Missing You

My hair was still damp from my shower last night. I pulled it into a high ponytail, not even caring that it would get frizzy as it dried in the humid August air. I had no 'pretty' clothes that were clean; I settled on jean shorts and a gray Gallaudet University t-shirt.

Dad had already let Dajan in through the front door; he was animatedly regaling the familiar silhouette of the tall boy with a sign language rant about high school athletics.

I played football all through high school, Dad was saying at I came down the stairs. I was the school's first and only deaf wide receiver. Coach used a bass drum instead of a whistle so that I could feel the vibration—oh, there you are, Jo! he said when he noticed me approach. We were starting to think you went back to sleep.

Good morning to you, too, Dad. In truth, I would have given anything to be able to go back to sleep and be left alone with my dreams of Nathaniel—but I sighed heavily and put on my best imitation of my usual smile, like Mom suggested, and turned my attention to Dajan. Hey, D.J.

Hey, Jo, he signed back, smiling a crooked smile that, unlike mine, was completely honest. He wore comfortable, broken-in clothes: loose-fitting basketball shorts and a t-shirt. From where I stood on the second step from the bottom, we were almost eye-to-eye. He leaned against the banister, as though zeroing in for a closer look.

I had nothing with me except my phone. I didn't even think I would need my wallet. Should I…bring anything? I asked, just to be sure.

Dajan shook his head no, the shorter dreadlocks that framed his face swaying. All I need is you.

Okay, I said, stifling another sigh. I'm ready whenever you are.

Let's get this over with.

Shockingly, Dad didn't bombard me with questions about where we were going or when we would be back; I wasn't sure if it was because I had finally managed to regain his trust, or if it was because he trusted I would be safe with Dajan.

The morning sky above us on the drive to the Asads' house was still a hazy pinkish color. Dajan's dented CR-V was as untidy on the inside as it was on the outside. In spite of several cardboard tree air fresheners hanging from the rear-view mirror, it smelled faintly of day-old gym clothes and stale French fries, and there were at least twelve individually-wrapped fast food straws tucked into the pull-down sun visor. The diver's seat was adjusted as far back as it would go so that Dajan's long legs would fit inside.

When he stopped at a red light, Dajan was able to take his hands off the wheel to talk to me. Hey, are you okay? He put on a frown like the one he wore when Amber slammed the door in my face in the House of Mirrors. You seem…sad.

'Sad' wasn't exactly it. Dajan didn't know the sign for whatever I was feeling; to be fair, I wasn't even sure if I could put a word to what I felt now that Nathaniel was gone. No, I'm not sad. I'm tired, I admitted, for lack of a better word. I stayed up until four this morning.

He drew an exaggerated Why? in the air, but before I could answer, the light changed to green. He returned one hand to the steering wheel and faced forward, still frowning.

From now on, I would have to put forth more effort to maintain a smile. Dajan had only ever seen me, what, four times?—but apparently that was enough for him to be able to tell that something was up from the look on my face. It wasn't Dajan's fault I was so…tired. I didn't want him to know how miserable I really was. I certainly didn't want him to think I was miserable because of him.

The Asads' house was at the crest of a small hill on the opposite edge of town: a cheerful one-story with white siding, red shutters, and window boxes replete with summer flowers. It stood out among the other houses, which weren't as well-maintained.

Desirée almost ran me over in her haste to get out the front door. Good morning, Jo! It's so nice to see you again, she signed jovially, albeit breathlessly, as she looped her work identification badge around her neck. I'm sorry I can't stay, she explained, but I've been called into work for an emergency.

I grimaced sympathetically. An emergency?

She nodded gravely. I'm going to the hospital to interpret for the deaf parent of a child who accidentally drank paint thinner.

I had to respect Desirée for doing such important work—and for being on call at such short notice. Okay, I singed, not really sure what to say in this situation.

… Wait, so, she's just leaving us? In the house? Together?

Alone?

