Forfeit

The sting of tears burned at the corners of my eyes—but I fought hard to keep my jaw stern and still as Dajan continued to laugh, his eyes fixed on his untied basketball shoes.

As badly as I wanted to tell him to go screw himself, I knew the sign for fuck you would only make his jock friends laugh harder. Instead, I stormed away without another word and refused to look back.

Fine. If that's the way you want it, Dajan...

I took refuge in the nearest girls' bathroom and locked myself in the pseudo-privacy of the handicapped stall for I didn't know how long. I didn't care if the bell rang. I didn't care what time it was or where I was supposed to be.

Dad was right. I should never have come here. I should have stayed in my room with my computer where I belonged. Here, I was alone. No interpreter. No friends. … I just wanted to go home.

The image that came to mind when I thought of 'home' wasn't that red brick house on the other side of town. It wasn't even the house I'd called home for seventeen years in Virginia. If home was a place at all, it was the tailgate of an old GMC truck under a night sky alight with fireworks.

As if in answer to my desperate prayer, an inbound text lit up the screen of my phone; it shone through the front pocket of my backpack like a homing beacon. I pulled apart the zipper, wanting so badly for it to be Nathaniel I had to fight even harder not to cry.

And it was. Of course it was. "How's your first day going?" he asked nonchalantly.

I kept my response short, so as not to start the waterworks that threatened to spill from behind my eyes. "Well... It's fourth period, and my interpreter still isn't here."

"What?! Why not?"

"I have no idea. No one has told me anything." That was more true than I let on. No one had gone out of their way to attempt to communicate with me all day—no one, except maybe Armin. He at least cared enough to ask my name.

"If your interpreter doesn't show up soon, I want you to go home. Everyone would understand. They wouldn't hold it against you."

It was too good to be true. Weren't there any rules at this school? "Are you sure they would let me just up and leave?"

"I'll call the principal for you and tell her what happened. She'll let you go."

"No, don't do that." Nathaniel didn't have to shoulder this responsibility for me; he wasn't even in the same state as me anymore. He had his own life to worry about. "I'll have Mom talk to her."

"Okay," he relented. "Text me when you get home. I'll wait for you on IM."

I let myself breathe a sigh of relief. There was a way out. This nightmarish day would soon be over—and even though he couldn't climb through my window, Nathaniel still found a way to be there for me when I needed him most.

… Unlike Dajan.

With that, I could stave off tears no longer, and I felt them trickle out over my hot cheeks. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I mopped my weary eyes with a wad of scratchy toilet paper. I was trying to muster the courage to unlatch the door and step out of the stall to rinse my face in the sink—when day-glo orange boots that could only have been Alexy Underwood's suddenly appeared in the space beneath.

At first I panicked, thinking maybe I'd accidentally stormed into the boys' bathroom instead of the girls'...but no, this was definitely the girls' bathroom. The other pairs of shoes I'd seen come and go beneath the stalls were all girls', and that was definitely a tampon wrapper in the wastebasket in the corner. So what was Alexy doing here?

He knelt down and handed me a folded-up sheet of notebook paper. His handwriting was squat and feminine, and he pressed down too hard with his bright blue pen, leaving gobs of ink in the curves of all his C's and S's. "I thought I might find you here, Johanna! Come on out of there! Fifth period starts in five minutes!"

He came in here specifically to find me? How did he know I was here? Unless...he saw me try to talk to Dajan and get shot down.

Oh, kill me now.

How many others saw it?

Hiccupping, I dug into my backpack for a pen. "Thanks for the heads-up," I scribbled back, using my knee as a somewhat-sturdy writing surface, "but I'd rather go home." I wanted to throw his stupid note back at him, but I handed it back to him gently. It wasn't Alexy's fault Dajan was a jerk and my interpreter was absent; being mean to Alexy would only make me feel worse about everything.

His response was crooked and wavy, the letters crinkly from being written against the textured surface of the bathroom stall door. "Why? What's wrong, Baby Gurl? Are you sick?"

"No, but I'm ready for today to be over. I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Everyone keeps staring at me like they've never seen a deaf girl before."

Alexy didn't even acknowledge my use of the 'D' word. He was completely unfazed. "Let them stare! I bet it's not everyday a cutie like you transfers in. Armin has the same fifth period as you. He'll take care of you. Between you and me, I think he likes you. You're so his type!"

Ugh. Was this Alexy's attempt at making me feel better? I should go to class, because his brother 'likes' me? What was Armin's 'type,' exactly? Tall? Strawberry blonde? Long legs? Freckles? … Silent?

