Isaac motions for me to take his phone to record his video. He positions my hands above my shoulders to keep the same height he’d been filming at. “I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” he signs.
I nod, already feeling my arms threatening to shake.
Isaac pulls his staff shirt from his backpack and slides it over his tank top. 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.”
Isaac bounds back toward me, grinning wide.
“Perfect.” I hand his phone back.
“You going to do yours in ASL?”
“Oh,” I say, having not really considered it yet. “Yeah, I think so.”
He slides off his staff shirt and offers it to me. It hangs a bit long, but the frame is cropped, so that won’t be noticeable.
“Thanks.” I turn to Phoebe. “I’m going to film mine really quick.”
“All right.” She tilts her head toward the sky. “Are we still going to play the game? It seems like it might rain or something.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure.”
I stand in the spot at the edge of the field, with the gravel path and cypress trees behind me, capturing all the vibes of a summer camp location. But as soon as I’m in position, I realize that I don’t know what to say.
“Ready?” Isaac signs one-handed.
I nod. “I love Camp Gray Wolf, why? Because . . . ” But I drop my hands back down to my side and shake my head. “Nope, again. Sorry.”
“It’s fine! Need help with a word?” Isaac asks.
“Yes, please. S-p-e-c-i-a-l.”
He demonstrates the sign and waits until I’m ready to start again.
“I love Camp Gray Wolf, why? This is a place to learn ASL and experience Deaf culture and make friends like me. It’s amazing to have this special place away from the hearing world, where I met some of my first Deaf role models. Now I can be one for the campers myself.”
I felt confident while signing, but after a big smile at the end of the take, I drop my hands and shrug. “Was that okay? Should I try again?”
Isaac shakes his head. “That was great!”
When I walk back to give him his staff shirt, he gives me a side hug. “You’ll definitely have one of these shirts next year.”
“I hope so.”
So much needs to happen before then. I need to be hired as a senior counselor. And camp needs to have enough money to still exist.
Ethan waves for everyone to line up at the end of the field he sectioned off in a rectangle with tiny orange cones, which the wind keeps blowing away. A couple of campers chase them down for him. Ethan stacks them up, not bothering to try to set them up again. We can play the Elves, Wizards, and Giants tag game with natural landmarks rather than the markers.
“Are you ready to play the game?” I ask Phoebe.
“Wait, quiet.” She pokes her nose up and turns her head. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” The sky has gotten dark. A recognizable putrid shade of green. “Oh . . . shit.”
“The tornado siren,” Phoebe says. “It’s getting louder.”
I don’t hear it yet, but I know she’s right. I jump and wave for Ethan, who is about to announce the game instructions. Instead, he runs over.
“Is everything all right?” he asks.
I point up. “Phoebe hears the tornado siren.”
“Shit, that has gotten bad.”
At the same time, Gary tears toward us on the golf cart. He speaks loudly but calmly. “Everyone get to the dining hall basement.”
Ethan runs back toward the field, relaying the message once more, adding, “Counselors, do a head count and get all your campers to the dining hall.”
“Lilah, Simone, get your kids on the golf cart,” Gary says, jumping out of the driver’s seat.
“Do you mean?” I nod toward the golf cart.
“Yes, drive your campers up.”
I rush Phoebe toward the passenger side while Simone guides her girls to squeeze onto the back. We zip across the grass to the dining hall while everyone else walks quickly behind us. Small chunks of hail fall from the clouds, starting to pelt us from the side.
I can vaguely hear the sirens now. Phoebe must have heard the ones from the next town over. Is this a watch or a warning? 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.
Phoebe is mumbling something.
“What’s that?” I shout, peering out of the corner of my eye to watch her response.
“A tornado —— destroyed my school.”
“What? Really?”
“It was before I was born.”
Obviously, they do touch down sometimes. But that’s not what I want to be thinking about right now. “Was everyone okay?”
“Um, no . . .”
Honestly, I wasn’t that worried until she said that.
I park us in front of the dining hall and shout, “Let’s get to the basement!” Then I turn to Simone. “Shoot, the lifeguards. Should I drive down to the lake?”
“We’re here, we’re here!” Oliver shouts, out of breath, running toward the dining hall from the opposite direction.
The rest of the staff and campers are approaching now, too. Gary finds the door at the back of the dining hall, opening it to reveal a dark wooden staircase. Leaving the wheelchair off to the side, Isaac carefully carries one of his campers down the stairs. Gary does a head count to ensure everyone is here.
“There’s no rail,” I tell Phoebe, moving her hands to my shoulders. “Follow me.”
The basement is a third of the size of the dining hall. It’s a tight squeeze to fit us all in, and there’s one light barely illuminating this space. The floor hasn’t been swept in years. Gary is the last one downstairs after the lifeguards and kitchen staff.
Phoebe and I find a spot to sit along the wall. As we crouch to the floor, the single light bulb hanging above us flickers and goes out. Phoebe says something to me, but it’s too dark for me to lip-read what it is.
“Hold on,” I say, fumbling around in my backpack, trying to find my phone or mini flashlight. Some of the other counselors have already turned theirs on, casting eerie shadows on the wall. “Crap, no service.” I lean back against the cold concrete wall, pulling my legs to my chest and resting my phone between my knees with the flashlight pointed upward.
I turn back to Phoebe. “You were saying?”
“Never mind.” She’s already pulled a book from her satchel and is running her fingers across the pages.
And then we all sit here . . . and sit, and sit, and sit, waiting for the sky to clear and Gary to release us from this cramped and overcrowded basement. Mackenzie tries to lead a hand-clapping game, but none of the campers are in the mood, preferring to just talk among themselves.
Honey crawls over to sit beside me and Phoebe. She points toward Phoebe’s book. “I want to learn.”
“Hey, Phoebe,” I say. “Honey is right next to you and wants to learn Braille.”