Page 68 of Give Me a Sign
She wipes her hands on the already glitter-covered washrag beside her. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around. Wish I did, though!”
Does she seriously think I’m asking her to finance the whole thing herself? “But you do have followers,” I say.
“I see.” She’s inquisitive but waits for me to explain.
“So the fundraising video on the Gray Wolf channel is doing well! But that page has, like, seven followers. We could use a boost.” I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out this much. I wave Natasha over so that she can come help, and I notice this makes Mackenzie tense up.
Mackenzie takes a deep breath. “I thought I wasn’t really supposed to use camp in my videos anymore.”
“This is different,” Natasha says and signs, coming to my rescue. “We’ve been sharing it and just need more reach.”
Mackenzie hesitates but regains her composure, speaking in an extra-cheery tone. “Of course, I’d be happy to help! I’ll mention it at the top of my next video.”
“Before you do,” Natasha adds, and Mackenzie stiffens again, “um, your About page says you’re an interpreter.”
“Right, I do need to update that to include ‘student.’ I forgot, whoops!”
“You can use sign in your videos,” Natasha explains. “I’m glad you’re learning, really. I wish more people would. But I don’t like that you position yourself as someone qualified to teach ASL, because you’re not. Lessons should come from within the Deaf community in order to be accurate and properly reflect Deaf culture, not from hearing people, especially not those who are still learning.”
Mackenzie looks around nervously. “Right, but the people who watch my videos are mostly hearing, and it just inspires them to learn. Then they can go find other teachers.” She shrugs, then quickly adds, “Who are Deaf.”
“How are they supposed to know to search elsewhere if they think they can learn it from someone with a large platform like you?” Natasha asks.
“And maybe not all of your viewers are hearing,” I add. “Deaf and hard of hearing people don’t magically know ASL from birth. There are a lot of barriers to learning. Like, I’ve been trying to use the internet as a resource, but it’s so hard to weed through the incorrect stuff out there. Not saying that your stuff is totally wrong. It’s just that you’re still learning, too.”
“Um, okay,” Mackenzie says. She grabs the rag to wipe her hands again, which only covers them in more glitter. “That’ssomething to think about. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten any comments like that on my videos before.”
“It’s an opportunity to rebrand,” I say.
She considers this, nodding slowly. For a while, I think this is the end of the conversation, but Mackenzie speaks up again. “Okay, I’ll put some thought into it. But for now, I’ll change my About page and go ahead and boost the camp video.”
“Thank you, Mackenzie,” I say, impressed with how civil her reaction is. We did just approach her out of nowhere and ask for a favor, and we kind of critiqued her entire platform.
Now let’s see if this gets us closer to our fundraising goal.
Chapter Twenty-one
Later, everyoneis gathered in the dining hall, thrilled that today’s lunch is pizza. I asked Phoebe to save me a slice since Bobby and I have to go get Max in a minute once Gary gets here.
Isaac waves me down. “Your brother?”
“He’s almost here.”
“I’m————to meet him,” Isaac signs. I tilt my head, and he spells out, “C-u-r-i-o-u-s.”
“He’s, like, this tall.” I hold my hand below my shoulder. “And people say we look alike.”
“Lilah, where are you?” Bobby calls from the dining hall doors. “We can’t be late. I need to make a good impression on your parents. Show them that, unlike a certain someone, I’m responsible.”
“If you dare mention even a peep about the other night, Bobby,” I say, my eyes wide, “I swear.”
We meet Gary at the golf cart and zip down to the parking lot, arriving right as my parents’ minivan pulls onto the gravel.
The back door slides open, and Max jumps out. His Bears jersey nearly comes down to his knees. For his small stature, he usually packs a lot of personality, but right now, he seems nervous.
“Hey,” I shout. “Welcome to Gray Wolf!”
“Ugh, you’re not one of my counselors, are you?” he says, rolling his eyes and looking at our parents as they get his duffel and sleeping bags out of the back.