Even if he had been civil to me before, I wasn't so sure I wanted Armin to 'take care' of me, in U.S. History or anywhere else. That role had already been filled—and the rightful filler of that role was waiting for me to get home and sign on to Instant Messenger.

"Thanks again," I wrote back, biting my tongue angrily, "but really, I have to get out of here. And so do you! This is the girls' bathroom, creep!"

I saw Alexy's face light up with laughter through the gap between the stall door and the hinge. "You don't have to worry about me creeping on you. No offense or anything, but you're not my type. Girls in general aren't my type, if you catch my drift."

The fact that Alexy was gay—which came as no surprise—was of little comfort in this situation. I was still mortified, and still without an interpreter.

"If you want to help, go tell the principal I'm leaving early," I wrote on the reverse side of the page. We were running out of room. In my opinion, this idiotic conversation had gone on far too long.

"But the principal is the one who sent me to find you! She wants me to tell you that they found a substitute interpreter, and she's on her way now. She should make it to fifth period."

Why didn't he just say that from the beginning instead of writing me a novel about how Armin allegedly likes me?

Gay or straight, I would never understand men.

I heaved myself up from my seat on the toilet and emerged from the seclusion of my stall.

A short girl in a flowered headband and a pink dress was washing her hands at one of the sinks, all the while gawking at us both, not quite sure what to make of this scene. She clearly wasn't pleased to see Alexy in here. Ew, her oily face grimaced, the rubber bands on her braces stretching apart. Get out of here!

Alexy rolled his hot pink eyes at her and scoffed something that made the girl recoil in disgust. She stomped away in a temper, her little dress twirling delicately.

Alexy turned back to me and laughed, stretching his arms up behind his head. See? his carefree smile seemed to say. I've got your back.

Alright, I told myself, finally cracking a smile through my gummy tears. If fifth period still sucks with the added help of an interpreter and Armin, I'm going home. End of story. This is your last chance, Sweet Amoris High School.

After I (hopefully) rinsed away any signs of redness and puffiness from my eyes, Alexy and I were met by Armin in the hallway, which was empty again. The bell for fifth period must have already rang. All three of us were late.

The twins exchanged words, Alexy's eyebrows arcing widely and Armin's cherry lips curling into a self-satisfied smile. Alexy waved goodbye and made for a different classroom, then I let Armin lead me to U.S. History.

We were definitely late, and I got yet another dose of being ogled at by twenty strangers when Armin and I walked in. The desks were long tables that were meant to seat two, and the only empty table left was the one in the front and center.

You'll never guess who was sitting at the table right behind it.

Just seeing him sitting there made my blood boil—his long arms crossed, his feet stretching carelessly out into the aisle as he leaned back in his chair. Dajan looked up at me from lowered lids. His attempt to clandestinely sign me a feeble hey only infuriated me more.

I threw back a nasty, unabated fuck you. If he didn't know what the sign meant, he could surely guess; as signs go, it was pretty literal.

Armin, meanwhile, had been talking to the teacher. Mr. Faraize, according to the name on my class schedule, looked looked like he was still in his twenties, though years of worry creased his forehead. He pushed his round glasses further up the bridge of his long nose and nodded when he understood what Armin had said. Armin gestured in my direction, and Mr. Faraize's eyes found me as I begrudgingly took the seat in front of Dajan.

I smiled sheepishly and shrugged slightly.

As Armin took his place next to me, Mr. Faraize tried to get the rest of the class's attention by yelling over their chit-chatting. No one took him seriously, though, and went right on with their conversations. He clapped his hands and yelled some more, but that didn't work, either.

I rolled my eyes. This guy has no idea what he's doing. And to think I had kind of been looking forward to History, since it was my favorite subject. The sooner my interpreter gets here, the better.

From behind me, I felt someone's fingers graze my ponytail and tap my shoulder. I knew it was Dajan. I swatted at his hand like I would shoo away a bothersome fly.

Armin turned in his chair and gave Dajan a careful once-over before writing me a note in the margin of a blank page in his notebook. Armin was a lefty; his elbow pushed uncomfortably against my right arm as he wrote. We really should have switched places, but it was too late for that now. "You already know that guy?" his note read. His handwriting was nothing like his twin's: small and scrunched together, the tails of his Y's dipping way beneath the rest of the letters.

"You could say that," I scrawled back, shoving his elbow out of the way. Talking about Dajan was doing nothing to improve my mood.

"Your boyfriend?" Armin pried.

He just had to go there, didn't he? "No. He's no one," I scribbled, nullifying Armin's suspicion.

