Now! he shouted as he tucked the firecracker into the tank and lit the fuse. The group sprinted back down to the lip of the ramp. Austin felt the explosion before he had time to fully turn and watch the show—crackle of red, white, and green cutting through the night. It was easy to be in awe of the colorful clusters breaking against the darkness of road and sky, conditioned as humans are to marvel at pyrotechnic displays. Then the fireworks gave way to fire. A plume of smoke rose, just a shade lighter than the cast of the sky itself, and Slash and his friends took off down the street, past their house, and deeper into the city.
Austin and Charlie followed them to a block that showed some signs of life. The group ducked into a bar, where inside, the New Year’s crowd looked less than celebratory. They pushed into a back room and took up residence in a corner booth.
They were all still heaving to catch their breath when a waitress slammed a tray of sweaty beers on their table and shook her head at them.
Hell yeah, said Lem, when the woman left.
I told you! said Sid.
The friends clinked bottles and Austin sat watching them revel for a while, without trying to understand what they were saying, or even what exactly had happened. The bartender brought a round of whiskey shots. They drank.
Why? Austin said, looking to Slash.
Huh? said Slash.
Austin cleared his throat: Why did you do that?
He was grateful that the group seemed unfazed by the thickness of his accent. It made him wonder what Charlie’s voice sounded like.
Two reasons, Slash said, holding up his fingers, but Austin lost him after that, and looked to Charlie.
He says it’s a protest, she said.
Protesting what?
Well, more like general display of dissatisfaction.
But wasn’t that someone’s car?
Charlie relayed.
He says, S-i-d watched and it sat there a long time. He says if the city has to spend money for cleanup, they get the message.
What message?
Anger, she said.
Austin was thirsty, took a few big gulps of beer. He hoped someone might offer him the weed again. Prone to paranoia and expecting to be nervous around so many hearing people, he’d been careful not to smoke too much. But the anxiety hadn’t come—these guys weren’t so bad, they kind of made sense, actually. He could get behind some rage right about now—and he was quite drunk and wanted another toke.
What’s the second reason? he said.
Why not? Slash said, grinning.
Austin shrugged and said weed, which he knew to be a universal sign, and Greg laughed and handed him the vape.
charlie arrived home in the early hours of New Year’s Day, still drunk, and crawled into bed. When she woke later, head pounding, she was impressed and a little regretful that she hadn’t vomited.
Some party, her father said when she descended the stairs that afternoon.
Charlie could only groan.
Want some bacon?
Not hungry.
It’ll help.
Fine, she said.
She sat while her father fried her bacon and eggs and stared at the sizzling grease until her eyes fell out of focus.
Anything you want to talk about? he said, sliding the plate across the counter.
Like what?
I don’t know, the party? What’d you guys do? Any boys?
Ew, Dad, no.
No boys?
No talking to you about boys.
H-a! So there is one!
Charlie rubbed her temples.
Your mother said you were out with a boy over Thanksgiving.
Who are you two, the Happiness Police?
I’m just making sure you’re—
Charlie could see him trying to figure out how to sign the rest of the sentence.
r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-l-e.
OH MY GOD, Dad stop.
Fathers are supposed to w-o-r-r-y about daughters and boyfriends.
I don’t have a boyfriend, she said.
But she felt her cheeks warm at the thought that maybe she could. Austin had surprised her last night. He had hung in with the drugs and the partying, but more important, he had been vulnerable with her, which was something neither Kyle nor Slash had ever done.
I have homework.
Good luck with that, he said.
* * *
—
Charlie was glad when break came to an end, but was disappointed to find the first day back at school also felt like a slog. Things improved after play practice, once she was alone with Austin, holding hands as they crossed the quad. Then she saw her mother’s car parked in front of her dorm and wished she could slip back into math class after all.
Austin, who’d given her the sign for “hangover” and was now deftly describing the pulse of his head as he and his family faced the fallout of their implant argument and the detritus of the party his parents had thrown, did not notice her go white. She pulled him behind a column.
I have to go. My mom.
Oh, can I meet your mom?
You don’t wanna meet my mom.
For one minute!
She doesn’t sign.
S-o? I’ll wave.
Charlie considered. Her mother was always finding creative ways to mortify her, but there was also potential pleasure to be derived from rubbing a very Deaf boy in her mother’s face. Eventually she nodded and led Austin to the car, where her mom got out and thrust her hand in his face. They shook.
Hello, she said. You must be—
My friend Austin, Charlie said and signed at once.
Nice meeting you.
He says nice to meet you, said Charlie.
Congratulations on the play, her mother said.
She said congrats on Peter Pan.
Thanks.
Her mother fidgeted with her keys.
All right, we better go. In case there’s traffic, said her mother.
Gotta go get poked in the head, said Charlie.
Austin laughed, which startled her mother, which made Charlie laugh.
See you later, he said.
For a second Charlie was afraid he’d try to kiss her, but instead he just launched the sign for “kiss” toward her and winked.
What’d he say? asked her mother.
“See you later.”
Her mother looked as if she wanted to press the issue, but instead just opened and closed her mouth. Charlie had a vision of her mother-as-goldfish, and laughed again as they drove toward the gate.
* * *
—
At Colson Children’s, the interpreter was waiting for them in a chair near the receptionist’s window, flipping through a copy of Time. Her mother checked in while Charlie chatted with him about Christmas break and school.
RVSD? My son goes there, the interpreter said. Maybe you know him. Austin?
Charlie’s cheeks burned.
I know Austin, she said. We’re in the play together. Well—
The receptionist swung the door open, and Charlie was grateful for the interruption, until she remembered what awaited her at the end of the corridor.
Austin’s father’s smile congealed. Charlie tried not to think about the debate going on in his house, the way their opinions might be at odds. In this room, she needed him. The doctor appeared, shook her mother’s hand.
I hear you gave the family a scare over the holidays, the interpreter-as-doctor said.
I got a little dizzy.
She passed out cold! said interpreter-mother.
Was there pain like with your previous headaches?
I don’t remember, Charlie said. It happened too fast.
The doctor pulled on gloves, took her processor off, and ran his finger along the curve of her scar. Charlie winced.
Any pain when I press?
Some.