Eli’s attention had been solely fixed on the test tubes since the start of the lab, measuring out a baking soda and vinegar mixture, handling the pressure sensor. So far so good.

I kept a tight grip on my pencil as I pounded out each equation, making sure to press down on the paper hard so every number and letter was perfectly legible.

I had no way of knowing how much time had passed when Kathleen’s hand suddenly came down on my shoulder, and then Eli had me around the arm, yanking me to my feet, pointing to the beaker full of the sodium bicarbonate solution now overflowing onto the table, spilling over the side and onto the floor.

Kathleen was signing, OK, FINE, NOT HURT, but Eli wasn’t having any of it.

“I told you . . . watch . . . pressure sensor!” He had to be shrieking at me, all scarlet in the face. “What the . . . wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry . . .” My voice felt funny coming up my throat and out of my mouth.

Everyone was fixated on us, their own labs forgotten as they watched Eli tear me apart.

“I want . . . new lab partner,” he said to Mr. Burke, who was now working quickly to mop up the mess on the lab table.

I stood there in a daze, my feet glued to the floor. I didn’t know what to do. Eli was freaking out, people were staring, and this was my fault. I ruined the lab and probably tanked the midterm too, and it was all because I couldn’t hear Eli tell me to watch the stupid pressure sensor.

“Eli, calm down,” Mr. Burke said, holding a sopping mess of paper towels in both hands. “We’ll . . . cleaned up. You . . . retake the midterm.”

I’d almost forgotten Kathleen was there, a foot away from me, until she approached Eli. She didn’t look all that thrilled.

WHY YOU NOT ASK ME INTERPRET? she signed, and it looked like she was raising her voice to match Eli’s with the way her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened wider. YOU KNOW M-A-Y-A DEAF, WHY YOU THINK SHE HEAR YOU NOW? WHY YOU NOT CATCH HER ATTENTION?

“Everything . . . okay,” Mr. Burke said when he returned from tossing the paper towels. One of my classmates had taken the overflowing beaker to a nearby sink. “I’ll let them retake . . . midterm.”

“. . . not the point!” Kathleen said, forgetting to sign.

Mr. Burke didn’t respond, instead turning to me and reaching over to pat my hand. He didn’t look angry.

“It’s fine, Maya,” Mr. Burke told me. “Don’t worry.”