Oh, hell. That probably made it sound like Dajan had once been someone to me. Then again, maybe he had. He had me going for a while there, playing the 'protective older brother' card, assuming the role of the misunderstood 'new kid in town.' But now I knew better. That was just a front. Underneath, he was just like the rest of them.

How did I think a boy like Dajan could ever understand someone like me, with or without sign language?

Right when I thought this situtation couldn't get any more dismal, the entire class erupted into movement, distracted by something that came rushing through the door. The blur of color made a beeline straight for me.

She was the last person I expected to see today—though I'd be lying if I said I was disappointed. The little girl's sweet smile could brighten even a day as crappy as this one had been.

Iana, what are you doing here? I signed, half-smiling, half-frowning. Was she really here, or was I going nuts and just imagining things at this point?

But no, she was real, and she was really here. She hopped into my lap, kicking her sneakered feet, enveloping me in the soft, sweet smell of her hair and her skin. Hi, Jo! she waved, the pink and turquoise beads in her hair swaying. Hi, D.J.! she waved over my shoulder—but I declined to turn my head to see Dajan's reaction. We're in your school! We came to help!

Wait... 'We?'

Oh, no, my substitute interpreter can't be—

As soon as I guessed it, Dajan's mother bust through the doorway, her heavy handbag over her shoulder, her work badge haphazardly thrown around her neck. Iana, get back here, she signed furiously. Her ice-cold eyes alone were enough to make Iana jump down from my lap stare back helplessly, as though caught in a tractor beam. What did I say about running ahead of me? This isn't like kindergarten. This is a school for big kids, so you have to pretend you're a big kid and sit quietly the way big kids do. Can you do that for me?

Iana wordlessly nodded and settled into the corner behind Mr. Faraize's desk, obediently taking a Princess and the Frog coloring book out of her tiny pink backpack. When she was sure her mother wasn't looking, she cast me another smiley hi, Jo! that I couldn't help but return.

Desirée turned to Mr. Farazie, letting her handbag fall off her shoulder. The way she shook her head and held her hands in the air seemed to suggest that she was apologizing profusely for the intrusion and the interruption.

Desirée? I asked meekly when I thought I could get her attention. What's going on? What happened to the interpreter who was supposed to be here?

I don't know, she shot back exasperatedly. They told me it was a 'family emergency,' but they never said what kind. All I know is she can't be here today.

I felt all eyes on me as I signed back and forth with Desirée. For a fleeting second, I thought maybe I could understand why Dajan was reluctant to sign to me at first. I was attracting a lot of attention—and not the kind I liked or needed on a day like today.

I'm sorry, I apologized to Desirée. I wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for.

It's alright, Jo, she assured me. Her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but the ice in her eyes remained. It's not your fault. I guess if this had to happen, it's a good thing it happened on my day off. The way she flung her hands was bitter and almost sarcastic. She obviously thought she had better things to do with her day off.

I expected Desirée to at least acknowledge Dajan, but she didn't even glance at him—probably trying to maintain some degree of professional detachment, which was made even more difficult by Iana's presence.

Why is Iana with you? I couldn't help but ask.

She goes to half-day kindergarten in the morning. I didn't arrange a sitter for her today because I thought I would have the day off. I tried to call every sitter I know, but all of them are busy—even your mom. I had no choice but to bring her with—you leave her alone, Missy! Go back over there and sit quietly like I told you!

I flinched because at first I thought that she was scolding me, but Desirée had caught sight of Iana trying to tiptoe back to my desk from her spot in the corner. Reluctantly, Iana sat back down among her crayons, dismayed at having been caught.

Desirée continued, I know the situation isn't ideal—for any of us—but we're going to have to make it work for today. When she signed 'for any of us,' did her eyes flit behind my head to include Dajan among 'us,' or did I just imagine that?

Yeah, I... I guess. I wasn't sure how comfortable I was with this—especially with Iana here. I didn't even think I belonged here, but I knew high school was no place for a five-year-old.

… I liked it better when I had no interpreter.

Once everyone calmed down, Mr. Faraize dove into a hastily-thrown-together review activity he'd prepared for the first day. Although Desirée was fluent in ASL, she was slow. By the time she interpreted one of Mr. Faraize's review questions, someone else had already answered it out loud and Mr. Faraize moved on to the next one without pausing.

Armin, meanwhile, wasn't paying attention to the review. I chanced a glance over at him while Desirée struggled to think of the right sign for a word Mr. Faraize said. Whatever Armin was talking about, the girls sitting at the next table found hilarious. They hid their giggles behind small, dainty hands. I recognized one of them as the girl in the pink dress from girls' bathroom. She smiled a closed-mouth Cheshire cat smile, her shifty green eyes landing on me for the briefest of milliseconds before they danced back to Armin.

