What was he doing? A sad attempt at an apology in sign language was one thing, but now this? No way was Beau actually learning ASL to hold a conversation with me. ASL wasn’t a particularly easy language to learn as it was, even with a teacher to guide you. Some website and YouTube tutorials weren’t always the best way to learn a language like ASL.

“What are you doing?” I said, not caring there were a whole bunch of other people sitting at the table now.

I expected Beau to turn the color of a tomato any time I spoke or signed to him, and he did not disappoint this time. But there was a determined set to his mouth as he tried to sign what I think was supposed to be, I WANT TO LEARN SIGN LANGUAGE, but came out more like, ME SIGN LANGUAGE.

“Did you mean to say, ‘I want to learn sign language?’” I asked, incredulous.

When Beau nodded and signed, YES, I demonstrated the correct way to sign that sentence, going through the motions slowly to make sure he understood me. I was about 50 percent sure this was some kind of elaborate prank, but I might as well make sure he was signing things the right way.

THANK YOU, Beau signed when I was done.

Someone started tapping their hand repeatedly on the table by us, and when I turned to look around there was some guy with carefully gelled hair and a blue polo shirt leaning toward me. He was facing me directly, so it wasn’t difficult to figure out he was telling me, “This . . . members only.”

This was perfectly fine by me, and I wasted no time gathering up my things, sweeping them into my backpack. It wasn’t like I wanted to sit through some student council meeting where I’d be the recipient of all these looks because I signed or even if I used my voice. I could just as easily go wait outside for Mom.

Beau caught my arm as I was zipping up my backpack and very clearly said, “Stay,” and added a PLEASE in sign.

NO, THANK YOU, I signed, lying when I added, MY MOTHER HERE.

I waved good-bye to Nina and got five steps toward the library exit before there was another hand at my shoulder. I turned around and came face-to-face with Beau.

“There’s . . .” Beau started to say, but then slowly finger spelled the words S-T-U-D-E-N-T C-L-U-B F-A-I-R. “. . . Friday. Will you come?”

My immediate response was to say no. Homework combined with the mountain of unpacking we still had to do made for little wiggle room in my schedule, but I started thinking of the playdate Connor had with one of his new classmates this past weekend.