Smile Like You Mean It
There was another family in town that used sign language? I thought we were the only ones!
It was a freeing feeling, knowing there was someone else I could talk to—I mean really talk to, without the lag and annoyance that accompanied writing or texting. Someone my own age. Someone…incredibly hot…
My short-lived elation was soon taken over by annoyance.
Wait a second—he could sign this whole time, and he didn't say anything?
That means he must have seen the conversation I had with Mom about his height—and understood every word.
I felt my face catch fire as I blushed fiercely.
Iana gesticulated back up at Dajan with a bitter frown. I'm not deaf, she insisted. I can hear—like you.
She was born deaf, Dajan explained to Mom, wavering slightly, his lips forming the words along with his hands, but with the implant she can hear…a little bit.
I fought through the fear and embarrassment and walked over to where he was crouched next to his sister.
Now that I was closer, I could see the neutral-colored Cochlear implant on the back right side of Iana's head, inconspicuously hidden among the red and white barrettes at the ends of her braided pigtails. I was offered the option of a Cochlear implant when I was about Iana's age—the magic device that would allow me to 'hear' mumbling and buzzing that still wasn't remotely close to what 'everyone else' could hear. Mom left the decision entirely up to me and Dad—and Dad reasoned that since I had never been able to hear in the first place, I wasn't missing out on anything by not getting one. So the chance passed by, and I stayed the way I had always been with no regrets.
Mom didn't seem annoyed with Dajan like I was; quite the contrary, she was tickled pink. We're going to have so much fun, Princess! she signed to Iana. With a child in the studio, she was back in her element. Are you excited to get your pictures taken?
Iana shook her pigtails no and dove into her brother's arms, hiding her face in his uniform.
I sank to my knees in front of Dajan and reached out to tap her shoulder, my hand coming within inches of his face. I shook off my nervous jitters and put on a soft, friendly smile. You don't have to be shy, I told her slowly—and chanced a glance at Dajan, who watched me attentively.
What if Jo took some pictures of your brother by himself first? Mom suggested. He'll show you how easy it is. You and I can stay here and watch.
Mom, what are you doing? Sure, that would probably make Iana feel less embarrassed—but what about me?
Iana blinked her huge eyes and looked from my Mom to me, then back again, and gave her a sheepish nod.
Dajan, relinquished of his little sister's clinging arms, rose to his full height.
I stood up too, brushing a smudge of sawdust off my shirt, and motioned for him to follow me. I would have given anything to teleport home and change out of my frumpy yoga capris and tattered, baggy panda t-shirt from the National Zoo. I'd cut the neckline of the old shirt so that it fell off one shoulder, exposing one of the straps of my black sports bra. I was not remotely prepared to spend the afternoon under the scrutiny of such an exquisitely attractive boy.
I was positive I looked a mess, but Dajan still described me as 'that pretty girl'—and he probably meant for me to notice.
Was he using his little sister as a prop to subtly hit on me?
Get a grip, Johanna. Not every guy is that complex.
As a matter of fact, from my experience, very few guys are that complex. They need food, sleep, and one other thing—and with those needs met, they really don't care about anything else.
I tried to push distracting thoughts about that one other thing out of my mind, but with Dajan following right behind me, they kept resurfacing.
We made our way to the back and showed him where to stand, pointing to a spot on the floor with my toe.
With him in front of the camera, and me behind it, I felt empowered, and I found my courage again. So, I said drolly, my hero from the House of Mirrors can sign.
His reaction was nothing like what I expected. I'm sorry, he said sincerely. Last night, I wasn't sure if you were deaf or not. His sign language was choppy, awkward, and hard to follow. He must have been fairly new at it. I thought you were deaf, because she hit you in the face—like, really hard—and you didn't even make a sound.
Here's my chance. She? I asked nonchalantly. You mean your girlfriend?
Girlfriend? he echoed, his fingers fumbling to imitate the way mine so effortlessly formed the word. I could tell from the way his brows furrowed that he didn't know what the sign meant.
Do I have to spell it out for you, Hero?
I fingerspelled 'girlfriend,' his eyes racing to keep up—and his smile doubled in size when the realization sank in.
No, no—I don't have a girlfriend.
So that horrendous bitch of a blonde who was all over him at the carnival wasn't his girlfriend? I guess that's a relief.