Desirée must have been thinking the exact same thing. She smiled at me politely—but the smile changed to a petrifying steely-eyed warning glare when she turned to look at Dajan. She spoke to him out loud so harshly that I didn't recognize any of the shapes on her lips.

Dajan swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Desirée brushed passed us and got into her car to leave.

Dajan was definitely bothered by whatever she said. I couldn't help but ask. What was that? What did she say? I was bothered, too; I thought it was weird that a woman who specialized in sign language interpretation would purposefully leave a deaf person out of the loop. She'd made a point to sign almost everything she said around me the last time we met at my parents' studio.

He smiled down at me, but as smiles went, this one was far from his best. It appeared much too quickly, as though pre-packaged. Nothing important, he insisted. He opened the door for me and motioned for me to go in first, that pierced brow of his arcing as if to say, Shall we?

I don't really have a choice, so I suppose we shall.

The inside of the small house smelled like a bizarrely pleasant mix of lavender, lemon disinfectant, carpet powder, and breakfast cereal. The first room was a combination living/dining room: the cushy blue couches adorned with hand-knitted afghans, the dining room table carefully set with brightly-colored wicker placemats. Every surface was surgically clean—except for where Iana sat at the table, chewing a slice of crumbly cinnamon toast.

J-O! She spelled my name-sign when she recognized me, carving the curve of my 'J' into the air with her pinky. She leapt down from the chair and rushed over to me, and unquestioningly squeezed me in an enthusiastic hug.

You can't stay moody once a five-year-old hugs you. You just can't. I relented and cracked a genuine smile, which sparked an even brighter smile from Dajan.

Did you come to play with us today? Iana asked, bright-eyed.

Kind of, I answered, still somewhat apprehensive, though I could feel the frost melting. I slipped off my shoes, not wanting to track dirt across the pristine carpet, exposing my purple toenails.

Have a seat, Dajan offered politely. Are you hungry? Thirsty?

No, but thank you. The very thought of eating anything made my stomach churn painfully, but I obliged him by sitting down, sinking into the couch.

D.J. settled in right next to me, even though there was plenty of room on the couch for him to sit at the other end. He stared at me hopefully, presumably waiting for me to start 'tutoring.'

I had no idea what to do. I had never 'tutored' anyone before. I had nothing prepared. I didn't even know where to start.

I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders back. What do you struggle with? I asked placidly. And your sister? What does she need help with?

He blinked his honey eyes and twisted his lips into a half-smile. Sign language, he answered.

Well, yeah, I figured as much, I signed contritely, folding my legs underneath me to sit more comfortably. I mean which part of sign language? Vocabulary? Verb tenses? Hand positions? Easily-confused signs?

Yes, he said.

Yes to which thing?

…Yes.

I sucked air in through my nostrils and ground my back teeth together.

This is going to be a long day.

Okay, then, let's start with you—with the basics, I began. How would you introduce yourself to someone in sign language?

Uh, said his smiling mouth. Hello?

Yes, obviously! It was kind of a stupid idea, since Dajan and I already knew each other, more or less, but I had to roll with it now; it was too late to take it back. But after that? How would you tell about yourself, I mean? If we had never met, what would you want me to know?

My egg is D-A-J-A-N. My egg-sign is D-J.

Wait, no, stop, I butted in, trying not to blatantly laugh at him. You have the right hand-shape, but the wrong motion for N-A-M-E. The way you say it makes it look like E-G-G.

What? he sputtered out loud. Egg?

Here, let me show you! I couldn't keep myself from laughing at the look on his face. I scooted closer to him on the couch and clasped both of his hands, signing the words with him.

He had such soft hands, such long fingers… And he smelled nice… Shea butter, coconut, and fabric softener.

See the difference? I asked, looking back up to his face.

Yeah, he nodded. From up close, I could could detect the faintest of acne scars on his otherwise flawless mocha skin—and in his eyes were rings of brighter gold around the edges of his black pupils.

The golden rings were taking me in much the same way—scanning my face and then shifting up to my hair, down to my clothes.

