I just sat on the couch, drinking my now tepid tea, drafting a text to Melissa. She was the one person I could talk to who would actually get it. If her parents could’ve afforded it, I bet they would’ve gotten her a CI, but even then it was impossible to imagine Melissa not knowing sign language. ASL was as much a part of her as anything else.

Eventually I sent her a text saying, If you had a CI . . . would you still sign?

Melissa’s reply came a few minutes later while I was finishing the rest of the cookie Mom bought for us to share.

YES! But I don’t want CI, so don’t matter.

That made me feel a little better.

My phone vibrated with a second text from Melissa a minute later.

Why u ask?

FaceTime later? I texted back, and Melissa’s response was a big smiley face emoji.

Finally, our time at the coffee shop came to an end. It felt as if the meeting lasted a lot longer than a measly forty-five minutes, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I barely managed a half-hearted wave before racing for the exit.

Mom hung back to talk to Joan while the kids stood around exchanging phone numbers. A sharp pang of jealousy twisted my gut seeing this, and it took a second to snap myself out of it. I’d exchanged phone numbers with Nina, hadn’t I? Beau too, even though it was only because of that midterm project. And if the others had the same line of thinking as Casey, that they didn’t even consider themselves deaf, would they even want to be friends with me? Would I get more of those weird looks I’d gotten used to at Engelmann or maybe flat out ignored?

Mom exited the coffee shop a few minutes later, and I scrambled into the passenger seat the second she unlocked the car.

Neither of us signed a single thing on the ride home.

Everything was always silent for me, but this silence was completely different. I wanted to say something to Mom, to at least attempt to tell her what I was feeling, but no words and definitely no signs came to mind.

The living room lights were on when Mom pulled the car into the driveway at home. I could see the babysitter Mom hired for the evening through the thin curtains in the front window, sitting on the couch. I wasn’t sure where Connor was, but my guess was that he was sitting up close to the TV watching Spider-Man cartoons.

WHAT’S WRONG? Mom finally signed to me, tapping my knee.

I bit down on my lip, inhaling deeply. My breath must’ve sounded funny because Mom automatically leaned toward me, her eyes wide in concern.

DON’T UNDERSTAND, I signed with a shaky hand.