The Listeners

by Maggie Stiefvater

June had long ago discovered that most people were bad listeners; they thought listening was synonymous with hearing. But the spoken was only half a conversation. True needs, wants, fears, and hopes hid not in the words that were said, but in the ones that weren’t, and all these formed the core of luxury. June had become a good listener.

She knew better now. Only children and pedants tried to put human faces on the ineffable.

Good manners, said Mr. Francis in June’s head, are about making the world a more beautiful place. Sometimes that means you have an unbeautiful thought, but you don’t say it. Sometimes it means you have an unbeautiful need, but you don’t ask for it. The moment it leaves your head, it makes the world less beautiful, do you understand? The well-mannered will go to all kinds of trouble to make sure their unbeautiful thoughts are well hidden. They train in this skill for their entire lives. June: You’re going to tell me now it’s our job to guess what other fellers’ unbeautiful thoughts are so they don’t have to say them, is that it? Mr. Francis: Very good, June.