I shuffled back to where I was originally sitting, allowing him a few more inches of personal space—meanwhile hoping he wouldn't notice me swallowing the mouthful of saliva that had pooled under my tongue. Go on, then. Keep telling about yourself.

I shouldn't have interrupted him right away. He was flustered, and he wouldn't stop staring at me. It took several seconds of hesitation before he would try again. I'm…seventeen years old, he continued, stumbling over the compound number. I'm a…a senior in high school. And I play basketball. He stopped, letting his hands rest in his lap, and looked to me as though waiting for approval.

He was actually doing very well, all things considered, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him that—at least not yet. So that's it? I pried. That's everything about you? You're just a guy who plays basketball?

No, he said, smiling wider.

Tell me more, I urged. I know you know way more than that.

Like what? he retaliated. His hands were indignant, but his eyes were playful. He was enjoying this as much as I was. What do you want to know?

Tell me about why you know sign language.

I…I'm not deaf; I'm hearing. But my little sister is deaf.

Good! I tried to think of another basic question—a fun one this time. When is your birthday?

He laughed nervously. What comes after March? He'd forgotten the sign for it.

April, I showed him. 'April' was more angular than 'March,' but they looked very similar; it was easy to see why he would forget one or the other.

April, he repeated. April ninth. When's yours?

Why did his counter-question make me blush? I was sure he was just trying to see if he could recognize the sign for my birth month. It was July fourth. I'm eighteen now. I'm always older than everyone else in my year at school because my birthday is in the summer, I elaborated.

My answer seemed to disappoint him. The Fourth of July was your birthday? Why didn't you tell me when I saw you?

I shrugged. It never came up. We only talked for a few minutes… We only had a few minutes before a certain Blonde Bitch dragged you away, remember?

What would have happened if I had stayed with Dajan just a few minutes longer that day? What would have happened if Dajan had been the one to see me break down after I got that random text…from him, the nightmare I thought I left behind? Would Dajan have held me the way Nathaniel did? Would he have promised me everything would be alright?

It doesn't matter. What's done is done. Nathaniel was there for me then…but he's gone now.

So, you're a senior, too? Dajan was asking me. Wow. He caught that? He'd been paying close attention to my signs. You'll be in my class at school? he asked leadingly.

Oh, well… He seemed excited about the prospect of me going to school with him; I hated to let him down, but I had to tell him the truth. I'm not going to school at all, actually. I'm staying home and finishing high school online.

Disappointment creased his forehead and drooped his shoulders—more than I'd anticipated. Why can't you finish at a real school?

Because! It would be too different from the School for the Deaf where I came from. No one knows ASL at the school here except you. How would I communicate? It just wouldn't work.

So? If you want to go to school, they… They have to help you, he said. There was more going on inside his head, I knew, but he was unsure of how to word it in signs. My mom will tell you. She knows everything about sign language interpretation.

He was trying awfully hard to get me to see things his way. Why do you want me to go to school so bad? I asked innocently.

He scratched the back of his neck with long fingers and bit into his lip as he looked away. I'm new, he finally said. I don't have a lot of friends. If you went to school with me, I would finally have a friend there.

Really? Why wouldn't a hearing boy as gregarious and attractive as Dajan Asad have very many friends? I found that part of his story hard to believe.

He nodded. It's like you said on the Fourth of July. No one else really understands…but you do.

I do sometimes, I said mockingly, when you actually sign things right—like name instead of egg.

That was one time! he shot back. But I'll do it again if you want to hold my hand.

My face exploded with red-hot embarrassment. What's that supposed to mean? I signed through a wide smile.

Did he really think I wanted to touch him so bad I was fishing for excuses?

… Is that what he wanted?

… Doesn't he still technically have a girlfriend? Eh, that's never stopped me before…

Why did I think that just then? I'm supposed to be tutoring Iana...

I'd completely forgotten about Iana until I felt a little hand tap my shoulder. She handed me a sheet of construction paper, beaming proudly. I colored you a picture!

