“It’s fine.” I tap my thumb against my chest, confident I know this sign.
He leans forward with eyes wide. “Friends?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Friends.”
I speed up to keep pace with the group but hide on the opposite side of Ethan. My brain is spinning—that’s enough conversation for now.
Chapter Five
This evening there’s only one long table set up in the center of the dining hall. We’re a small staff of ten, so each of us grabs a folding chair from the stacks along the wall and we squeeze together. There’s no food at the buffet station. The camp chef will be here in a few days. Instead, there’s a platter of grocery store sandwiches and bags of chips on the counter near a Gatorade jug full of water.
“Welcome to training week, counselors!” A man sprints to the front of the hall, clapping. Ethan follows, standing by his side to interpret. “For those of you I haven’t met yet, my name is Gary. This is my second year here at Gray Wolf.”
Gary looks . . . like a Gary. He’s a high school science teacher with short, graying hair. He’s wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and khakis, a uniform of sorts. For the next ten minutes, Gary outlines what we can expect during training, as well as once the campers arrive. I may or may not tune out at the end, eager to get on to the eating portion.
“To recap, training will cover safety, familiarizing ourselves with the grounds, and refreshers on games and activities.”
Gary stands in stark contrast next to Ethan, who is interpreting with less enthusiasm than he would if the campers were here, but with plenty of facial expressions still. They’re so different. Old and young. Hearing and Deaf. Reserved and energetic. Gary is lean and sports a scraggly beard, while Ethan is stocky and has tied his hair into a topknot.
“And the storm cellar is here in the dining hall basement,” Gary says, wrapping up his spiel. “I do have one last point to make, now that the usual summer procedures are out of the way. As you may or may not know, I’m usually the guy camps bring in when things aren’t looking too hot in one way or another.” He must be greeted by a lot of concerned faces, because he immediately clarifies. “What we have here is a simple budget issue.”
That makes sense. Gray Wolf was never a state-of-the-art campground, but it does look worse for wear than I thought it would. And I’m not sure how anyone is supposed to know about this place with such an outdated website. But where does the money come from? Any kid with a qualifying hearing or vision loss can attend, and it’s all free, which is why my parents were able to send me here when I was little.
“Essentially,” Gary says, “the original source of financing has been depleted over the years, faster than additional funds have been procured. We’ll need some new revenue to keep things going.”
To keep things going? I’m finally back at Gray Wolf, but is it possible this could be the last summer? Talk about terrible timing. This is the most deaf-friendly job I’ll probably ever have. And there are so many more kids who should experience this place.
“Obviously, we don’t want to have to charge our campers,” Ethan interjects.
“Exactly,” Gary says. “Things aren’t that dire yet. The board and I are discussing solutions. One of which is to woo some new donors.”
Isaac waves and asks a question, which Ethan relays to Gary. “So what exactly does this mean for us this summer? Is anything changing right away?”
Gary knows to face Isaac as he responds, and Isaac glances back and forth between him and Ethan’s interpreting. “This year should look similar to last summer. But as you know, we’ve been cutting a lot of the typical activities, such as the occasional off-site trips.”
Around the table, we all solemnly nod in understanding. I guess that means I’m not getting the chance to go horseback riding anytime soon.
Gary tries to lift the mood. “We’ll be raising money so that camp can not only continue to exist but once again thrive!”
He wants to be reassuring, but I’m stuck on “keep things going” and “not only continue,” which suggest things are, in fact, pretty bad.
“I’ll be giving a few tours over the summer to these potential donors, but nothing that should interrupt the usual routine. Oh, we may have a luncheon at some point. But for the most part, you can just pretend they aren’t here.” He nods and checks his clipboard. “Yep, I think we can go ahead and eat dinner.” He looks back up at us. “Any questions?”
Our group is still digesting the news and too hungry to come up with any thoughts.
“Okay, Ethan will pass around your group assignments. Read through the children’s profiles to identify any dietary requirements and other needs. You have my cell, and Ethan’s, and each other’s. I’m used to good old-fashioned walkie-talkies, but for obvious reasons, phones are a better fit here for a variety of accommodated communication. Text or call me with any emergencies. Oh, and you have our lovely nurse’s number as well.”
“Yes. Hello, everyone!” the elderly, bubbly camp nurse says and signs. She’s sitting at the head of the table beside where Gary is standing. “I recognize many smiling faces. I’m excited to get to know you better when we have our first aid and CPR training.”
I’m surprised there’s finally a nurse with a working knowledge of ASL. Honestly, it should be a requirement for the job, but she is the first one as far as I know.
“Let’s eat!” Ethan says and signs. “After dinner, you’re free for the rest of the night.”
Mackenzie throws both hands into the air to start a round of sign language applause. “My, I just love this,” she says, and wiggles her fingers in the air in silent, overly enthusiastic celebration.
Ethan hands me a deck with the profiles of my campers. Since I’m a junior counselor, I’ve been paired with someone over eighteen—and of course, that happens to be the new staff member, Mackenzie . . . Yay, me.
* * *
While we eat dinner, the two counselors sitting beside me introduce themselves as Bobby and Simone respectively.
Bobby is a former camper with low vision. He’s got a splotch of sunscreen near one of his eyebrows. Still, his attempt to coat his pale complexion was unsuccessful. None of us spent that much time outdoors today, but the sunburn on Bobby’s face grows redder by the minute. His cane is folded up in the pouch of his backpack, presumably because he primarily uses it after dark. But from what I’ve already observed at dinner, despite hovering at least a foot taller than Simone, he likes to default to grabbing onto her arm when he needs a guide.
Bobby is the epitome of clashing colors in a purple shirt and orange shorts, but Simone has the athleisure look down, sporting the latest Old Navy line from head to toe. She’s Black and studying to work with blind and low-vision kids. She and Mackenzie are the only two counselors this summer without a hearing or vision loss.
“So I don’t know how I feel about having randoms wandering around camp,” Bobby says, taking a bite of his sandwich and letting most of the lettuce fall out onto his plate.
“Is this something we should tell parents up front?” Simone asks.