“Beau, this isn’t . . . look,” I said, struggling to string together a coherent thought. “You think this is something I wasn’t expecting? Something I haven’t ever experienced before?”

This had to be the first time I’d ever seen a flash of genuine anger cross Beau’s face.

“Maya, not hiring . . . because . . . deaf . . . that’s . . .”

“Discrimination? Welcome to my world.”

I was not oblivious to the way some teachers, like Mr. Wells, rarely called on me when posing questions to the class, even though there was no reason to think I wouldn’t give the same thought-provoking response any of my classmates might. You could definitely write off my fully participating in Socratic seminars, a real favorite classroom activity in Historical Literature class.

And all this was just in high school. In college and out in the real world, things were going to be vastly different, and I was by no means eager to face it. I wanted to believe for just a little bit longer that the world was a nice place and people who were “different” were still treated kindly.

“This doesn’t . . .” Now Beau was struggling to come up with something to say and finished his thought by signing, BOTHER YOU?

“Of course this bothers me,” I answered. I could feel my voice trembling as I spoke. “To tell you the truth, this kind of thing will probably always bother me.”

“Then . . . should go . . .” Beau was saying. “Make them . . .”

STOP, PLEASE, I signed.

A feeling of defeat was quickly replacing my anger that had started brewing when I read that email from the Steaming Bean.

WHY? Beau demanded in sign.

He seemed to be absorbing all the anger I felt dissipating inside me.

“You have to pick and choose your battles, right?” I said. “This one just isn’t worth it to me right now.”

SURE? Beau signed.

Actually, I was sure I’d never been more unsure of anything in my life. But what could I possibly do now? It’s not like I had the time or money to take this coffee shop to court, and even if I did, lawsuits like this were an uphill battle.

As irksome as it was, wouldn’t it just be better to brush this incident off and keep looking for another job? Maybe one where I wouldn’t have to interact with people, like at the local humane society. I could work in the kennels. Dogs were never judgmental, and all the loud barking would hardly bother me.

NO, I signed to Beau, at a loss for words.

We did not sign or speak to each other again until Beau was pulling up into my driveway.

He turned to me, and I felt my stomach start twisting into knots with dread at what he might be about to say to me.

“Have . . . ever thought . . . ?” he said, then tapped a finger to his head, a couple inches behind his ear.