Was Armin talking about me?

I blinked, and the atmosphere went from uncomfortable to downright terrifying. Dajan was leaning across the table behind us, a fistful of Armin's scarf and shirt clenched in his fist. The muscles in his lean arms rippled dangerously, as did the muscles in his face, contorting it into a threatening scowl. His other hand tightened into a fist, too—and I thought I was seconds away from witnessing an all-out fight.

I scrambled to say something, but my signs were a jumbled, trembling mess. D.J., what are you—?

All that remained of Desirée's professional detachment flew out the window. She came up behind Armin, untangling Dajan's hand from his clothes and scolding her son with a sour, chagrined mouth I couldn't read.

I was lost.

What is going on here?

My heart was pounding out of control inside my chest. It throbbed so hard I felt it in my jaw, in my ears, in my neck.

What could Armin have possibly said to deserve getting (almost) punched in the face?

Mr. Faraize motioned to the door, a mortified shade of red creeping up from under his starched white collar. Out, he commanded Dajan. Principal's office. Now.

The mouths of the wide-eyed lookers on all scrunched into oooohs as Dajan angrily slung his backpack over his shoulder and stalked out of the room, the top of his head within inches of grazing the door frame.

What did he say? I demanded of Desirée.

Her eyes shifted from the empty seat where Dajan had been, then back to me. He said, 'What did you say?'

No, not D.J.—this guy, I clarified, pointing to Armin. What did this guy say that made D.J. so mad?

Desirée's eyes shifted again—from Armin, then back to me. I... I don't know. I didn't hear. I was paying attention to the teacher.

Some interpreter you are.

I sprang out of my seat and made for the door, abandoning my backpack. If I moved fast, I would still be able to catch Dajan in the hall before he got to the principal's office.

Jo, get back here! Desirée gestured, not unlike how she would scold her five-year-old daughter.

Please, Desirée! Let me talk to him on his own! I wasn't so much asking her as telling her. I won't take long. I'll be right back. Tell Mr. F. for me, okay?

She shook her head. Jo, if you walk out that door, you're forfeiting your right to an interpreter for the rest of the day. I won't wait around for you to come back, do you understand?

I didn't care. I had to make sure Dajan was okay. In my mind, I was already gone. Fine, I signed back—then turned and left her there.

I sprinted down the halls, rushing past the classroom doors as quickly as I could so as not to be caught by a teacher or hall monitor.

Did Iana see what happened? Would she have been able to hear whatever Armin said? Would she have understood what it meant? I hoped not.

What was Dajan thinking, snapping on Armin like that, knowing his mom and his sister were right there to see it?

I caught up with Dajan about halfway through his slow, brooding trudge to the principal's office, not far from where I'd found him earlier during our lunch hour. He whirled around to face me, probably in response to the sounds of heavy footsteps and my sharp in-and-out breaths. Jo! What are you doing? Go back to class!

Oh, so you do remember how to sign! I said, waving my arms indignantly. Well, that's a relief. For a while there I thought I spent that entire day tutoring you for nothing.

Most of it went over his head, but he could tell I was angry. His eyes went from being full of rage to full of sorrow. Jo, please don't be mad at me.

You've got a lot of nerve to say something like that. First you laughed at me at lunch—and now this. You made me look like an asshole back there, D.J. You made both of us look like assholes.

I'm the asshole? He didn't need to ask what that sign meant, even if he didn't know it before; it, too, was a pretty descriptive sign. That new guy is the asshole. You would have let me beat him up if you knew what he said.

What did he say, then? I was getting tired of asking.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and threw back his head to stare blankly at the ceiling. He said... He said something stupid.

I felt my frown intensify. What did he say? I repeated. You're the only one who can tell me. What could be 'stupid' enough to make Dajan lose control of his emotions like that?

He said... He said that he thought you were my...

Your what? Come on! Spell it, if you have to!

No, I know how to say it, he insisted. He said you look like you're my baby mama.

Did...did I read that right? 'Baby'-'mom'? Say again? I asked, just in case. Your what?

My baby mama. Before my mom came in, he thought Iana was our child—because she's black like me, and deaf like you. He said, 'I feel bad for this guy. It looks like he's got some baby mama drama.'

Oh my God. Why would Armin say something like that?

That's disgusting.

And...weirdly cute.

Ugh, God, why do I think it's cute?! It's not cute.

Although... Black like Dajan... And deaf like me... Armin had a point. It was kind of an astute observation, aside from the fact that it was sick and extremely disturbing. The point was that Armin had put Dajan and me together in his mind. He thought we were a family. He thought we were together—or at least that we had been together at some point.