I set it down on my lap admiringly. It's… It was barely recognizable. I assumed the vaguely feminine stick figure with stringy Tickle Me Pink scribbles for hair and Tawny dots all over its face was supposed to be me. It's beautiful, but…why is my hair pink?

Because D.J. said you have strawberry hair. She looked to Dajan for reassurance. Right, D.J.?

Did he now? I signed, mimicking her and looking to Dajan, too.

Did he put her up to this, or did she really just do this herself? Either version of the story was kind of weirdly adorable.

Strawberry blonde, he said to Iana, gnawing on his bottom lip again and avoiding my eyes. That's what you call the color of her hair. Not quite red, not quite yellow.

I raised an eyebrow. First 'gymnastics,' and now 'strawberry blonde.' Both were oddly specific set of signs for him to know, especially considering he didn't even know all the months of the year… Had he been doing research, perhaps?

The entire exchange had me in such a hormonal tizzy, my face was still burning. Maybe a splash of cold water would help me cool off. Where's your bathroom? I said, pushing myself out of the sunken couch.

To the right, he gestured, pointing down the hall.

It was easy to see whose room was whose through the open doors of the bedrooms on either side of the hallway. The room on the left practically glowed pink, the light coming through the windows filtered by rosy curtains. The room on the left was darker, its window blocked out by horizontal blinds—but I could see in far enough to tell that most of the room was taken up by a massive unmade bed, under which were stacked at least twelve basketball shoeboxes. This room had to be Dajan's.

… Would he hear me if I peeked in to do a little snooping? You can tell a lot about a boy by what he keeps in his room…

I decided against the idea as I stood in the doorway, and I reached for the doorknob to tilt the door closed as if I hadn't been there at all…but there was no door in the frame. There were hinges, which told me there had been a door at one time, but the door was gone. It had been removed.

I looked across the hallway at Iana's bedroom, just to be sure I wasn't losing it…but yes, she had a door; she even had a pastel-colored wooden plaque with her name painted on it.

Why would Desirée disallow her seventeen-year-old son a door?

That's insane. Dajan was new at the high school just last semester, so they must have moved into this house not too long ago, right? Maybe the door was already broken, or maybe they broke it by accident trying to move his gigantic bed into the room.

Whatever. I've been standing here way too long. He's going to think I got lost coming back from the bathroom.

Took you long enough! Dajan signed from his seat on the couch.

I might as well come right out and say it. Dajan is certainly the type to say what's on his mind. Hey, what happened to your door? I asked.

The door? What do you mean? His eyes shifted behind me to look at the front door.

The door to your room, I specified. It's gone.

His smile vanished completely, but he immediately replaced it with a different one, this one more cheeky. What were you doing in my room?

I didn't go in your room, I shot back, noticing how he avoided my question completely. I should probably drop it, since it seems to upset him…

I would show it to you, but Little Sis here has such a big mouth. She tells Mom everything.

Why would Desirée be opposed to me being in Dajan's…? Oh. Oh.

I didn't even mean it like that, I tried to say, but Dajan had since turned his attention to Iana, who climbed onto the couch beside him.

What am I telling Mom? she asked, blinking innocently.

You're telling Mom about how much you learned, he answered, and that you want Jo to come back again.

Iana nodded fiercely, the barrettes in her hair bobbing. Her ears, aided by the Cochlear implant, suddenly registered a sound that I couldn't detect. She gaped around the room to find its source. What was that? she asked Dajan.

Jo's phone, he answered. He pointed to where I'd left it facedown on a side table beside the couch. It's been going off all day, he added, more to me than to Iana.

It has? I hadn't looked at it once since I got here.

Dajan nodded coyly.

I grabbed it, and by force of habit looked to see who it was.

Oh, God, if it's Nathaniel, I'm going to lose it…

Or, even worse, if it's him again, I'm going to completely break down—and this time Nathaniel isn't here to make it all better.

Luckily, it was neither. It was just Mom, sending corny 'I love you' texts and reminding me to text her when I wanted to come home.

Relieved, I rolled my eyes and shut off the vibration so that it wouldn't bother Iana anymore.

