And just like that, another week passes, and the final Friday is here. Isaac and I are supposed to be on duty, but Gary and the nurse offer to keep watch near the cabins, letting us roam the campgrounds with the rest of the counselors. Isaac and I wait at the firepit for Ethan, Jaden, Natasha, Simone, Bobby, and Mackenzie to join us.
“Let’s do the lake again!” Ethan says and signs.
“Not the bridge.” I don’t think I could manage a second leap this summer.
“We could jump from the d-o-c-k,” Isaac offers.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Ethan says and signs. “Just a casual night at the lake. I already told the lifeguards. Let’s go!”
We take our time walking down to the water. This path is so familiar now that I can anticipate every turn and sign without looking where I’m going.
Oliver and Ben are waiting for us at the fence. “Ethan gave us a heads-up this time that you all would be coming,” Oliver explains.
“So you can join the fun,” I say.
“But unfortunately, it can’t go too late,” Oliver says, frowning. “We’ve got an early train to catch tomorrow morning.”
“How early?” I ask.
“Like, five o’clock,” Ben says.
“Very early. Wow, is this the last time I’m going to see you?” I’m sad to see them go.
“Nope, because we’ll still be around,” Oliver says. “Traveling the States for a while before our international flight departs from Chicago. We’ll be back in the area in a month, and you should meet us for dinner.”
“Yes, that’s perfect! So you can tell me all about your trip. Even though I’m sure I’ll see it all on Instagram first.”
“Are you coming back next summer?” Oliver asks.
“I am—senior counselor!” I say. “Are you?”
“That’s the plan,” Oliver says. “For me, at least.”
Ben gives a noncommittal nod.
“What a relief! It seems like so many people aren’t coming back. I’m very glad you’ll be here again,” I say. Isaac is waiting for me near the water, so I wrap up my goodbyes for now. “I’ll catch you later before we call it a night!”
I rejoin Isaac, who leads us to the edge of the dock. “Scared this time?”
“Only a little,” I sign, thinking about the end of summer rather than about the physical short leap into the water, but happy to be holding tight to his hand all the same.
He leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose. Then we jump.
After I pop back up, Isaac and I wade over to the shallow area near the other counselors. It’s still too deep for me, so I bounce on my tiptoes to keep my face above the surface. Isaac reaches out to hold me afloat. Facing him, I rest my arms on his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist.
An hour or two passes, and eventually it’s time to get back to the cabin. The rest of the counselors get ready to leave.
But Isaac doesn’t move to emerge from the lake yet. “I don’t want to go.”
“Same.”
“Why is it the last night of camp?”
I reach for his neck to draw him in for a kiss. One that hopefully conveys how glad I am to have him here and how much I never want to let him go.
“I’ll miss this,” I sign.
“Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
It’s a chilly, overcast morning after breakfast, but everyone is making the most of the final hour before camper pickup. In the grassy area outside the cabins, kids are exchanging contact information, finishing up bracelets, and playing games in small groups. This might be the perfect time to finally pull Max aside to talk. Better late than never. But it’s more of a struggle than I expect, because he wants to run off and spend the rest of the remaining time with his friends.
“Max?” I shout, waving for his attention.
“What?” he asks, turning to face me, annoyed.
“So, Mom said you might be getting a cochlear implant?”
He shrugs and takes a step backward. Did he hear me?
I put my fingers to the side of my head. “The cochlear implant?”
“Yeah,” he says, knocking his hand forward to sign “yes.” “Mom and Dad want me to get it.”
I dig my heels into the ground. That’s exactly what I was worried about. “Do you want it, though?”
He shrugs again. “I need to be able to hear, don’t I?”
Max is only eleven. He’s still a kid. Of course he’s going to do whatever our parents want him to do, especially if a doctor has lectured him on how this is a way for him to have a “normal” life. What kid doesn’t want to be normal?
“There are other ways, though,” I say. “You can stick with your hearing aids and learn sign instead.”
“Nah, that won’t work.” He signs, “No, no, no.”
I grin, shaking my head. “See, you’re learning it! It will help.”
“It won’t.” He looks away from me and walks toward his friends sitting in a circle on the grass.
I follow and tap his arm so he looks at me again. “Why not?”
“ ’Cause I can’t remember it! And no one uses it outside camp.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why I’m even bringing it up.
“You’ll practice,” I reassure him. “We can all learn and use it together as a family.”
“I talk to other people. Like at school. How would I sign to them? They wouldn’t learn.”
“You don’t know that.”
But I do. I get why he’s angry, enough so that I can ignore his cheap insult. Maybe his friends would learn a handful of words, or at least Google some swear words for a laugh. Heck, maybe their parents would sign them up for an ASL class. But would the kids actually stick with it? Since they’d expect the boy with hearing loss to lip-read anyway.
I guess studying a new language can be a lot to ask of people. I understand why they might think it’s too much effort—but this makes it feel like their lack of interest in learning is really a lack of interest in you.
I tap Max’s arm again. He shrugs me off but at least turns back to face me.
I tilt my head as I speak. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to have the surgery if you don’t want to.”
“But I have to.” He clenches his teeth, annoyed by my persistence.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. You don’t understand,” he says, scowling at me.
“Why wouldn’t I understand?”
“Because we’re not the same.” He crosses his arms and looks away again. “Because I’m more deaf than you!”
He’s got the same look I’d seen on Natasha countless times. If Max had shouted this at me even a few weeks ago, it would have cut deep. I reach out and grab his shoulders, turning him back to me.
“Hey. We are in the same boat. Yes, your hearing loss is a little bit more severe than mine, but not much. We still go through the same exact things. We’re in the same family. You’re going to the same schools with many of the same teachers I’ve had before. I’m your older sister, so I’m the one who has to struggle through everything first. You get to learn from my mistakes and benefit from the fact that I’ve already educated some people in our lives along the way.”