Last Friday, Mom and I met with my new teachers, the principal, and the interpreter the school district arranged to accompany me to all of my classes this year. And today, my interpreter would be the one introducing me to people, communicating with and voicing for me with teachers and which was a surefire way to end up a social outcast by the final bell.

The interpreter’s name was Kathleen. She seemed nice enough, and she obviously enjoyed interpreting given how much feeling she put into it—a big part of signing to begin with. No matter how nice she was though, she was still a stranger.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder as we approached the main entrance of the school and signed, BREATHE. YOU FINE HERE.

I shrugged, biting my lower lip. There was no point in correcting her. Plus, my palms were starting to sweat because I was so nervous, and signing with sweaty palms was never fun.

K-A-T-H-L-E-E-N NICE, RIGHT? Mom signed before she held open the door for me. I KNOW YOU WILL LIKE HER.

FINE, I signed back, not wanting to press the issue.

I hated finger spelling long names, and I made a mental note to ask Kathleen what her sign name was. Sign names were typically representative of the individual, so I bet Kathleen’s sign name had something to do with her flyaway red hair.

My sign name was technically the sign for sweet because apparently the Deaf teacher who taught my first ASL class thought I was sweet when she gave it to me. I didn’t think that applied so much anymore. My given name—Maya—was a much better fit.

BUT? Mom pressed.

BUT HEARING SCHOOL, I signed, making a sweeping gesture around the school’s lobby we were now standing in.

Rows of faded red lockers lined the hallway on either side of the entrance. Straight ahead was the main office, a huge clock bolted to the wall above the door displaying the time at 7:15, almost a half hour before school started.

NOT ALL HEARING SCHOOLS BAD, Mom signed, giving me an earnest look. I THINK YOU WILL LIKE SCHOOL HERE.

My new interpreter Kathleen came walking out of the main office to greet us, her mess of red curls pulled up into a bun. She signed, GOOD MORNING, with a perky smile.

I wasn’t going to bother with a response, but I saw Mom’s stern scowl out of the corner of my eye, so I forced myself to sign back, GOOD MORNING.

EXCITED? Kathleen asked me. FIRST DAY NEW SCHOOL.

I shrugged, signing, SURE.

DOCTOR R-I-V-E-R-A WAIT FOR US, Kathleen signed, finger spelling the principal’s name, and she gestured behind her to the main office. YOUR SCHEDULE READY.

WONDERFUL, I signed, though I wasn’t sure if the expression on my face was as sarcastic as I wanted.