Completely in the voices of the "quiet kids", this piece shows a sensitivity that is compelling. The individuals speak about how they see themselves, why they are so quiet and how they feel they are percieved amid the bustling chaos of the school halls. Nicely woven together, concise and moving.

Engaging with her subject, Hillary Frank recognizes the nameless quiet kids who always stuck close to lockers in crowded middle school hallways, shrunk into their seats when questioned in class, and sank onto cafeteria benches alone with paper bag lunches.

Instead of forcing a narrator into the piece or bombarding shy teenagers with questions, Frank places us back in high school through monologues, ambient sound, and, of course, silence. The unidentified voices of the teens, hushed and tentative, settle into the sound-scape, providing simultaneous sanctuary and discomfort in the position of the quiet kid. As listeners, we feel the appeal of the bubble when the noise of the hallway erupts, yet we sympathize with the confessions of fear of exiting the safety zone provided by this veil of silence.

In using collage, Frank doesn’t even try to provide answers regarding how to make quiet kids interact with other kids or how to fix their silence. Those questions aren’t even posed. The sensitive and astute format allows a more effective entrance into their bubble, creating a surprising understanding in the listener.