He whispered it to the girl next to him, Dajan explained. He thought he could say anything he wanted around you because you can't hear.

That made me mad—madder than anything Armin could have said. Oh, but you can hear—so you think that makes you better than me? You think it's your job to listen to the horrible things people say for me?

Yes, Dajan said confidently, obviously not picking up on my outrage and disgust. I won't let anyone talk about you that way.

… Maybe I had been too quick to dismiss Dajan after what happened at lunch. But still. I couldn't just forget about that because he caught someone saying something disgusting about me behind my back. Armin still would have said it, whether Dajan was there to hear him or not.

I don't need you to protect me like a bodyguard, I scolded him. I need you to be there for me—like a friend. I thought you wanted to be my friend.

You're more than just my friend, he said, bringing his hands to his chest to indicate 'my.'

I didn't think my face could get any hotter, but somehow it did. Oh? If that's true, why did you laugh at me today at lunch? What was that about?

He crumbled beneath the pressure of my intense stare, hanging his head. It... I... I don't know how to explain it. I...didn't want to sign in front of them, because...they already don't like me.

The way they all hung around together seemed to suggest that the other jocks liked him well enough, but maybe guys were different. Why did Dajan need for the other guys to 'like' him at all? And furthermore, what reason could they possibly have to dislike him?

Why? I finally asked him after a few seconds of stillness.

He didn't understand. Why what?

Why everything! Why would signing in front of your friends make them like you less? Why laugh at me?

I didn't want to laugh at you.

What, so they made you laugh at me?

Yeah! Sort of, he said defensively. They're...they're not used to it. It made them uncomfortable to see you signing.

That was it. I was at my breaking point. Oh, it made them uncomfortable? Those poor, poor hearing boys! I let out a manic bray of laughter, but clenched my teeth together to stifle it. How do you think it made me feel, D.J.? I am completely deaf. I don't have an implant I can turn on and off. It's not a choice for me. It's not a cool party trick I can use or not use whenever I feel like it. This is my life, D.J.—and I thought... I felt the anger rush out of me all at once, and it was soon replaced by the same sadness and hopelessness I'd felt when I locked myself in the bathroom. I thought... I thought you wanted to be in my life. I thought you wanted me to come to this school with you. But when you laughed at me, I—

I was wrong, he confessed.

I was taken aback at his sudden surrender. I know you were wrong! You don't have to tell me that!

I was wrong, and I'm sorry.

I... A thousand signs swam around in my head, but I could bring none of them to life with my fingers. I stood there, stagnant, not sure of what to do or where to go from here.

Long, warm arms wrapped themselves around me. He rested his chin on the top of my head, his hands gentle on my back.

I should have smacked him, but I didn't. I let him hold me, if only for a few seconds.

He released me abruptly, as though I was scalding hot to the touch. I'm so sorry, Jo. I didn't want to hurt you.

Well, you did. It suddenly felt drafty in that empty hallway. I rubbed my hands over my arms for warmth.

What can I do? he beseeched me.

What did he mean? What can he do...to fix this? To put things back the way they were? Nothing. Nothing can undo the damage he'd already done—not unless he could travel back in time and let me start the whole day over.

Can I buy you food? he suggested. Food makes everything better.

Food couldn't fill the void in my heart, but it would help fill the void in my stomach. I might just let him.

I know you're hungry, he said with a smile as he watched me think it over. I can hear your stomach growling. I know you didn't eat anything at lunch.

I blinked my eyes exaggeratedly. Yeah, 'cause I was in the bathroom crying my eyes out, thanks to you!

I meant for it to be somewhat playful, like our exchanges used to be—but it wiped the smile off his face isntantly. Jo, I... I made you cry?

I tried to cover my tracks, but I'd already said too much. It wasn't just you. Today has been the worst first day of school ever. You'd cry too.

Let's get out of here, he reiterated, his eyes aglow with mischief. I owe you lunch, at least.

Dajan is going to have hell to pay from his mother and from the school once they learn he cut the rest of his classes today—and so will I.

Then again, I'm already going to have hell to pay for running after Dajan in the middle of class. My substitute interpreter was probably already gone, so if I went back I would have to eke through the rest of the day in silence and seclusion.

Maybe I should just leave. It's what my heart (and my stomach) is telling me I should do. It's what Nathaniel wanted me to do right from the start, even though I don't think this is what he had in mind.

I sighed heavily, blowing my wayward bangs out of my eyes. Fine, I relented, and took Dajan's outstretched hand.