Who was she, then?
Oh, sorry. My mistake, I signed with an innocent shrug, snapping a picture of his jocular smile without warning him first.
Dajan blinked his long lashes, trying to rid his eyes of spots from the sudden flash.
Maybe it was just because I was tired and hungry, but he was being so adorable I wanted to drizzle him with powdered sugar and eat him up.
Your name… he signed to me once he regained use of his eyes. It's J-O-A-N-N-A, right?
J-O-H-A-N-N-A, I corrected him. But J-O is my name-sign. It's shorter and easier.
Okay, Jo, he agreed. You can call me D.J. That's what Little Sis calls me.
Okay, I confirmed. D.J. I liked his name-sign. It was quirky and boyish, and—like so much else about him—so, so cute.
In summary, we went from being complete strangers to a first-name basis, then to a nickname basis—all in less than five minutes.
Meanwhile, Mom and Iana's attention was elsewhere; Mom was regaling her with 'The Isty Bitsy Spider,' and the little girl jumped in and signed along because she already knew all the words.
This whole studio thing might just work out after all, if we could work as a team. Getting little kids to smile was Mom's thing. Getting hot boys to smile was my thing.
I turned my attention back to D.J. His basketball uniform was flattering, but there was a certain tackiness, a fakeness about it that I didn't like. He was such a photogenic subject I wanted the chance to take pictures of him wearing something more…suitable. Don't you have a change of regular clothes you'd rather wear? I asked, scrunching up my face.
Dajan glanced down at his uniform quizzically, his pierced brow arcing in confusion. What do you want me to wear?
Wear what you want, I laughed. I just thought you would want a few pictures taken of you wearing something different, just for the photo shoot—
You sign so fast, he said with clumsy hands.
Sorry, I apologized.
I talk fast when I'm…nervous.
Are you going to change clothes? I tried again, spacing out the signs so that he could see them clearly.
Change clothes? He glanced around with shifty eyes—over his shoulders, over to Mom and Iana, then back to me. You mean right here?
I burst into laughter. No! I meant… Oh, never mind!
He still didn't understand, his smile cracking into an awkward laugh—which made for another priceless picture, but I wasn't any closer to getting him out of those clothes.
…And into different clothes. That's what I meant.
I thought of giving up and just writing to him, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. At least he was trying. I guess my sign language would be sloppy, too, if I mainly used it to talk to a five-year-old.
Well, if I couldn't get him to change clothes, I could at least change the environment around him. This white isn't doing it for me, I said, sort of to Dajan, bust mostly to Mom, who looked on while she waited in the wings with Iana. I came out from behind the camera and reached up to choose a softer backdrop, straining to reach it on tiptoe—but Dajan beat me to it, pulling down the one I wanted just as my fingers brushed the handle, his hand briefly grazing mine.
I rolled my eyes to hide the fact that his touch made me shudder, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling up. Thanks, but I could have done that myself. I'm not helpless.
You're welcome, he responded cockily. He must have only understood my 'thank you,' and not much else.
I chose flattering amber-colored filters for the glaring white overhead lights. The glow they cast against the new backdrop emulated the color of his eyes, and when he stood against it, they practically glistened.
I turned to see if Iana seemed receptive to getting her pictures taken now. Are you ready? I motioned to her.
Dajan crouched down and held out his arms, and Iana scurried across the floor to join him, her own arms outstretched, her smile beaming and toothy and perfect. All I had to do was press a button, and that moment was successfully captured. I couldn't have staged a better shot if I tried.
The ice broken and Iana over her shyness, the rest of the photo shoot went even better with Mom behind the camera. She snapped shot after shot of Iana and Dajan sitting on the floor, interacting like they normally would—like the pictures of deaf kids from her portfolio. Dajan was a natural; having Iana there must have brought out the best in him.
Without meaning to, I noticed that he'd moved in such a way that cast a dark shadow under his chin, obscuring part of Iana's face.
D.J., I signaled, move your head to the left just a little.
He acknowledged my suggestion and tilted his head, but to my left instead of his, which only made the shadow darker.
I frowned and shook my head. Here, let me show you.
That's when I stepped in—er, crawled in—lifting his chin slightly up with the tips of my fingers, just barely touching him.