Who is it? Your boyfriend? he asked, accentuating the sign.

No, just my Mom. And I don't have a boyfriend, I threw back. Didn't we already have this conversation, only with me on the other end?

Really? But I thought you and what's-his-name… Didn't you make him a name-sign? 'Neighbor'-something?

Yeah, I did. I had to call him something, didn't I? It would be a pain in the ass to fingerspell his entire name every time I talked about him; his name was long, and it made for quite the handful. Just because I made him a name-sign didn't mean we were… Well, either way, that was none of Dajan Asad's business. 'Neighbor'-'necktie,' said my hands automatically, separating the sings so that Dajan could see them clearly—then again, faster and closer together. Nathaniel. But he's not my boyfriend, I reiterated.

He's not?

No.

Iana watched us sign back and forth, following the motions like a spectator at a tennis match. She was probably only somewhat aware of what was going on, only vaguely familiar with the signs we were using. I felt bad for excluding her and I was about to change the subject when Dajan said something that took me completely by surprise.

… He's gone? Nathaniel?

How did Dajan know that? I didn't remember telling him. Maybe he overheard Nathaniel's parents talking about it at dinner last week. Yes, he left today, I confirmed. He went to I-N.

He went in where? Dajan asked, frowning confusedly.

No, he went to I-N-D-I-A-N-A, I clarified, fingerspelling the rest of the name.

Oh, right. He searched the ceiling for what he wanted to say next. Is that why you're so sad? I mean...tired?

Just what was Dajan trying to imply? Nathaniel is my friend, I said sternly.

He met my eyes fearlessly. You miss him.

He's my friend, I repeated, grinding my teeth, refusing to acknowledge that Dajan had hit the nail squarely on the head.

Okay, okay! I understand. I'd be sad if you left, too…since you're my friend.

I couldn't believe he just said that.

I didn't know whether I should slap him or kiss him—so I stood still, my bare feet cemented to the carpet.

I'm going to color more pictures! Iana announced bubbily, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. She hopped down from the couch and skittered away down the hall to her pink room.

I reclaimed my seat next to Dajan, but this time I perched on the edge, not wanting to get too close to him again. Your sister is so cute, I said, just for the sake of saying something—anything—that wasn't directly related to Nathaniel.

She is cute, but… I thought mentioning his sister's cuteness would cheer him up, maybe evoke one of his hundreds of smiles, but he stared straight ahead as though what I said saddened him somehow. She… She lives inside her head, he signed hesitantly. Do you know what I mean?

She has a vivid imagination, I agreed. All kids do. What's wrong with that?

Yeah, but… She lives inside her head most of the time. She cries a lot. It's been a little better, since she got the implant. I can sing to her, and that usually calms her down.

Dajan sings? He didn't strike me as the choir boy type…

Still… The mental image of Dajan singing a crying little girl to sleep made me feel things I wasn't prepared to feel. For a millisecond, I envied Iana's Cochlear implant. If I had one, maybe Dajan would sing to me someday…

I shook the unwarranted feelings away and refocused on what Dajan was saying.

But I'm worried, said his hands and his furrowed brow. She's had that implant for a while now, but she still won't talk. What if she'll never talk...like normal?

Hey! I said defensively. I'll never 'talk like normal,' and I'm okay.

You mean you don't want to learn how to talk? You could, if you got an implant like hers.

For the second time that say, I found myself amazed at the things that came out of Dajan's hands. He didn't hold back what he was thinking; he didn't seem capable of holding back.

He must not know about the taboo, then. Asking a deaf person to talk was like asking an amputee to dance, or taking a blind person to a silent film.

Who says I need an implant? I retaliated. I'm talking to you now, aren't I? I don't need an implant for that.

You'd never want to hear your lover's voice? he expounded. Your parents? Your children? You don't want to know what your own name sounds like? Or music?

Dajan was much deeper than I thought he was. I didn't realize he'd thought about my deafness in such great detail. He'd thought about it, obviously, but he didn't understand it. How could he? Most hearing people didn't understand.

