Page 4 of Give Me a Sign
“Sure,” Kelsey says. “I just can’t on Monday ’cause I’m going into Chicago to interview for that summer internship.”
“Right, I almost forgot!” Riley says. “That would be so cool if you got that.”
“Nah, I mean, it’s mostly just answering phones and things like that.” Based on the way Kelsey talks about the job, it must be a cool position. I remember her mentioning it before, but I wasn’t able to catch the company’s name. “There’re several positions. You both should apply, too. We could take the train into the city together all summer.”
“I wish,” Riley says. “But I’m not about that office life yet. I’m going back to the coffee shop and teaching dance lessons.”
We stop in front of the car. For a moment, I wonder if I’ll get the passenger seat this time, but we all climb back into our usual spots. When the engine starts, so does the loud music. Riley looks over her shoulder to tell me something.
“What?” I ask. “Can you turn off the music real quick?”
Riley lowers the volume. “Do you think you’ll apply for the internship?”
What I really want to say is that answering phones and taking coffee orders both seem like impossible tasks to me. Instead, I say, “Actually, I may see if I can get a job as a counselor at this summer camp I used to go to...”
Hmm, I don’t know where that came from. I mainly said it so I wouldn’t have to explain to my friends why I didn’t want to go for the internship, but there could be something to this idea.
“Oh, that’s fun. What kind of camp is it?” Kelsey asks. “I used to love theater camp.”
“Well, it’s like, um, a Deaf camp,” I say, nervous about how my friends will react.
“Death camp?” Riley blurts out.
“No...” I say, grazing my fingers along the side of my head to reveal one of my purple hearing aids. “Deaf.”
“I always forget you have those,” Riley says. “Like, you don’t sound deaf. You know what I mean? Have you seen”—she gestures to the side of her head, and I already know what she’s going to say—“one of the head things that, like, fixes your hearing? Why don’t you get that?”
“A cochlear implant? No.” I don’t have the energy to explain further. “That’s not exactly how that works.”
“That’ll be fun, though,” Kelsey interjects, probably sensing my irritation with Riley’s response. “It’d be amazing to spend the whole summer outside. Promise me you’ll have a summer romance.”
“I don’t know about that...” I say, amused by the possibility.
“We’ll miss you all summer,” Riley says. “We’ll have to do some major catching up when————.”
I don’t catch the rest but get the gist. Sure, I’ll miss the pool parties and sleepovers. Having to jump through hoops to feel included? Yeah, I won’t missthat. Going back to Gray Wolf would be an easier time, at least in terms of accessibility.
My friends turn the music back up and we drive off. I’m left staring out the window... again.
I watch the trees as we go by, still wondering where this counselor idea came from but growing more confident about it by the minute. I have been wanting to practice my ASL. And getting away from my family for a bit might be nice, especially since my mom thinks I should study over break to get my grades back on track next year.
But will it be weird going back to Gray Wolf after all this time? It’s a pretty small camp. Will anyone there remember me? My counselors all seemed so much older and cooler, though they were probably around my current age.
The idea is at least worth a Google search to see if they’re hiring soon.
Chapter Three
Okay,the Gray Wolf web page hasn’t been updated since the nineties. I’ve literally never seen a site this old before. It only has a home page with the name of the camp, the address, and an office number.
Ugh, I don’t want to struggle through a call. How have they seriously not included a contact form yet? I could ask my mom to do it for me, but how would that look, trying to apply for a job by having my mother place a phone call for me? Someone needs to fix this website, like, yesterday.
I give up and scroll through Instagram, where I’ve been paying more attention to posts from people I went to camp with. People I haven’t seen in ages—like Ethan, who was a first-year counselor during my last summer at Gray Wolf three years ago. When I see his photo holding up a staff polo, I actually stop to read the caption announcing that he’s just been promoted to assistant director for this summer.
Ahh, I feel weird messaging him. But Idowant to apply for acamp job, and he might be able to help. What’s the worst that could happen? He could just ignore this message if he has no idea who I am. But I remember him being really friendly and outgoing, so it’s worth a try.
Lilah:Hi Ethan! Congrats on the new job! You probably don’t remember me, but I used to go to Gray Wolf and was actually wondering if there are any counselor positions to apply for this summer. I didn’t see anything on the website.
I hit Send. Time to Google search for some ASL lessons and confront how much I actually remember. Languages can be “use it or lose it,” and sign language is no different. Eventually, I find a Deaf-taught series on YouTube and am relieved at how much vocab I remember. I race through the first few lessons at 2x speed, since I’m already confident in the alphabet, colors, numbers, family members, and so on.
