I frown. “I’m not hearing.”
Mackenzie doesn’t address this and keeps walking behind Ethan.
“I thought most everyone here would sign. But so many people speak.” She momentarily occupies her hands fixing her red braids.
I’m sure one of her professors sold her on this summer gig as a great way to practice sign. She’s being showy with her ASL, which she probably only just started learning. Granted, that’s more classes than I, with a hearing loss, have ever had the opportunity to take.
“Well, we new people have to stick together,” she says and signs.
I take a deep breath to stop myself from correcting her again and telling her I’m not “new” here. I need to practice, but Mackenzie isn’t my ideal partner.
Ethan can sense my frustration and gives me a knowing smile as he comes to my rescue. “Lilah was a camper here for many years. And hopefully will be back now for a few more.”
“That’d be great,” I say, wondering about his use of the word “hopefully.” Is becoming a senior counselor after being in the junior role not a guarantee? Maybe that’s when there’s an actual interview or something.
“Well,” Mackenzie says and signs. “Since you’re a junior counselor, I hope you’ll be assigned to help my group. We can learn together. It’s such a beautiful language. And it’s so special to be able to help deaf people.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, relieved to have arrived at the cabins.
“When you get a chance, you should check out my YouTube channel,” Mackenzie adds. “I practice and interpret songs.”
Yikes. That’s why I recognized her! She’s one of those hearing people doing ASL videos. I watched about ten seconds of one and knew right away it wasn’t something I should learn from. Based on her absurd number of followers, I doubt others realize that.
I pretend I don’t hear her and follow Ethan into one of the small red wooden cabins, where I get to drop my bags. If I packed too much, it’s all in an effort to get through the summer with minimal laundry runs.
“Didn’t there used to be more cabins?” I ask Ethan.
He nods. “We lost one last year. The roof caved in over the winter from that big snowstorm. It’d already taken some major wind damage before that, so it was a lost cause. Enrollment is down anyway, so we have to make do without it.”
It’s a bit musty here, being the start of the season and all. I quickly choose a free top bunk.
“All the counselors will be staying here during training,” Ethan explains. “We’ll spread out to all the cabins once the campers get here.”
“Right.” I nod. So that’s why so many beds are made.
Ethan grabs a phone charger from his bunk, but Mackenzie hurries over and taps his arm, despite the fact that he’s already looking at her. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Sorry, I forget,” Mackenzie says and signs. “What’s your sign name?”
“I have two,” Ethan says and signs. “My usual one is like an E”—he demonstrates, shaking the letter in an animated twisty motion near his head—“because of my hair and how excited I can be. But for camp, we like to pick summer words for everyone, since not all campers arrive with a sign name.”
“That’s why I forgot. You have two,” Mackenzie says and signs. “What’s your camp one?”
“Socks,” Ethan says and signs. “Because”—Ethan sticks out his foot to show off his bright-yellow socks.
“I still need a sign name. For camp or just in general.” Mackenzie pauses, clearly hoping Ethan might get the hint. But when no one answers, she turns to me and says, “It has to be given to you by a Deaf person.”
“I know,” I say and sign, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“Lilah already has hers,” Ethan says.
“Right . . .” I smile, remembering. “Weren’t you the one who gave it to me?”
“How could I forget?” he says. “Bug.”
The memories come flooding back. “Bug,” I sign, holding my thumb to my nose, and crunching down my index and middle fingers twice. I love it. There’s no mistaking this sign, unlike when I’m listening and I mistake someone mumbling “like, uh” and assume it’s my name.
“Why that sign, Lilah?” Mackenzie asks.
“Her very first summer at camp, she had so many ladybugs land on her. A sign of good luck.” He smiles. “ ‘Ladybug’ got shortened to ‘Bug,’ and it stuck.” He checks his watch. “Okay, we’ll let you get unpacked. Meet Mackenzie and me outside, and we’ll walk over for dinner.”
I unzip my backpack and toss any nonessentials up into my bunk so it’s lighter to carry around all summer. An old faded-purple JanSport, soon to be filled with first aid items and a waterproof Otterbox for hearing aids, is now a proud symbol of my new junior counselor status. I tuck my water bottle, decorated with stickers, into the side pocket.
I scan the room, hoping to find a place for my duffel. But there’s not much space to leave my stuff on the floor, especially since I tossed my empty mesh laundry basket into the only free corner. I hoist the bag up to the foot of my bunk, wavering when it’s stuck over my head because I’m not tall enough to push it the rest of the way. This was not the smartest decision.
The floorboards move beneath me, and I feel my bag sliding off the bed. I’m about to drop it when an extra pair of arms comes to my rescue, pushing it onto the top bunk. I turn around, expecting to see Ethan or Mackenzie, but it’s someone else.
A guy about my age is standing there in a blue baseball cap and a Cubs T-shirt that fits him perfectly. He looks like he belongs in the team’s dugout, although his hat has a cursive L on the front that I don’t recognize. A small tuft of hair curls at his forehead. He has a warm-brown complexion and kind, dark eyes that are set on me. He’s standing with his hands loosely clasped together, ready to sign, with a woven bracelet around his wrist, perhaps from last summer.
My heart is racing, and I’m not sure if it’s from lifting the bag or from realizing who helped me. “Thanks,” I say breathlessly.
“You’re welcome,” he signs. He points past me and signs something else.
I freeze. I want to answer him in sign, but I’m unsure exactly what he’s asking. He gives a small shrug, likely knowing that I didn’t understand, and walks around me to grab his backpack from his bunk . . . which is directly below mine. Of all the beds I could have chosen! At least he won’t be able to hear me if I snore in my sleep.
“Are you new this year?” This time he mouths the words a little bit, which I know is purely for my benefit.
“Um, no.” I beg my brain to remember any of the ASL I practiced. “Long time ago, I was here,” I say and sign. “As a camper.”
“Wait . . . ” He tilts his head to the side. His wonderfully expressive eyebrows do a lot of communicating for him as he raises them and leans forward. “I think I remember you. Bug, right?”
“Whoa,” I say and sign. “Yes! You were a camper here, too?” I am certain I would remember him.