I don't need an implant, I repeated for the second time, swallowing a sudden surge of anger that sprang into my mind in response to his ignorance. But that was just what it was: ignorance. I couldn't blame him for not knowing.

Maybe this is what I'm supposed to be teaching him. Maybe this was why Desirée wanted me come here for 'tutoring' in the first place.

It'd be a shame if I never heard your voice, he said suddenly, his eyes distant.

I should go, I snapped, and rose from my seat. If I started walking, I could text Mom to meet me halfway and pick me up...

Dajan was right in front of me in the blink of an eye, reaching out as though the wanted to touch me—but he recoiled at the last second and used his hands to explain himself instead. No, I didn't mean… I'm worried about my little sister, but…if she turns out anything like you, I know she'll be okay.

I rose my hands to say something back, but no words came to mind. I just stood there, inches from Dajan, my hands hovering in the air, not sure whether or not to reach out and…

I didn't expect to see Desirée burst through the door so soon.

Mom! Dajan exclaimed, whirling around. You're home…early.

She nodded and offered him a brief explanation before she noticed me standing there. Oh, Jo, you're still here? she asked as took off her work badge and hung it on the wall-mounted coat rack.

I wasn't sure if she was pleasantly surprised to see me or not. I didn't even realize the afternoon was already mostly gone. Yeah, I'm still here, I said cheerfully. We've been having a lot of fun.

Yes. I've been having fun alone in your house with your son. That sounds like a perfectly normal thing to say, right?

Thankfully, Desirée didn't take it that way—or if she did, she chose not to read into it. Would you like to stay for dinner? she asked. We'd love to have you.

Sure! I agreed.

Great! What do you like?

Anything, I gesticulated.

Oh, I see! You're not picky like my kids. Is breakfast for dinner okay? Bacon? Eggs? Pancakes?

All at once, I was aware of the fact that I hadn't eaten anything all day. I should have taken Dajan up on his offer for food when I first got here, but I was too apprehensive. You had me at 'bacon,' I said to Desirée with an appreciative smile.

She insisted that she didn't need any help preparing anything. Instead, Dajan and I played a few rounds of Candyland with Iana on the living room floor—which is how I found out both of them were dirty cheaters who would stop at nothing to win. The only thing that would put a stop to their nefarious cheating tactics was Desirée summoning us to the table to eat.

I couldn't help but notice I'd just done this with Nathaniel's family not one week ago, and now I was doing the same thing over again with Dajan's. I was eating dinner with them, sure, but that was where the similarities ended. Nathaniel's mom had set her formal dining room table with platinum-banded Royal Doulton china, whereas Desirée's plates were all different colors: chartreuse, red, cobalt, maroon, even bright pink. At the Asads', there was no chandelier, no floral centerpiece, no red oakleaf and arugula salad. There was a lazy susan with all the necessary napkins and condiments, and the ceiling fan above us circulating the smoky bacon smell.

Desirée offered me stack of four fluffy pancakes, but she put a plate of entirely different food in front of Dajan: egg whites and pinkish turkey bacon in lieu of the real thing. He didn't even get pancakes; he got a halved grapefruit, and not so much as a sprinkle of sugar to take the edge off its sour bitterness. For Iana, she made smaller, silver dollar-sized pancakes she could eat without having to cut with a knife. Desirée pretty much prepared three different meals for four people, which had to have been somewhat taxing.

Dajan poked at his turkey bacon disapprovingly, but didn't eat so much as one bite of it. I felt guilty indulging in 'real' bacon in front of him, but not eating seemed even more rude.

Dajan was already rail-thin; why did Desirée feed him like he was on a diet? Was she that invested in his career as a high school athlete?

I watched Dajan as he glanced at me, then spoke to his mother out loud. I wasn't paying attention to the words; mostly I just liked watching his mouth…

Desirée was trying to get my attention on the other side of the table; I whipped my head to face her and tried to play it off like I wasn't just staring at Dajan, even though I totally was.

