Give Me a Sign(10)
I shrug, not sure what he’s getting at, because that looks similar to what I just signed, so he takes a different approach. He signs the word the way I did, moving his hand up and down his chest more than once. He shakes his head no, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, so I signed it wrong?” I ask.
“It’s okay,” Mackenzie says and signs. “I’ve made that mistake before.”
Great. Once more, I look imploringly toward Ethan.
“If you sign ‘hungry’ like that,” Ethan explains, “it means ‘horny.’？”
“What?” I hope I misheard. Did I really sign to everyone that I was horny right now?
Isaac steps closer to me and takes hold of the back of my hand. No, it’s not a romantic gesture, although his action still sends a shiver down my back. Deaf interactions can be touchy. Lots of reaching out to get each other’s attention and to emphasize certain things being said. As we’re walking, he moves my hand from my throat to my chest once, nodding yes. He lets go and repeats the sign against his chest multiple times, vehemently shaking his head no.
“I . . . see where I went wrong.” My embarrassment turns to anger when I realize Mackenzie has interpreted what I just said in sign for Isaac. It shouldn’t have to be like this. “Sorry.”
Mackenzie falls into step with me. “It’s all right,” she says and signs. “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning.”
“I’m tired of learning. I just want to be fluent,” I say, holding my hands tight against my chest. “I should know it already.”
We’re getting closer to the dining hall. I slow down and check my phone, not wanting to walk beside Mackenzie. Isaac and Ethan converse, and Isaac reaches into his backpack and pulls out a Fruit Roll-Up, scrunching most of it into his mouth so he can still sign with Ethan while he’s eating. He’s about to shove the wrapper into his pocket when he glances back at me.
“Still hungry?” He lifts his eyebrows. That’s all it takes for the blood to rush right back to my face. I shake my head. Isaac tilts his head and widens his eyes into an apologetic puppy dog stare. “Sorry, that wasn’t funny.”
“It’s fine.” I tap my thumb against my chest, confident I know this sign.
He leans forward with eyes wide. “Friends?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Friends.”
I speed up to keep pace with the group but hide on the opposite side of Ethan. My brain is spinning—that’s enough conversation for now.
Chapter Five
This evening there’s only one long table set up in the center of the dining hall. We’re a small staff of ten, so each of us grabs a folding chair from the stacks along the wall and we squeeze together. There’s no food at the buffet station. The camp chef will be here in a few days. Instead, there’s a platter of grocery store sandwiches and bags of chips on the counter near a Gatorade jug full of water.
“Welcome to training week, counselors!” A man sprints to the front of the hall, clapping. Ethan follows, standing by his side to interpret. “For those of you I haven’t met yet, my name is Gary. This is my second year here at Gray Wolf.”
Gary looks . . . like a Gary. He’s a high school science teacher with short, graying hair. He’s wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and khakis, a uniform of sorts. For the next ten minutes, Gary outlines what we can expect during training, as well as once the campers arrive. I may or may not tune out at the end, eager to get on to the eating portion.
“To recap, training will cover safety, familiarizing ourselves with the grounds, and refreshers on games and activities.”
Gary stands in stark contrast next to Ethan, who is interpreting with less enthusiasm than he would if the campers were here, but with plenty of facial expressions still. They’re so different. Old and young. Hearing and Deaf. Reserved and energetic. Gary is lean and sports a scraggly beard, while Ethan is stocky and has tied his hair into a topknot.
“And the storm cellar is here in the dining hall basement,” Gary says, wrapping up his spiel. “I do have one last point to make, now that the usual summer procedures are out of the way. As you may or may not know, I’m usually the guy camps bring in when things aren’t looking too hot in one way or another.” He must be greeted by a lot of concerned faces, because he immediately clarifies. “What we have here is a simple budget issue.”
That makes sense. Gray Wolf was never a state-of-the-art campground, but it does look worse for wear than I thought it would. And I’m not sure how anyone is supposed to know about this place with such an outdated website. But where does the money come from? Any kid with a qualifying hearing or vision loss can attend, and it’s all free, which is why my parents were able to send me here when I was little.
“Essentially,” Gary says, “the original source of financing has been depleted over the years, faster than additional funds have been procured. We’ll need some new revenue to keep things going.”
To keep things going? I’m finally back at Gray Wolf, but is it possible this could be the last summer? Talk about terrible timing. This is the most deaf-friendly job I’ll probably ever have. And there are so many more kids who should experience this place.
“Obviously, we don’t want to have to charge our campers,” Ethan interjects.