When the lights flashed to start class, Beau and I quickly took our seats, and I folded my acceptance letter and tucked it safely into my backpack. There was a tap on my shoulder when Mrs. Richardson was occupied with her computer, trying to pull up today’s notes on the projector.

Beau signed, CONGRATULATIONS! when I twisted around in my seat to face him.

THANK YOU! I signed back, trying to suppress more giggles. LETTER FROM Y-A-L-E? I signed to him next.

Beau was even more anxious to get into his first-choice college than I was, so for his sake I sure hoped he’d gotten some similar mail.

He made a sour face and shook his head, signing, NOT YET.

SOON, I assured him, and reached over to give his hand a comforting squeeze.

Beau smiled, and before I could get totally lost in his dimples, he nodded up at Mrs. Richardson. I quickly faced forward but couldn’t quite wipe the smile off my face.

My excitement at my acceptance from Cartwright still hadn’t faded one bit by the time lunch rolled around. It turned into a struggle trying to communicate with Nina because I couldn’t choose between using my voice or signing and everything was coming out a jumbled mess. Kathleen had to step in to tell her the news before excusing herself to go to lunch off campus, and then I gave Nina my acceptance letter to read.

CONGRATULATIONS! Nina signed, throwing an arm around my shoulders for a hug. WONDERFUL!

I KNOW, I signed back happily.

“Did . . . tell Beau?” Nina asked after I’d tucked the acceptance letter into my backpack.

My gaze automatically flicked over to where Beau sat at our regular table next to Jackson. I quickly looked away when Jackson caught sight of me staring and he gave me one of those unsettling winks of his.

“Um, yeah,” I answered Nina’s question. “He’s happy for me too.”

Nina and I bought sandwiches from the food line and a tray of fries to share and took our seats at the lunch table. I wound up sitting across from Beau—somehow I was always sitting across from or near Beau—and was taken aback to see the cross look that was beginning to creep over his face.

I got a few bites into my sandwich when Jackson leaned closer to Beau and started to say something that only made Beau’s frown deepen. I was only able to make out Jackson saying, “. . . don’t mind if . . .” before I had to give up trying to lipread.

I fixated on my sandwich instead, picking at a wilted piece of lettuce. I wanted to know what Jackson was saying because Beau was obviously getting a little worked up about it, but it really was none of my business. Sometimes I was too nosy for my own good.