There was this girl I knew back in high school - no, not knew. Nobody knew her, we just knew she was there. Her name was Alyssa Boyle; she sat two desks behind me in history. Three years of high school and no one had ever heard her say a word. The teachers had given up mid-sophomore year; all they ever got from her was a blank stare. I remember people used to take bets on whether they could make her talk. The worst of them: Christian Thorsen.

Chris - what could anyone say about Chris? Everyone knew him. He was captain of varsity football. He was the star of the track team. He was all-state lacrosse, student body president, and a well-known prick. He could have had any girl he ever wanted, but no. He always had to get what he wanted. It had to be Alyssa; he was obsessed.

I'll admit, it wasn't hard to do; Alyssa was beautiful. She had deep, honey-colored eyes, a perfect hourglass figure, long chestnut hair that always smelled like jasmine, and the prettiest face I had ever seen. She never wore make up - she didn't need to. Add in the air of tragic mystery that surrounded her, and she had guys falling for her left and right, myself included. We all knew we didn't have a chance, but everyone has to have a fantasy.

But Chris - one Friday, during April of senior year, he bet the whole history class that he could get her to talk. The teacher had stepped out for coffee, so he took the opportunity to slide into the desk next to hers. For months he'd been harassing her with questions and slurs that she pointedly ignored. But now, before the whole class, he was convinced he could break her silence, and nobody had a good feeling about it.

He smiled cockily. "I had a really great time last night, babe. How much do I owe you?"

Alyssa glanced up at him in annoyance, but merely returned to her assignment, pushing her hair softly out of her face with the very tips of her fingers. "So my place tonight?" Chris said loudly. "Don't worry, if the answer's yes just stay silent. I'll get it."

He winked at her, but she just rolled her eyes and kept writing. The class laughed quietly, and it was quite obvious that he was getting flustered. Alyssa Boyle wasn't giving Mr. Perfect the time of day.

"Did I tell you I made all-state lacrosse this year? Huge competition." She remained indifferent. "And I'm the captain of every sports team in the school. Have been for three years."

Not a word passed her lips. A sophomore, Adam Luther, shook his head. "Just give up Chris," he sighed. "She's not going to budge."

"Shut the hell up!" he snapped angrily at him, turning back to Alyssa in frustration. "Just one question, gorgeous: what the hell gives you the right to sit there and ignore everything I say? Do you think you're above us somehow? That we're somehow less than you?"

She just continued to write. The whole class sat in silence as he grabbed her by the hair. "Look at me when I talk to you!" For what seemed like decades he stared at her expressionless face, and brought time rushing back as he struck her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted, jumping out of my seat. Everybody else seemed to think it was a show, like Alyssa was less than human and not worth saving.

Chris didn't so much as look at me as he shoved me to the floor. His eyes locked with hers, he growled, "You know what? I hope you never say a word. I hope your silence follows you to the grave, and I hope you'll never know what it's like to be happy."

She smiled mockingly, with a glare that could have burned holes through hell. "I hope what you see haunts you until the day you die," she spoke softly.

Quietly Alyssa got to her feet and gathered her things, the whole class gaping as she walked out of the room. Nobody knew what to say; Chris just laughed triumphantly. "Where's my money, Jared?" he gloated.

Jared Aldridge frowned. "I wonder if God accepts cash bribes."

"Why?"

"Because otherwise, you're going straight to hell."

On Monday, Chris' face was gaunt and ghostly, and he wouldn't say a word. But everybody already knew: Alyssa was dead. Friday night she had walked to his house in the pouring rain. She rang the doorbell once, with a loaded gun to her head, and pulled the trigger the second she saw his face in the doorway, wearing the same mocking smile she had donned as he had sat berating her.

Every senior in the school was secretly mourning that day, but there's not a chance that anyone from Mr. Burke's history class will ever be able to forget it. He was in the process of explaining Hitler's vision, and the whole class gasped as he pulled down the white board to elaborate. Nobody dared to look away from the black ink scrawled across the board:

"To the class of 2005: History always says that language, among other things, led to the rise of civilization. I've heard some of you say I'm less than human because I choose to stay silent. Well maybe you should have thought about how little good your words do; I see you throw them around carelessly, oblivious of the harm you do.

"Four years ago I said something stupid. My sister and I were fighting, and as words were tossed back and forth I told her I'd be happier if she were dead... I found her dead in the bathtub, her wrists slit wide open, and I haven't said a word since.

"I killed my sister, and Chris killed me - and I'll bet you anything that he hasn't said a word since then. And I hope he never does; I hope his silence follows him to the grave, and I hope he'll never know what it's like to be happy again. I hope all of you realize that words are a deadlier weapon than any gun, or any razor, and that perhaps silence is truer than anything you could ever say. - Alyssa Boyle"

I will never be able to forget that Monday, or Alyssa Boyle, or the last and only words I ever heard her speak. There was nothing anyone could say. There was only the deathly sound of silence, and the rising echo of Chris' sobs that moved to fill it.