This was definitely Beau’s room, and almost exactly how I imagined. Two pristine bookcases that looked as if they’d come right out of a university library took up most of the space in the room. Books were strewn all over the bed, this time mostly school texts instead of novels. Next to the bed was a neatly organized desk with an open laptop and various homework assignments.

Beau was sitting at the desk, leaning over with his chin in hand, and I could see his acceptance packet from Yale spread out in front of him. I could only see part of his face from where I stood in the doorway, but I was pretty sure he was frowning.

I rapped my knuckles on the doorjamb, and Beau quickly spun around in his desk chair, looking surprised when he saw me standing there.

SORRY, he signed quickly.

FINE, I signed back, then said, “Is it okay if I come in?”

Beau nodded, motioning for me to enter, and I took a seat across from him on the bed.

“So,” I said after a beat of tense silence. “When are you going to tell your dad you don’t want to go to Yale?”

The flush I was expecting to come rushing into Beau’s cheeks didn’t show up. He raised an eyebrow, a rather wry smile pulling at his lips.

“. . . that obvious?” he said.

EASY READ, I signed, pointing a finger at him.

Beau’s smile widened for one second before it disappeared completely. He leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. It was strange to see him looking so crestfallen. He never let anyone see him that way at school. But he didn’t have to put on a show for anybody here.

FINE WITH Y-A-L-E, Beau signed suddenly, his shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. GOOD SCHOOL. Then he said aloud, “But . . . don’t want . . . medicine.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I said. “So, what do you want to do?”

Beau gestured to something behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder at his bookcases. When I looked to Beau again, he said, “. . . study . . .” and followed up by finger spelling, L-I-T-E-R-A-T-U-R-E.

That response was so classically Beau it made me smile.

YOU MAKE GOOD TEACHER, I signed to him.

MAYBE, Beau signed. DON’T KNOW. He made a sweeping gesture around the room and said, “But . . . don’t want . . . trade my books for . . .”

“Med school?” I supplied, and Beau signed back, YES.

I could understand that, even if med school was my end goal.

YOU TELL YOUR FATHER? I signed to Beau curiously.

He winced at this and quickly shook his head. He looked repulsed by that idea.

I didn’t say or sign anything, waiting for Beau to respond in his own time. There was obviously something else behind his not wanting to be upfront with his father.