“Cool.” But Phoebe keeps reading.
I give a smile and shrug to Honey. “One second.” I press Phoebe. “Maybe you could show her some? We’ve got nothing else to do.”
“I’m reading, isn’t that something?”
“This would be a very junior-counselor-worthy thing to do . . .”
Phoebe slowly nods. “Okay fine, ——， and only if she teaches me sign.”
“She wants you to teach her ASL, too,” I sign. Look how far my skills have come this summer, interpreting to facilitate communication between a deaf and a blind camper. Sometimes there’s purpose to being in the middle.
Honey nods eagerly. “That’s fun.”
Phoebe holds out her novel, scanning the bumps with her finger until she comes across the letter A. She nods for Honey to reach out and examine the letter. After which, Honey reaches out for Phoebe’s hand and presses the sign A into her palm, using the tactile approach. It’s a touch-based method of signing that I’ve seen Deafblind kids use before.
“Does the letter move?” Phoebe asks.
“Oh, she’s actually signing the word ‘yes’ now,” I say.
Blake is lurking off to the side, and I can tell she’s interested. I nod for her to come over here, too.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Learning Braille and ASL,” I explain. “Want to join us?”
Blake sniffles, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Sure.” She cuddles beside me and, to my surprise, follows along with the alphabet as Honey demonstrates it for Phoebe.
“—— longer are we going to be here?” Phoebe asks, moving on to the next letter. “I’m starving.”
“Same,” I agree. It’s already dinnertime, but the storm has derailed our schedule. I should’ve stocked my backpack with snacks. “Maybe it’s clearing up already.”
“Nope, it’s louder,” Phoebe says.
“There’s food right upstairs. Should I make a run for it?” I ask.
“I’ll speak kindly at your funeral,” she says. “My stomach is growling; can you hear that?”
“That loud?” I ask.
“Yep. You might need to prepare words for mine, then.”
Gary pulls the door open and runs upstairs. He comes back a minute later, waving his phone. “It says there hasn’t been any touchdown nearby, but the storm is still going strong, so we need to stay here.” Ethan jumps up, biting his flashlight between his teeth to spotlight his hands as he interprets.
I’m jealous of Isaac, who’s looking snug in his Yosemite hoodie. It’s getting cold down here, even with everyone crowded together.
A Fruit Roll-Up lands in my lap. There’s only one person this could be from, as I’ve noticed it’s his go-to snack. I look up and catch Isaac grinning mischievously.
Off guard and glad for the snack, I give him a big smile back, showing way too many teeth, so I pretend I was trying to make a silly face.
“I hope we’re not here all night,” he signs.
“Same,” I sign back across the room. “I’m cold.”
Of course, he takes off his hoodie and tosses it to me. I catch it, but when I start to shake my head and hold it back toward him, he insists. “I’m fine. I’m not cold.”
I put it on without further hesitation, ignoring a glance from Natasha. Has he told his friends about us? I mean, we were pretty obvious last night around the campfire.
“Thank you. Now I’m only a little cold . . . and a little tired . . . and a little hungry—so thank you.” I hold up the Fruit Roll-Up in gratitude.
Isaac raises his eyebrows. “Hungry, or . . . ” He keeps his hand at his chest, suggestively recalling my signing mistake from our first day of camp, but not daring to repeat the motion with so many campers around.
I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He drops his jaw in mock astonishment. “Lilah, there are children here.” But he bites his lip and smiles.
* * *
Any nervousness or excitement from the tornado siren is gone as we enter hour three sheltering. Campers are slouched over one another, fast asleep. Simone has some of the craft supplies in her backpack, so I weave together a few bracelets, including one for Isaac, to try to keep myself awake. Phoebe gets a paper cut, which means I have to get yet another accident report to log her bandage usage. Every time we use something from the first aid kit, we have to write it up, no matter how minor.
The longer we’re trapped down here, the less likely it is that Isaac and I will get any time to hang out together before curfew. Summer days are limited. I don’t want to miss a single evening together.
Gary checks upstairs again and is gone for over thirty minutes. When he returns, he passes around small boxes of cereal for everyone to munch on dry. Better than nothing.
“The storm has passed, so it looks like we’ll be free to go soon. But hang on for a little longer!” Gary says and Ethan interprets. People start to stretch out, eager to get out of this cramped basement. “Counselors, quick meeting in the stairwell.”
We squish together into the small stairwell. Since we’re along the wall where no one will notice, I reach for Isaac’s hand.
“Okay, first,” Gary says and Ethan interprets. “A question: Are your kids more tired or hungry?”
“Definitely tired at this point,” Mackenzie says. Honey and Blake used up so much focus during the Braille and ASL session that they’ve been out for at least an hour.
“All right, if anyone needs more food, let me know. Now, the more pressing issue. This was a messy storm. I drove around to check things out. The paths are a wreck, and a couple of trees got knocked over by the wind. More specifically, two of the cabins were hit.”
There’s collective gasping as we take in the news. Gary raises his arms to calm us as we barrage him with questions.
“The damage is fairly minimal, aside from, well, a hole in the roof.” He sighs. “Fixing all this is going to be costly.”
Of all the trees and places around camp to fall, there had to be damage to our cabins? Are we going to need to get this fundraiser video up as soon as possible to even make it through this summer, let alone next year?
“But that’s not tonight’s problem,” Gary continues. “Everyone should be able to get their belongings—just watch out for wood shards.”
“Which cabins?” Bobby asks.
“Right. The oldest boys’，” Gary says. “And the older girls’ cabin, shared by Natasha’s and Simone’s groups.”
And me. Because all my stuff was just moved to that cabin.
“The staff cabin?” Ethan suggests.
“That’s my thought,” Gary says. “There are some spare bunks in the other four cabins to divide some campers up, and anyone else can go to the staff cabin. I’ll quickly reconfigure cabin assignments, and we can get out of here.”
What exactly does the roof damage look like? I was really hoping to trudge back to the cabins and pass out, not have to deal with all this.
“Thank you all for toughing out a difficult night,” Gary says. “We’re past camper curfew, so let’s see if we can handle these arrangements as efficiently as possible.”