“Sorry,” Jackson repeated, and maybe he looked like he meant it, but that didn’t change the fact he’d just scared the living daylights out of me. “I just . . . see what . . . up to. Maybe want . . . dance?”

Seriously?

Beau got to his feet too, and rather than looking frustrated or sad like moments before, he looked angry. “Dude. Why would you . . .”

Jackson went palms up like he was surrendering. “My bad. I didn’t . . .”

HEY, I signed to Beau to get his attention when he very much looked like he was about to go off on some rant, telling Jackson off. STOP.

Jackson stopped mid-sentence, and a curious expression took over his face as he watched me sign to Beau. I did not care for his staring. Not only because it made me uncomfortable—as if I didn’t get enough staring at this stupid school—but also because I had a strong suspicion Jackson was maybe a bit more than just a ladies’ man, like Nina mentioned.

I’d seen one girl in AP US History flat-out turn him down, but that hadn’t stopped him. Either he was exceptionally dense, or he was the type of guy who didn’t take no for an answer. And a guy who didn’t take no for an answer wasn’t really someone I wanted to be around.

WHY YOU FRIEND WITH HIM? I signed to Beau. NOT REALLY NICE.

He looked conflicted as he finally connected the dots, making sense of what I signed. NOT BAD PERSON, he signed, carefully choosing his signs. HE . . .

WHAT? I demanded. I was a little angrier than I thought. My hands were trembling. HE COOL FRIEND YOU THINK YOU NEED?

NOT TRUE, he signed back after I had to repeat myself. I NEED . . .

I didn’t care to stick around long enough to find out what Beau needed. I was tired of being subjected to Jackson’s interested gaze. I would take dancing over standing between these two.

SEE YOU LATER, I signed to Beau, and just because I could, I grabbed the last of his cookies before I marched off.

I flopped down onto the bleachers in the gym and ate the last cookie, thankful the noise from the dance in full swing was lost on me. I felt all the vibrations from the music sinking into the bleachers, but that was easy enough to ignore.

Here I had thought I was just having a genuine conversation with Beau, both in sign and using our voices, and now I was starting to wonder if I’d been wrong. And I didn’t want to be wrong.