Mom sat there waiting for me to elaborate while I kept growing more and more frustrated with myself. I couldn’t figure out why that get-together had shaken me up so much. I hated that angry tears were beginning to spill down my cheeks.

DON’T UNDERSTAND, I signed again, forcing myself to get on with it. WHY GIRL SAY SHE NOT DEAF?

Mom seemed pained as she thought about how to answer. Her movements were slow as she signed, DON’T KNOW.

GIRL HAVE CI, OK, I signed. FINE. BUT WHY SHE NOT KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE? WHY THEY ALL NOT KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE?

DON’T KNOW, Mom signed again. SOME PARENTS THINK DIFFERENT.

YOU WANT CI FOR ME? I signed to Mom, the question suddenly pushing its way front and center.

YOU KNOW BEST, Mom signed, and a warm smile was taking over her face. I WANT FOR YOU WHAT YOU WANT.

She paused here, eyes fixed on the center console. Then she signed, IF YOU WANT CI, MAYBE WE—

NO, I signed quickly, stopping her before she could get too far into that sentence. I NEVER WANT CI, BEFORE AND NOW. NOTHING WRONG WITH CI, BUT THAT NOT FOR ME. I LIKE MYSELF DEAF.

GOOD, Mom signed a moment later. Her smile was wide enough to crinkle her pretty brown eyes at the corners.

It was a smile I hadn’t seen much of since we moved to Colorado. Helping Connor get adjusted to this place and frequent trips to the hospital for his breathing treatments took a lot out of Mom. My poor attitude probably hadn’t helped any. Seeing Mom’s smile now, I realized I’d missed it.

NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT, Mom repeated, squeezing my knee again. YOU SHOULD LIKE YOURSELF DEAF.

PROMISE, I assured her.

NO WORRY ABOUT KIDS WITH CI, Mom signed to me. YOU MAKE FRIENDS, DEAF AND HEARING.

YES, I agreed after a beat.

Of course, Melissa was my closest friend despite being back in New Jersey. I sometimes even got a few random messages on Facebook from some old classmates back at Pratt. Nina was my friend. She was picking up sign so well there were times I forgot she was hearing. Spending time with her was never boring either, and she took the extra step to get to know me—me, the weird new Deaf girl with the interpreter.

And then there was Beau. Hanging out and signing with him was way more fun than that awkward meeting had just been. Even telling him about my disastrous chemistry midterm was preferable to another minute in that coffee shop. I’d been with kids that were supposed to be like me, and yet I felt ten times more comfortable with Beau, despite our occasional communication fumbles.