D.J. tells me you're not going to the high school, she filled me in. Didn't you know they'd have to hire you an interpreter if you chose to go?

No, I didn't know that. At the deaf school, such questions never really came up; everyone already spoke the same language, so interpreters weren't needed, at least not in that 'safe' environment. Are you sure they would hire an interpreter for me if there are no other deaf students? It seems like an awful lot of trouble—

It is a lot of trouble, she said blatantly, but they legally have to accommodate you if you want to attend school there. They won't turn you away. Hiring an interpreter for you falls within Reasonable Accommodations for disabled students in this school district. That's actually why we moved here last year; I wanted Iana to have the option of the accommodations while she gets used to her new implant.

I looked over to Dajan, curious to see if he had any input. Ask your parents, was all he had to say about it. I… I think it would be good.

Did he not know the signs for what he wanted to say, or was he just reluctant to say it in front of his mother?

I'll ask, I told him, and left it at that.

My answer made him smile a tiny, humble smile I hadn't seen before.

Desirée waved at me again. So tell me, how did she do today? she asked as her scrambled eggs got cold. Did she behave?

Oh, right. I'm Iana's 'tutor.' Does that mean I'm supposed to critique her behavior like some kind of nanny? I thought I was here to have fun with her, and in the process get her used to signing. Absolutely, I assured her mother nonetheless. She's so sweet! I want to wrap her up and take her home!

The way Dajan smirked into his drink glass at my comment made me want to take him home, too. He could stay the night. Or forever. Either way. If the couch downstairs wasn't long enough for him, there was always my bed…

Desirée turned to Iana next to her. What did you learn today?

Crap. Had I actually taught her anything? If I had to stop and think about it, the answer was probably 'no.'

Come on, Iana! Cover for me!

I drew a picture, and she told us stories, and we played games, Iana gushed. And she held hands with D.J.!

I dropped my fork; it clattered to the floor.

Dajan almost choken on a mouthful of grapefruit. Hand positions, spat defensively after he managed to swallow. She was showing me hand positions, that's all! he repeated in sign.

Desirée glared at him suspiciously. Well, your hand positions do look sharper… And to my horror, that ice-cold glare shifted to me. Good work, you two, were the words she used…but it felt more like an I'm watching you.

I decompressed enough to finish my pancakes, and luckily there were no more incidents through the remainder of breakfast-for-dinner.

When all the syrupy plates were loaded into the dishwasher and the table was clear, I knew my day at the Asads' should come to an end soon, if I hadn't already overstayed my welcome. Dajan didn't seem to mind having me there…but his mother was making me nervous.

Are you ready to go home? Desirée finally suggested. Do you want me to take you?

I'll take her, Dajan volunteered before I could answer.

Once we were alone in D.J.'s car, he returned to his normal self; not the embarrassed ball of nerves he was around his mother. I'm sorry about my mom, he gestured when he came to a stop at a stop sign. She's kind of…

Overbearing? Bossy? Sets unrealistic expectations? Controlling? I'd learned a lot about Desirée Asad today. I learned that I didn't like her near as much as I thought I did after my first impression of her.

But I kept all those thoughts to myself. I like your mom, I said. I can tell she loves you a lot.

I… He whipped his head around to glare out the back window and flipped off whoever was behind us; they must have been honking at us for staying stopped in front of the stop sign too long.

As we neared my house, I checked my phone out of nervous habit, expecting to see at least one text from Nathaniel…but there were none.

Really? Not even one? After the night we had last night? After this morning?

Was he avoiding me on purpose, the way he had after my birthday? Was he ashamed of himself? I thought surely he would… I dunno… Miss me back.

I re-pocketed my phone and stared broodingly out the window, temporarily forgetting that I'd actually had a pretty enjoyable day with Dajan.

He let me out in front of my house, and I made the familiar trek up the driveway to the front door.

Bye! I waved to him before I went inside.

Bye, he returned shyly, and backed out into the street.