All the while, I tried to keep my face blank and unreadable—but in my head, I was making all kinds of observations about Dajan Asad I wouldn't want my mother to know about.
Most people have five or six smiles: a transparent posing-for-a-picture smile, a laughing-at-something-funny smile, a so-happy-I-could-cry smile, a fake smile, a spiteful smile, and that's about it.
But D.J.? He must have had hundreds. Each one I'd seen so far was different, each one more genuine than the last.
The smile he gave me the first time I touched him (on purpose) cleaved my heart in two, and I couldn't help but smile back.
Flash!
Mom took the picture, and now that moment was preserved forever, too.
I glared back at her, shooting her a rare a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you smile.
That's going in my portfolio, she said smugly.
Iana found the whole thing very amusing, too, and giggled uncontrollably.
Dajan and Mom were distracted by something at the front of the studio, and they turned their heads to see what it was.
Hi, Mom, said Dajan's mouth.
…So, just to recap: first names, nicknames, awkward touching, a photograph commemorating the awkward touching—and now I'm meeting his mother.
She looked way too young to have a seventeen-year-old's son—probably because her skin was as beautiful and radiant as D.J.'s, and the same sienna color. She would have been the same height as me without her three-inch heels, in which she moved as efficiently and effortlessly as I could in sneakers.
I'm so sorry I'm late, she said to Mom, dropping her over-full leather handbag into an empty chair against the wall. Her lips yammered on, probably offering Mom some kind of explanation for her tardiness. It was clear she had just come from work, since she was dressed professionally, a government identification badge hanging around her neck. It read 'Desirée Asad' and specified that she worked in 'Family Crisis Intervention.'
Mom assured her that it was perfectly fine, and that there was no need to rush; we didn't have anything else planned for the rest of the day—and we were having so much fun.
Iana scuttled across the floor in her tiny sandaled feet to hug her mother. Mommy, Mrs. Q. and Jo can sign like us, she announced proudly.
Dajan's mom was flabbergasted. They can?
We can! Obviously, since we talked on the phone, you know that I'm hearing, but my husband and my daughter are deaf, Mom explained. This is J-O-H-A-N-N-A, my daughter. Jo, this is Ms. A-S-A-D.
Please, call me D-ES-I-R-E-E, Ms. Asad insisted. It's so good to meet you! She unquestioningly threw a warm hug around my neck, enveloping me in the warm vanilla smell of her perfume. This is too perfect! I'm so glad you're here!
I'm glad to be here, I said sincerely.
Sweet Amoris was starting to feel more and more like home every day. With Desirée here, it felt less like a photo shoot and more like a family gathering. Mom showed her the pictures we'd taken, and she was overjoyed with all of them—especially the candid shots.
I didn't even realize Dajan had left his spot on the backdrop and was standing right behind me, watching as Mom scrolled through the pictures on the camera's digital display. He stood with his hands on his hips—and when I turned to face him, his elbow nudged in between my shoulder blades by accident.
Sorry, he said coyly, and took a step back.
Desirée glanced back at us—or up at Dajan—and frowned when her eyes fell on his face. She said something to him out loud that made him recoil slightly.
He shot a defensive hand up to his eyebrow and argued, but I can't take it out, or it'll heal, his tongue lingering on the final 'L.'
Ah. She must not have approved of him to wearing his piercing for the portrait sitting.
Ms. Asad rolled her eyes and turned back to reviewing Mom's pictures.
I think it looks good, I offered as a genuine compliment.
He thanked me, beaming brightly. I just got it.
Did it hurt? I humored him.
Not really, he snubbed. I think you'd look cute with one.
No thanks! I shot back with an avid shake of my head. I hadn't even bothered to get my ears pierced, let alone other parts of my body.
Too abashed to look up at D.J.'s eyes again, my attention strayed, and I saw the tail end of a conversation his mom was having with my Mom about him as though he weren't even here. I can't ever get him to smile for real in pictures, she exaggerated. What's your secret?
Mom tilted her head over her shoulder at me, not realizing I was watching her.
Oh, I see. Desirée nodded gravely.
There was another commotion at the front of the store—or at least that's what I assumed when the hearing people (Mom, Ms. Asad, and Dajan) turned to greet someone as they came through the door.
Dad was back—and following right behind him was Nathaniel.