Page 24 of Give Me a Sign
“No shirt?” he asks me.
Isaac’s in khaki shorts and his gray counselor polo that has a little wolf on the front and the wordStaff, in big and bold type, across the back. As junior staff, I should also be in matching attire, but Ethan apologized for the shortage earlier and stuck me with the camper version—a gray tee with the logo large on the front. Counselors usually only wear this uniform on pickup and drop-off days so that parents can easily identify staff. But I’m still feeling left out.
I sigh, shaking my head.
“I have an idea. One second.” He walks back over to the welcome table to grab his backpack, retrieving a big roll of gray duct tape. “Turn around.”
He bites the strip with his teeth and rips it into smaller pieces. I pull my hair to the side and let him attach it onto the back of my shirt. He gently rubs his hand across my back to make sure it’s secure. Once he’s done, he pulls out his phone and takes a picture to show me. He’s fashioned the wordStaff.
“That’s perfect,” I sign, staring at the photo, then carefully reach around to feel the back of my shirt. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Lilah!” Mackenzie shouts, waving for my attention. “I need to teach you what we’re looking for,” she says and signs.
“Good luck.” Isaac cringes and walks away.
Mackenzie has barely finished explaining how to comb through hair and search the scalp when several cars drive up, unloading eager children with sleeping bags. A pair of brothers stops by the head-check. I slide on a pair of plastic gloves as one of them sits in front of me. The boys have buzz cuts, so I’m fairly confident the one that I’m examining is clear, but Mackenzie looks over my shoulder to confirm. If she’s doing quality control, why am I even here? I’m more than happy to let her do it all.
Another young boy is very chatty during the whole process, peppering Mackenzie with questions. “Where are your hearing aids?”
“Oh, I don’t need them,” she says. “But yours are really cool.”
“But you’re not blind, either,” the kid says. “Why are you here?”
I suppress a chuckle at this kid’s bluntness.
“I’m a sign language interpreter,” Mackenzie says, getting ahead of herself by several years.
“Why do you wanna be that?” he asks.
“My best friend is a CODA,” Mackenzie says and signs with her free hand. “Child of a Deaf Adult. She isn’t deaf, but her parents are, so she knows ASL. I didn’t know what I wanted to study in college until I met her.”
The kid seems satisfied with this answer because he turns to question me. “Are you new? I don’t remember you.”
“I—” But another rush of campers is arriving, and there’s a line forming in front of us. “Sorry, bud, it’s time to find your counselor now.”
Mackenzie signs to everyone who comes to our station, which I’m grateful for because it means I only have to add, “Hi, my name is L-i-l-a-h. Sign name Bug.” But some campers are more persistent than others in trying to sign more to me, assuming that will help get their message across. I hate having to rely on Mackenzie when I fall short, but I’m glad to be able to sign my responses on my own.
Whenever one of the girls arriving at our station is part of Mackenzie’s group, she lets me know, since I’ll be working with them, too. “This should be another one.”
“My name————,” the girl signs as she sits down at my chair, but instead of fingerspelling her name, she goes straight for the sign name.
“Like h-o-n—”Mackenzie starts, but the girl cuts her off and repeats the sign. “Right, her name is Honey,” Mackenzie says and signs. “So that’s her sign name, too.”
“That’s very cute,” I say while gently moving her braids aside to search her head. She seems to be about nine or ten, on the older end of our group, which comprises ages seven through ten.
Ethan and Gary are taking turns escorting campers to the cabins. They’ll get settled in and play something while they wait for others to arrive, such as Duck, Duck, Goose, which for our purposes is more like a game of Pat, Pat, Shove. In this version, kids don’t have to try to listen or read the lips of the person walking around the circle.
“Finished!” I say and sign, moving in front of Honey.
“Thank you!” She stands but doesn’t walk away yet. Honey signs something to me, but I stare blankly. She repeats herself, tapping her foot for good measure. I saw the word “counselor.”
“Yeah, Mackenzie is your counselor,” I say and sign, taking my best guess.
“No,” Mackenzie says, stepping in. “She’s asking about you.”
“Oh, right.” I nod. “J-r counselor. I’ll be helping your group.”