I gave vague, affirmative answers to my parents' questions about how it went and what we did; I was anxious to get up to my room, drawn to my computer as though my fingertips were magnetic. I had to put my worries about Nathaniel to rest.

The second I signed on, he greeted me enthusiastically—with an exclamation point, no less! "Hey!"

Overcome with relief and excitement, I immediately stopped caring about whether or not he had texted me that day. All that mattered was that he was here now. Well, he was sort of 'here.' He was as 'here' as he could be from a thousand miles away. "Hey! Are you busy unpacking?"

"No, I've been going to orientations, mostly. I was so bored the entire time. I didn't even have my phone to play with. I left my charger at home, so it died."

So he hadn't been ignoring me or avoiding me; his phone was dead. Looking back, it was probably a good thing he didn't text me at all that day. I wouldn't have been able to answer, since I was with Dajan…

He turned on his webcam and smiled tiredly back at me from the monitor. "I'll show you the Presidential Suite," he typed sarcastically, tilting his computer so that I could see.

The space behind him was bare and impersonal. All I could see of it was a cot with a bare, inches-thin mattress against a cinderblock wall painted a cold, unfeeling white.

"Swanky," I teased as he readjusted the webcam so that it showed his face.

"I know. They roll out the red carpet for us freshmen." The air conditioning must have made the room cold. I noticed he was wearing the white and gray jacket I left for him on his suitcase—which means he must have noticed the yearbook, too.

But had he noticed the picture? I was too afraid to ask; I asked him something completely different instead. "Do you have a roommate?"

"I will. He won't be here until tomorrow. I'm all alone, for now." He tilted his head. "Turn on your webcam, too. I need to see a familiar face."

I obliged, signing hello into the camera once the green light next to it told me it was on.

His smile expanded to twice its size when he saw me waving at him. "There she is! I've been meaning to ask where you've been all day."

"Dajan's house," I answered nonchalantly, still smiling.

Nathaniel almost tilted his chair completely over, but caught the edge of his desk just in time. "Why?" he asked, trying to keep his face neutral.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "Tutoring his little sister." In reality, I'd been tutoring D.J. just as much (if not more) than Iana, but I chose to leave that part of the truth out. "She's deaf too, remember?"

"I forgot all about that," Nathaniel said with a sideways glance.

"Speaking of school… Do you think I should enroll at the high school?"

He frowned. "How would that work? I thought you were doing homeschool."

"They could hire an interpreter. D.J.'s mom said they legally have to let me in if I decide I want to go."

"D.J.?"

"That's his name-sign." I signed D-J into the camera for him to see. "It looks a lot like mine. Mine's J-O," I typed before demonstrating my own.

"Even your name in sign language is beautiful," he let slip from his fingers—but before I could react, he regressed to the previous topic. "You should go to school, if it's possible. I didn't even know that was an option."

"I still haven't decided yet. It was just a thought, really."

"No, you really should go. It would be a waste if you stayed at home all day—especially since it's your senior year. Your last year is supposed to be fun. You could make some friends. There are some nice kids there."

"I guess you're right. Dajan will be there, too."

"Yeah, great. Even better." His words were encouraging, but the look on his face as he typed Dajan's name was far from it.

As I watched him watch me, there was a sweet sadness in his eyes I couldn't quite think of a word for. It was like he was lonely, even though he could see me and talk to me. An indescribable emotion that felt a lot like how his eyes looked crept into the back of my mind. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. It made me want to say things I would regret in the morning.

I wanted to keep talking to Nathaniel for hours, just like we used to, but…I had to sign off, even if I didn't fully understand why.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm tired," I wrote. "Try to get some sleep, won't you? You might as well catch up on sleep while you have the room to yourself."

He looked tired, but I knew he wouldn't allow himself to go to sleep for several more hours. "I'm fine," he wrote as he tried to smile. "Good night, Johanna."

Good night, I signed into the webcam—and before I could stop myself, I miss you.

He watched me as I drew the words in the air. "Wait, what was that last part?"

"Nothing. Good night, Nathaniel." I signed off.