being thirty minutes late. They were right, though.With the people and the chefs came the added heat. Between entering the kitchen and the dining area of the restaurant, where the fans only seemed to blow more hot air, Marley was sure the place was at its worse. As usual, he was wrong.

When Ava DeLoughery stepped foot into Jah-Jah's Jamaican Jerk Foods, Marley's skin began to sizzle and his cheeks burned like fire. She briefly made eye contact with him, a thing that could've been brushed off as unintentional, before sliding into the same booth she was in yesterday. Marley didn't know Ava very well. But from their conversation yesterday he surmised that she was many things, and unintentional was not one of them.

In her eyes there was a dare, or an invitation, he couldn't quite tell. Either way, Marley Mason did not want to go over to her. The way he felt when she looked at him was something dangerous, he knew. But then again, he was the only server in the entire restaurant.

When Ava DeLoughrey looked up and saw Marley Mason, he had dodged her eye contact and resorted to showing her a recycled piece of paper she suspected brought to every table. It read:

How are you all feeling today? Are you ready for me to take your order?

Raising an eyebrow, Ava looked up at Marley. His eyes were glued to his notepad.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Marley nodded. He clicked his pen to life and stood on standby.

"Then why are you acting so weird?" she probed. Marley could feel Ava's eyes running along his skin, searching for something he was determined to not make her find.

But because of how she said it, Marley Mason wondered if no other boy had ever acted weird around her. Was she that oblivious? Did she not hear her own voice carry in the air or look into a mirror before she left her house? There had to be another guy who saw what he was still seeing right now. Even if that guy was Richard O'Riley.

I need to work, Marley wrote on another piece of paper, showing it to her.

She didn't look like she believed him. "Alright, I get it. You're busy," Ava DeLoughery tutted her teeth and took up a menu. "I'll have-"

"Busy? Who's busy?"

Tafari Mason had come out of nowhere to stand next to his son, slightly yellowing teeth shining and all. He nudged him, "Who's this Marley?"

Marley rolled his eyes.

Ava DeLoughery outstretched her hand. "Hi, Mr. Mason. I'm Ava." She had briefly seen Marley's father stumble into school before. He was always late for Parent-Teacher meetings and school events, if he ever showed up at all. The other parents were always saying something under their breath about his hair and the way that he dressed, so casual and regardless, but he never once seemed to notice their gossip. It reminded her of the way Marley walked in the hallway, seemingly having no clue that everyone had stopped to talk about him.

"Ava, huh? Well, Marley's never mentioned you before."

She traded glances with the boy briefly, not sure what to say and simultaneously wondering if his father meant verbally or scribbled-on-a-notepad style. She guessed she never thought of that before.

"Anyway," Tafari said, his accent thick like jerk sauce, "it's Marley's lunchtime, anyway so guys should catch up, right Marley?"

Marley turned to his father to protest but Tafari only used the opportunity to snatch the pen and notepad from his hands. He patted Marley on the shoulder and smiled. "Have fun." He sang. Then, he was gone, back to the havoc in the restaurant.

Marley exhaled. His lunch break wasn't for another hour and he was sure his father knew that. Over his shoulder, Marley Mason glanced at the girl still giggling in her seat.

"I like your dad," she said, "He's a lot more fun than you."

Marley shook his head and pressed his lips together to prevent a smile. Sitting across from her, he gave her a look that read: He's a handful.

Ava DeLoughery only laughed.

Readers, I was on Twitter talking about how much I wanted to post a new chapter and peer pressured me into doing it so you guys have her to thank for this upload I guess.

This week's dedication goes to *drumroll* because not only did she vote and comment but she really came through on Instagram and followed me and shared my poem. I was...excited, to say the least. Thank you so much for supporting me! You have no idea how much it means to me because a nigga is really doing his best rn! Remember, readers to get a dedication, all you have to do is and and it's yours!

Oh, if you're a student heading back to school this fall I have a brand new blog post up just for you so click the link in my bio to read all about it! It'll help you a lot, I promise. In other news, Godspeed has been a lot easier to write recently because the truth is: I'm in love. Yes, I've fallen in love with Zendaya. She's all I think about and I will not stop until I marry her. That is all. Have a great week, readers!