Give Me a Sign(14)

He signs something else too fast to follow, and fortunately the girl steps in to interpret. “I’m Natasha,” she says with a strong deaf accent. “And this is Jaden.”

“Flower and Bat,” Isaac chimes in with their camp sign names. He quickly tells Natasha something to relay to me. “We have a ‘first day of training week’ tradition,” she says, “where we hang out at the lake at night.”

“That’s fun,” I say.

Isaac and Jaden nod eagerly. Jaden signs something that I kind of catch, but Natasha is already interpreting for me anyway. “Not until it gets dark out. Are you coming?”

“Okay, maybe,” I say and sign. I’m sure it’ll be a good time, but what’s so exciting about it?

“It’s great,” Isaac signs. “There’s a fun surprise, I promise.”

Natasha starts to repeat, but I’m eager to reply and show Isaac I knew what he was signing. “Really, a surprise?” I smile. “Okay-okay.”

“We’ll just —— for now,” Isaac signs.

“Chill,” Natasha says, observantly picking up on what I understood and what I need clarification on. But her voice is flat, like she really doesn’t care to be interpreting right now. Some Deaf people choose to “turn off their voice” and primarily sign, even if they still speak occasionally. If this is Natasha’s preference, it is a little unfair that she’s acting as our go-between right now because she has the implant. I wish we could all just be signing.

The three of them start to walk to the door, signing together about something and not looping me in. I doubt Natasha is excluding me on purpose, but it’s hard not to feel left out.

“I need to finish cleaning first. I’ll catch up,” I shout after Natasha, my hands hanging helplessly at my sides.

“Cool,” she says, indifferent.

When Isaac turns to see why I’m not following them, she signs to him. Part of me hopes he’ll offer to stay behind with me. Yet how would that go without an interpreter nearby? Isaac waves back but walks on with his friends.

I’d just slow down their conversation anyway. I can tell that Isaac switches over to a more English-based sentence construction when communicating with me, which is easier to follow since I’m still unfamiliar with ASL grammar. But when Isaac, Natasha, and Jaden all use true ASL, I’m lost—picking up words here and there, but not truly comprehending yet. I want to get to their level as fast as I can.

I hurry to wipe the table, my head down and arm stretching as far as I can to reach the opposite side. I don’t hear the side door open, but I catch a glimpse of its movement out of the corner of my eye. Some guy who looks to be a few years older than me walks in and starts rummaging through the leftover sandwiches. He wasn’t at our staff meeting earlier. Gary or Ethan would’ve mentioned if someone was arriving late.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Sorry to frighten you,” he calls out. There’s something funny about his voice.

“Are you working here this summer?” I ask. He’s clearly not one of the counselors.

“Yeah, just popping in to grab some supper.”

He’s average height with blue eyes. His swept-back blond hair is damp, and so are the sandals he’s wearing, which leave a trail across the hardwood floor. But what my glance can’t avoid is that he’s not wearing a shirt underneath his unzipped jacket. There’s a gold chain dangling at his chest, beneath two tattoos.

“Um.” I shake my head and look back at his face. “But you’re not a counselor?”

“No, I work down on ——。” He points to the window behind him and continues preparing his plate. I can’t remember the layout of the campgrounds well enough to have any idea where he gestured toward, and I couldn’t hear the word he said.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head.

“What?” he repeats, looking mildly offended, but I can’t tell why. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, I didn’t hear you . . .” I say, startled by his slight change in demeanor. “You know, ’cause we’re at a Deaf camp.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you were. I’ve never met a deaf person before.” He leans against the counter and takes a bite of his sandwich. “You should say ‘pardon,’ by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“Precisely. Instead of ‘what.’ It’s less aggressive, but then again, you are American.”

“Right . . .” I smile, amused by his playful banter despite the cultural misunderstanding. But I can’t hear him well enough to discern his accent. “And clearly you are not? What brings you here?”

“The Camp American program. I’m from England. The plan’s to work at Gray Wolf and then travel around the States once the job is done.”

“Interesting.” I didn’t know that program was a thing. It honestly feels like something out of a movie—bringing a cute British guy to the Midwest. “So what exactly is your job?”

“Lifeguard.” He puts his food down on the table I just cleaned, then pulls two chairs over from the stack along the wall.

Is one of those for me? I wouldn’t mind hanging out and getting to know the lifeguard, but I should go find the counselors. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got to get back,” I say, gesturing to the spare chair.