Normally I wouldn’t have bothered picking a fight over a stupid seat, and I would’ve happily sat in the back of the room, but I actually did need to be up front. It was easier to see the teacher and be more aware of what was going on in class, especially since this teacher didn’t sign.

The girl stopped arguing with Mrs. Richardson when the guy sitting behind her leaned forward. I zeroed in on his lips as he spoke and saw him say, “Just move . . . not . . . deal . . .” and the girl finally gave up and grabbed her things to move to an open desk a few rows over.

Mrs. Richardson went to grab an extra chair so Kathleen could sit a few feet in front of my desk to interpret. I took my seat at the now-vacant desk, dropped my backpack beside me, and turned around to thank the guy behind me for intervening.

It was Beau, the T-shirt guy. Of course.

THANK YOU, I signed to him, a little reluctantly.

Beau understood that much and nodded as he said, “No problem.” He smiled, dimples flashing. That smile transformed him from an awkward rabbit into a surprisingly cute guy, and for a second I forgot how much he’d annoyed me earlier.

Then I felt a hand on my forearm, and when I turned around, Kathleen was signing, CLASS START NOW.

AP Statistics wasn’t actually so bad with Kathleen interpreting, much to my surprise. I understood the material, and Kathleen’s peppy signing helped me get a feel for how Mrs. Richardson spoke. Mrs. Richardson must’ve remembered some of the tips Mom handed out at our meeting Friday about interacting with the Deaf, like making sure to face me when speaking and not to cover her mouth when she spoke. When the five minutes we were given to complete a practice problem were up, Mrs. Richardson even flashed the lights to get my attention.

But as nice as Mrs. Richardson was, I was massively uncomfortable. I could feel everyone’s piercing gaze fixed on us as Kathleen signed and I watched intently. But if anybody was making fun of us, it wasn’t like I could hear them anyway. Still, I couldn’t help but think they were talking about me, whispering behind my back or making comments about how my neon blue hearing aids clashed with the color of my hair or something.

Thankfully, class was over in fifty-five minutes, and once Mrs. Richardson jotted down our homework on the whiteboard and passed out textbooks, we were given the okay to leave. There was a rush to get out the door, but I lingered, taking my time as I packed up my things. I didn’t want any more run-ins with Beau or my other classmates.