“You got the job?” my dad asks.
“Yep.”
“That’s exciting,” my mom says. “Looks like you’ll have to keep practicing your sign.”
“That’s the plan.” Then, as he has all summer, Isaac appears by my side. He nudges my arm for an introduction. “This is Isaac,” I say and sign. “Isaac, these are my parents.”
“Hi, Isaac,” my mom says.
Isaac signs as my dad reaches out to shake his hand. “What did he say?” my dad asks.
“He says nice to meet you,” I say. I demonstrate each sign for my parents to copy, “Nice. To meet. You.”
Isaac grins at their attempt. “Have a safe drive home,” he signs to them, noticing another of his campers’ parents are here for pickup. “See you later,” he signs to me with a smile before jogging away.
“What’d he say that time?” my dad asks.
“Oh, drive home safe,” I translate.
“He seems nice,” my mom says, smiling. “I see why you’re extra eager to improve your sign language.”
I blush. “One of many reasons.”
Chapter Thirty
Ethan gathers us around after the last of the campers leave. “All right, it’s almost one,” he says and signs. “We need to clean and pack up. But I wanted to announce our plans for tonight.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “We got donations specifically for our counselor celebration fund, so we’re bringing back the end-of-the-season reward night. To thank you for all your hard work this summer, we’ve got tickets for the concert at Wrigley Field.”
“Awesome,” I sign to Isaac, who nods enthusiastically.
That afternoon when we board the Amtrak train, Natasha flips one of the pairs of seats so she and Jaden can sit directly across from me and Isaac.
“I hate this shirt,” Jaden signs. He’s wearing one of Natasha’s #44 Rizzo T-shirts that she usually wears as a large pajama shirt, but it’s a little snug on Jaden.
“You have to wear it,” she signs. “We’re going to W-r-i-g-l-e-y.”
“I don’t like the Cubs,” he signs. “None of you are wearing Cubs shirts right now!”
“I like the Cubs,” Isaac signs.
“Me too,” I sign.
“And you’re already in the shirt,” Natasha signs.
Some of the other people on the train are watching us. It bothers me for a little while, but soon I’m so invested in our conversation that I don’t notice them anymore. It’s nice not having to struggle to hear above the noisy train.
With Isaac nearby, attuned to my comprehension, I’m confident. I never feel lost in the conversation when he's by my side.
The skyline finally comes into view. I love going to Chicago. The tall buildings, the elevated train, the old historic bridges, and the cool breeze blowing in from the lake. The only thing better than the view from the train ride into the city is driving down Lake Shore Drive at night, when the whole view is illuminated by city lights while the lake is an expansive darkness to the east.
We get into Union Station with a few hours to kill before the concert and take the L to Wrigley. I feel like I’m really holding my own in the real world with the older counselors—until they head to a bar with bouncers posted at the door.
Natasha and Jaden keep conversing in sign while handing their fakes to the bouncer. Is the goal to distract him enough so he doesn’t notice the IDs are fake? Or do they want to make him think that communicating with them would be too much of a hassle so he doesn’t bother turning them away? Either way, it works.
I realize I’m not positive if Mackenzie is twenty-one yet, but she makes it into the bar as well, along with Ethan, Simone, and Bobby, leaving me and Isaac alone on the sidewalk.
“I don’t have a f-a-k-e,” I sign.
“I don’t have a fake, either,” Isaac signs.
“What do we do?”
“I know a place,” Isaac signs.
“You two okay?” Ethan asks. When Isaac nods, he pulls out his own ID and goes inside.
Isaac grabs my hand and we cross the intersection. Wrigleyville isn’t as busy as on a game day—at least not yet. There’s still time before the concert opener, though the crowd is slowly gathering. The noise and chatter are overwhelming. I’m still readjusting to wearing my hearing aids, which I’d considered leaving at camp. I’ll be signing with Isaac all night, and they won’t make much of a difference when it comes to hearing the loud music. But it felt like the best choice for tonight to put them back in.
Isaac leads me over to a two-story brick building decorated with baseball iconography on the outside. The restaurant has a large bar, but Isaac heads upstairs, straight toward some batting cages.
“Oh, fun,” I sign when he lets go of my hand.
“I’ll get baseballs, you get sodas?”
I turn to go get our drinks, but he grabs my arm. “Later. Play first.” He steps into the box and selects some settings on the pitching machine. He’s just about to put in the money when he turns around and notices I’m waiting outside. He waves for me to join him.
“No, no. That’ll be a w-a-s-t-e of money.”
“Not a waste,” he signs, waving for me again. “Come on.”
I reluctantly open the gate and join him. He picks up a bat from the back and hands it to me, helping me find my stance at the plate.
“Ready?”
“I guess.”
The first ball lobs toward me. I’m grateful he set the machine on slow. I make contact, sending the baseball dribbling down the cage. I take a few more swings, getting a few hits, while also entirely missing a couple other times. I step out of the box back toward Isaac.
Another ball flies at the plate, bouncing once and landing with a thud against the backdrop. “No, no,” Isaac signs. “I’ll help you.”
He carefully turns me back toward the plate, standing behind me so I don’t step too far into the path. His arms wrap around me as I lift the bat, and he places his hands over mine. Though we’ve been entwined for much of the last few weeks, my skin still tingles at his touch.
When the next pitch comes, he pulls the bat back and gives the ball a soft tap, swinging our arms forward and sending it soaring through the cage. He does the same for the next few baseballs until the machine powers down, signaling the end of my turn.
His arm is still around me, so I turn to hug him. I lean away, signing, “Okay, your turn. Go ahead and show off.”
Isaac grins wide. He cranks the machine up to a faster setting. “Safer to wait outside.”
I step out of the cage and watch. He’s cautious, not wanting to risk additional injury this summer, but sends every single baseball soaring with a loud clang. A small line of sweat forms on the side of his face, but he wipes it away with the back of his arm without missing a single hit. His jaw is set, serious while he concentrates, but his body is loose, making it look effortless.
Isaac finishes the set and joins me. He pushes back a small curl of hair that had fallen to his last remaining bandage on his forehead. “I see why you have to do college baseball camp next summer.”
He shrugs, but I can tell he’s pleased I’m impressed.