Give Me a Sign: Chapters 15–23

Before lunch, our cabin tries to decide what song to perform for the talent show, which is happening before the dance. And by “decide,” I mean bicker.

Although we’re all wearing matching friendship bracelets, we haven’t achieved group unity yet. The girls are zoning in on one pop hit, but Blake has yet to relent.

“Big tree,” he signs, blowing out his cheeks to denote size.

I brush off the dirt and notice several red welts on my legs. The bugs got me good.

While I can tell there’s a song playing, what I hear is more subdued, faded.

Isaac reaches up and brushes my hair back behind my unencumbered ears.

To Mackenzie, sign language is a skill to get followers on YouTube and use whenever it’s convenient for her. She’s trying to use it as a deterrent, when in reality a disability doesn’t save you from harassment.

Most hearing parents run to get their babies surgery as soon as they’re deemed candidates for the implant.

Despite our somewhat flirty friendship, Oliver and I have remained platonic.

And I can’t figure out the windshield wipers. They either go too fast or too slow for the fluctuating rainfall.

The rain has subsided into a drizzle.

He taps his fingers against his chin, feigning deep thought.

I sigh and wiggle my fingers arbitrarily to express this frustration while I formulate my next sentence.

Isaac bends his fingers and taps them together twice, which looks very similar to another sign I know.
“Kiss?” I ask, playing coy.

We’re floating in the lake, bobbing up and down in our life jackets, enjoying the reprieve from the harsh summer sun.

Waiting for afternoon game time, some of the staff starts filming counselor and camper testimonials to put in our fundraising video.

Jaden’s wrapping up his blurb, focusing on how camp is a great support system.

In a super- exuberant, flawless one-take, he signs, “I love Camp Gray Wolf, why? It’s the perfect place to be myself, as loud, silly, and confident as I want.”

Even when it’s just my family hanging out in the basement for a few hours, the possibility of a tornado always gets my blood pumping. There’s a reason for the cliché of Midwesterners standing at the window trying to get a glimpse before hurrying down to the basement.

Look how far my skills have come this summer, interpreting to facilitate communication between a deaf and a blind camper.

After which, Honey reaches out for Phoebe’s hand and presses the sign A into her palm, using the tactile approach. It’s a touch-based method of signing that I’ve seen Deafblind kids use before.

Gary raises his arms to calm us as we barrage him with questions.

I was really hoping to trudge back to the cabins and pass out, not have to deal with all this.

It’s not that long of a walk to the bathhouse, but I’m coming at it from a different cabin and angle now, careful of the storm debris beneath my feet.

Simone saunters back to the cabins.

You enjoy considerable freedoms as a junior counselor, but you are still a trainee. Don’t slack on your job responsibilities.

“And I doubt they’d be keen to hear why,” Gary finishes.

She’s inquisitive but waits for me to explain.

His Bears jersey nearly comes down to his knees. For his small stature, he usually packs a lot of personality, but right now, he seems nervous.

“I’m more than all right. Just ’cause you’re biased toward a certain other counselor—”

“It’s a major surgery,” my mom says, presumably wondering why my reaction isn’t bigger. “Well, it’s supposed to be ‘minimally invasive,’ but it would still take at least six weeks for his head to recover before they could turn it on.”

It makes sense that Max would gravitate toward other speakers at camp, but I want him to experience ASL this summer, and I’m not sure he’ll be getting that from Blake.

Tuesday is sports day, so for the afternoon activity everyone hangs out on the big open field with footballs, volleyballs, soccer balls, baseballs, Hula-Hoops, and a whole assortment of other playground staples.

Isaac looks at me, but I don’t catch what she says, either. He reaches for his phone, probably to use the Live Transcribe app.

The guard hasn’t tried to identify himself, and Isaac must not have noticed the patch, since this guy grabbed him from behind and closed in too fast this time. The two grapple with each other on the sidewalk.

He walks leisurely up to the guard and Isaac, holding his belt with both hands.

“What’s going on here?” he asks in a deep drawl.

The officer’s voice is gruff again.

“The police officer took him.” I hyperventilate. “He’s hurt.”

Ethan turns the key. Nothing. He tries again and again to no avail. Apparently, I’d left the lights on, and now the battery is dead.