Give Me a Sign(22)

“Right.” He clasps his hands together. “Ben and I are running low on our travel-size toiletries and other things that made more sense to purchase here. Any chance you could give us a lift to a shop tonight?”

“Sure . . . How about now? Before it gets dark.” My first off-site trip!

“Yes, thank you so much.” Oliver turns and calls out to Ben, who is at the dishwashing station, dumping his meat loaf into the nearby trash. “Ready now?”

“Wonderful! Let’s go,” Ben says. As soon as the three of us are outside the dining hall, he adds, “And can we please find something else to eat? That was horrendous.”

They walk with me back to the cabins so I can get my car keys and glasses from my suitcase. Isaac is sitting in his bunk checking his phone, which is plugged into the wall.

“Where are you going?” he asks when he notices the car keys.

“Store. Want to come?”

“Sure,” he signs, following me outside the cabin where his friends are sitting around the campfire with no flame burning yet. “I can ask Natasha and Jaden, too?”

“Ah, I can only fit five in my car,” I say, holding up my hand to indicate the count.

Isaac isn’t looking at me when I say this, but he sees Oliver and Ben waiting outside the cabin for me. He slowly shakes his head. “That’s fine. Another night.”

“Oh,” I say, watching him walk away. “Okay.”

Oliver leans forward and waves for my attention. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, let me check directions before I lose this sliver of service. I think there’s a Super Mart kinda far away, but there’s a pharmacy and a Mackie’s a few minutes closer.”

“Perfect,” Oliver says, taking a quick peek over my shoulder at the map on my phone. “We’ll follow your lead.”

I’m suddenly relieved that my parents made me clean this old car before driving it to camp. It’s not super reliable anymore. I usually only use it to get to and from school, so I can’t be the one doing all the trips this summer, but I’m sure a few outings won’t hurt.

I put on my glasses, since I’ve been going most of my time here at camp without my usual contact lenses. I let Ben plug in his phone to the stereo so he can play his music, mainly to avoid being judged on my random music choices. They chatter most of the way to the store, and I do my best to read their lips out of the corner of my eye or through the rearview mirror, but for the most part I sit quietly and let them chat.

It doesn’t take too long for Oliver and Ben to find what they need in the pharmacy, but when I drive us across the street to the Mackie’s parking lot, neither of them wants to get out of the car.

“Let’s just go through there,” Oliver says from the passenger seat, pointing to the drive-through.

“Well . . .” I say, clasping my hands together, noticing a sudden urge to sign. “I can’t really hear with those.”

“That’s all right, I’ve got you,” he insists.

I carefully drive around the U-bend to the drive-through speakers. As I park, the jumble of noise to my left starts, which Oliver understands perfectly. He leans over the middle compartment to respond, but he’s too far from the microphone for the employee to hear him.

“Sorry, let me just ——。” Oliver scooches even closer, hand on my arm, as I turn my head to the side to get out of his way. After placing his order, he asks Ben and me what we want. There’s sometimes a relief to just letting someone else handle social interactions for me.

“The chicken nuggets,” I whisper to him.

He relays, a jumble of noise says something back, and he turns to me again. This follow-up question is exactly why I let him speak for me. “Sauce?” he asks me.

“Sweet and sour.” My face is way too close to his, so I press farther back into my seat.

As we drive around to the window, he relaxes back into his spot. “Is Mackie’s better over here?”

“Probably worse, if I had to guess,” I say.

I wonder what the other counselors are doing. It would be a perfect night for s’mores around the fire or something. But the lifeguards and I eat our fast food on the long drive back to Gray Wolf so it doesn’t get cold.

“So, do you like working here?” Oliver asks after we park back at the campgrounds. As we walk through the trees, Ben is still finishing the rest of his milkshake but bobbing his head along encouragingly to Oliver’s question.

I nod. “Can’t beat being outside all summer. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?”

“Not really. This kind of thing isn’t the same in the UK, know what I mean? Not enough sunshine,” Oliver jokes.

“Really?” I ask. “I suppose you just spend all your time running around castles instead.”

He might genuinely laugh at this—or at me—but it’s a nice, quiet laugh. I have to pay close attention to his mouth because his accent is tricky, particularly in this dim light. He smiles, running a hand back through his hair. “Well, there is actually a small castle in my hometown . . .”

“Seriously?” I can’t imagine living next to anything besides cornfields.

“Don’t be too impressed,” Ben chimes in. “There are at least a couple thousand in the country.”