Kathleen raised her eyebrows at me as Beau fell into step behind us on our way to class. She didn’t need to sign anything for me to get what she was hinting at.

CUTE, I KNOW, BUT NOT FOR ME, I signed to Kathleen, making sure not to look Beau’s way. DON’T SAY ANYTHING.

This was one of those times when I appreciated that nobody else around us knew sign language.

WHO, ME? Kathleen signed, but she left it at that.

Nina was waiting for us just outside the classroom, leaning up against the row of lockers with her cell phone in hand. She gave us a smile when she asked how class had gone, and I gave her the same answer I’d given Beau—math genius here.

On the way to AP US History, I got stuck behind Nina and Beau, and I could tell they were talking about me. Not because I could hear them or because I could read their lips, but because neither of them included me in the conversation. Every so often Beau would glance back and say something to Kathleen—still not to me—but that was it.

CONFUSED, I signed to Kathleen, frowning at her.

TALK ABOUT CLASS, Kathleen signed, pointing up at Nina and Beau.

ME? I signed next.

Kathleen paused for a moment, listening, and nodded.

I grimaced.

This is what always happened whenever I was with hearing people. They were always so talkative and impatient, so busy bouncing around from one place to the next that they never think to slow down and take the extra step needed to communicate with a Deaf person.

Kathleen put a hand against my arm for my attention and signed, THEY DON’T KNOW HOW COMMUNICATE WITH DEAF PEOPLE. NOT YOUR FAULT.

Kathleen was right, but it was still difficult to wipe the grumpy expression off my face.

Mr. Wells, the AP US History teacher, came rushing forward the second I walked into his class. When he grabbed my hand to give it a vigorous shake, I was so startled I took an immediate step back.

“Wonderful . . . excited to . . . always wanted . . . sign language . . .”

He was talking far too quickly for me to understand everything he was saying, so once again Kathleen stepped in and signed, SLOW, like she had in Dr. Rivera’s office.

Rather than trip up in embarrassment like a lot of people, Mr. Wells just kept on talking, and I could tell by the overly exaggerated way he moved his lips and leaned forward that he was shouting when he said, “I’m . . . sorry!”

His voice must have been really loud, because Nina and Beau stopped on their way to two open seats and looked back at us, and every other person in the classroom directed their gaze toward us too.

I was mortified.

Kathleen looked disgruntled when she waved at Mr. Wells and signed, YOU NOT NEED SHOUT. TALK NORMAL. I INTERPRET FOR HER.