Kathleen signed, I KNOW. She didn’t offer any other words of encouragement, just gave my shoulder one of those squeezes, and I was grateful she was leaving it alone.

We parted ways, promising to meet in front of the school tomorrow morning, and I made the trek all the way back to my locker on the other side of the building.

I kept my head down and quickly gathered up all the textbooks and homework I received throughout the day. I’d already been assigned a few hours’ worth of homework, and I was weirdly grateful. The work would be a temporary distraction so I wouldn’t have to think about how awful coming back to this stupid school was going to be.

Mom was waiting outside in the pickup loop, and I wrenched open the passenger side door and leapt in, throwing my backpack down between my feet with a little too much force.

I leaned back in my seat to wave hello to Connor sprawled out in the back with several bags of groceries Mom must have picked up, looking a little tired after his first day of school but otherwise just fine. He signed, HELLO, followed by a smile where he stuck his tongue through the gap where his two front teeth used to be—one of his favorite things to do since he lost them a couple weeks ago.

Then Mom had her hand on my shoulder, and I twisted back around to look at her. By the expectant look on her face, I could tell she was silently asking, so how was it?

AWFUL, I signed to her. I started listing off everything that went wrong as she put the car in gear and maneuvered out of the parking lot. GIRL ANGRY WITH ME FIRST CLASS, WHY? TEACHER HAVE HER MOVE FOR ME. DIFFERENT TEACHER YELL AT ME. LUNCH SOME HEARING BOY TRY F-L-I-R-T WITH ME, AND DIFFERENT BOY NAME B-E-A-U SURPRISE I TALK. HE REALLY SAY, ‘YOU CAN TALK?’

If Mom were not familiar with the way I signed she probably wouldn’t have a single clue about what I was telling her given how frantically I was signing, but she got it. She had this disappointed look on her face as she drove, turning to look at me so she could reply when we reached a stoplight.

REMEMBER, YOUR FIRST DAY, she signed. THINGS STRANGE FIRST DAY. HEARING SCHOOL NEW FOR YOU AGAIN. BUT SORRY THAT HAPPENED.

SAME, I signed, sinking my teeth into my lip. I felt frustrated, angry tears pricking my eyes, but I refused to let those jerks get to me by making me cry.

NOT MEAN KIDS, Mom continued. THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT DEAF.

SHOULD KNOW, I told her.

Mom pursed her lips in thought, and it wasn’t until we reached another stop sign that she signed, TEACH THEM.