I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to share anything about Connor, but I decided being honest would be best. If she knew how important this was to me, maybe she would be an ally.

I told her about Connor’s diagnosis and how difficult dealing with his illness could be, not only for him, but for the rest of the family too.

I WANT TO HELP ALL KIDS WITH C-F, I finished, signing with feeling.

Mrs. Stephens was nodding along as Kathleen interpreted and said, “. . . think what you want . . . wonderful. Promise . . . help you . . .”

I watched Kathleen interpret the rest of what Mrs. Stephens was saying. It was almost surreal that Mrs. Stephens was saying that with my grades and above average SAT scores, she believed I had a very real shot at getting into Cartwright, where it was not uncommon for students to be put on a waiting list for more than a semester or two.

It was hard not to flop back in my chair with a heavy sigh of relief. I think I signed THANK YOU about nine times. Planning for college had been one of my major worries about coming to a hearing school. My guidance counselor at Pratt was Deaf too, so he understood the obstacles lined up for me when graduation rolled around. Mrs. Stephens did not—at least not from firsthand experience—but she seemed more than willing to try working with me.

I had a genuine smile on my face as the meeting wrapped up, and it was almost a struggle to keep from bouncing off the walls. This was going much better than I thought it would. The type of person who didn’t bat an eyelash or bring up barriers when a person with a “disability” shared their dreams was definitely someone you wanted on your side.

We made an appointment to get together again in two weeks’ time to start working on my application for Cartwright, and Mrs. Stephens promised she would do some investigating into the college’s accommodation policies.

GOOD MEETING, Kathleen signed when we walked out the door.

WONDERFUL MEETING, I signed in agreement. HAPPY FOR HER SUPPORT.

Things had gone well, but that didn’t mean I was out of the woods. I had enough trouble keeping up with the goings-on in my classes here, even with Kathleen interpreting. Lip-reading was not a perfect science. In those few moments when Kathleen stepped out to use the restroom, I could never be sure what I was missing. There was always some type of conversation going on around me that I knew was happening but couldn’t hear. And once I got to college I would be expected to keep pace with everyone else while someone interpreted the professor’s lecture for me. If I had a hard time keeping up in a regular chemistry class, what was going to happen when I hit college?