“I’m sure Gary’s on top of that. Gotta keep the children safe. What do you think, Lilah? As the resident child here,” Bobby jokes.
“Come on, I’m seventeen.” But I don’t take it too seriously. I’ve been amused by the banter between Simone and Bobby and am glad to be easily roped into the conversation.
“But not eighteen yet, so where’s the lie?” Bobby says. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know . . . I mean, if people want to see what they’d be donating their money to, that should be fine, I guess.” But then I imagine a squad of four old dudes roaming around on a little golf cart like they’re on a paid safari, clicking away to take zoomed-in photos on their phones. “Okay, it has the potential to be weird.”
Simone agrees. “Yeah,” she tells Bobby. “It really depends.”
“Couldn’t there be another way to bring in the money?” I ask. “Online or something? I mean, seeing how out of date the website is, that’d be a technological challenge.”
“Yeah, this place is ——，” Simone says.
“What was that?” I ask.
“This place is getting desperate for money,” she repeats, a bit louder. “Wages could use a lift. I almost had to take a different job this summer.”
“But she wouldn’t dare,” Bobby says, nudging Simone’s arm. He turns toward me. “This financial stuff is probably part of why Ethan didn’t get the promotion.” He pauses, nodding to where the others are sitting. “There aren’t any ears named Gary nearby, right? I’ll fill you in on our off-season drama since last summer.”
I look around. Our camp director and nurse have already cleared their places and are chatting near the door. “You’re good. What happened?”
“I don’t know if you were old enough to really know this the last time you were here, but we didn’t have an assistant director before. They made the position just for Ethan, rather than letting him be the director, ’cause they’d rather keep Gary around.”
“Couldn’t they have been co-directors?” I ask.
“My thought exactly . . .” Simone chimes in.
“Okay, but Lilah. Do you remember beeper baseball?” Bobby asks, diving into a tangent.
“Ouch,” I say. “How could I forget.” It’s a game obviously meant for the blind, but those of us who aren’t cover our eyes to play. Whoever is in the catcher position watches the pitch and uses a long stick to poke deaf batters to let them know when the ball is thrown. This camp is all about accessibility, which may sometimes be taken to slightly unreasonable levels in the name of a fun challenge.
“I’m gonna destroy everyone in a game tomorrow.” Bobby grins. “I brought plenty of bandanas.”
“I think it’s a little skewed in your favor, with a bunch of blindfolded Deafies in the outfield, but we’ll let you have this victory,” I say.
“Better keep the ice packs ready—” Bobby is interrupted.
Simone grabs his arm. “Nah, you gotta change that.”
“But it’s my faaaaaaaaavorite,” he drags out the word. What are they talking about? “Can’t right now anyway.” He holds up his fingers, slimy from the mayo in his sandwich.
I strain my ears over the clatter and echoes of the dining hall and realize Bobby is playing music.
Simone rolls her eyes and reaches into his pocket, retrieving the phone and changing the song. There are clearly zero personal space boundaries between these two, but I can’t figure out if I’m getting relationship vibes or not. As if by instinct, I glance down the table, and my gaze lands on Isaac. This whole meal he’s been in rapid-fire, one-handed sign conversation with two other counselors. I must be watching too obviously, because he turns my way and locks eyes with me. He smiles, and I quickly look away.
“You mind turning it up while you’re at it?” I ask Simone.
“I got you,” she says, adjusting the volume to the perfect point where I’ll be able to hear more of the music without it overpowering her and Bobby’s voices. As she leans back into her seat, the chair nearly topples over with the weight of her bag hanging over the back.
“Whoa! What do you have in there?” I ask.
I don’t know why she’d want to carry around such a load all day. All we’re required to have is a flashlight, a first aid kit, and a waterproof Otterbox case to hold hearing aids and other devices during swim time.
She grabs the bag and shoves it under the table. “A few books. I’m close to done with one, but I’ve got two more to have a choice on which to pick next.”
“Oh, are they Braille?” I ask.
“Yep, for reading practice,” she confirms. “They’re massive.”
“And dirty,” Bobby adds.
“Shut up, Robert,” Simone says, but her mouth curls into a small grin. “There’s nothing wrong with reading romance, especially during the summer. They’re fun.”
“Hey, dinner wasn’t bad, right?” I say, eager to change the topic. “I remember eating a lot of cold nachos.”
“Yeah, that’s why we make trips to the store,” Simone says. “Or Mackie’s or Freddy’s.”
“Do counselors leave, like, every night?” There’s so much about this part of camp—the after-hours—that I want to explore.
“Gosh no.” Simone takes a sip from her water bottle, leaving me in suspense. “It’s literally, like, twenty-five minutes to get to any of those places.”
“We only have from nine thirty until midnight,” Bobby says. “If we’re not on duty.”
“That makes sense,” I say.
“And it’s not like we make enough to be spending money all the time anyway,” Bobby says.
Yeah . . . if I want to come back and work again as a senior counselor next summer—that is, if there’s a Gray Wolf to come back to—I’ll definitely need to be earning a bit more so I don’t go to college with an empty bank account.
* * *
“Hey, girl,” Mackenzie says and signs, standing close to me as I refill my water bottle. She lets down the sleeves of her T-shirt, which she’d rolled up for dinner. Everyone else is getting ready to leave the dining hall. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I don’t know what to do at camp without a schedule structured down to the minute and an early bedtime. “What about you?”
“I’m going to go catch the rest of golden hour.” She points outside. “Since we have free time during training week, I figured I’d make a bunch of extra videos to post in case the next two months get hectic.”
“Videos?”
“For my YouTube channel I told you about! Gotta keep the sponsors, you know?” She nods for me to move aside so she can fill her bottle. “Do you want to guest in one? We could do a fun summer song. I can teach you all the words.”
“No, that’s fine,” I sign, and casually walk away.
Just how much does she make with that crap? It sucks that someone like Mackenzie can make money while Deaf creators often struggle to get views. I can’t think of a single reason why I would ever want to appear on Mackenzie’s channel. I don’t want people to assume my less-than-perfect signing skills mean I’m just another hearing person trying to use ASL for clout.