The place was empty for a Monday afternoon, so finding a table to unload our books and homework things wasn’t difficult. The atmosphere was calming, smelling of chocolate and espresso, and there was a cozy little fireplace tucked away in the corner. Beau took it upon himself to buy us all a round of peppermint mochas even though Nina and I insisted we could buy our own drinks, and then we got to work.

First up was prepping for our Historical Literature class. Our teacher told us beforehand that our final was going to be an eight- to ten-page essay over the two major works we’d covered this semester—Beowulf and Canterbury Tales. I wasn’t much of a writer and would take numbers over words any day of the week, but it was impossible to miss the way Beau’s face lit up when we started talking about the essay.

I sat back in my chair and sipped at my mocha as Beau launched into a longwinded critique of Beowulf. Before long he dragged Nina into it. Every so often I would see a flash of his dimples when he would smile at something Nina would say. He seemed genuinely enthusiastic about Beowulf, which I didn’t understand at all because it had been an immense struggle not to fall asleep during most of the lectures over that text.

I gave a startled jerk when Nina waved a hand at me, signing, HEY, and I had to wonder how long I’d been spaced out, looking at Beau. I felt a little creepy.

WHAT’S UP? I signed, setting my empty mocha cup down.

YOU OK? Nina said, one eyebrow raised.

“Fine,” I said, really wishing people would quit asking me that. “Just . . . thinking about the essay and all.”

Beau grinned and gave me a dorky thumbs-up. “You’ll . . . fine,” he said. “Promise.”

He signed, RESTROOM, to us and got to his feet, heading off to where the bathrooms were at the back of the coffee shop.

He got two steps away before he was suddenly down on one knee. He probably would’ve fallen flat on his face if he hadn’t thrown out an arm to grab at the nearest table to keep himself upright.

I rushed to his side without thinking, dropping to my knees in front of him. Nina was there too, saying something, offering a hand to help Beau regain his balance.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I said aloud, not thinking to sign.

Beau waved away Nina’s hand and winced when he pushed up on the table and very carefully got to his feet. I could see his knees knocking as we both stood up.

My hands hung in mid-air, not sure if I wanted to sign or say something to Beau. He was still clutching at the table, and his eyes were shut tight, lips a thin line.