They poured from the bus into the center. Now, from her place in the middle of a pack, she saw Colson afresh. The city was sun drenched, warm enough for just a windbreaker even in late November, State Street’s brick fa?ades awash in magic hour orange. Her classmates were rowdy, bumping into one another, jumping and running ahead and then back again, joining different pockets of conversation.
Some of the stores were pure kitsch, all lawn ornaments and wind socks, but there was also a quaintness about the city’s core businesses—the Chipped Cup’s vintage aluminum sign, and the Moorlyn Theater’s marquee; even Starbucks and Skyline Chili had gone with muted versions of their corporate colors to fit in on the block. If she were here with her parents, she would have found this disingenuous, but now she felt a sudden flash of pride in her city. She was glad to live here.
But if Charlie was seeing Colson anew, it returned its gaze differently, too. At first, she almost liked the feeling of strangers’ eyes on them. Sure, they weren’t like other kids, but look, there was a bunch of them, there was power in that. And she was in on the secret. Unfortunately, Steele’s Candy wasn’t a fan of their collective power, and swiftly ejected them from the store. Out on the corner, they regrouped. A shoulder tap. Charlie turned to find Austin chewing on a thick rope of licorice. He held out a piece to her.
Hey.
Hey.
Missed you yesterday. How you feeling?
Better, thanks, she said.
She accepted the candy, sticking one end in her mouth.
What’s new with you?
Austin shrugged, then reached to brush a stray hair from her eyes. Something about the tenderness of the gesture made her throat feel tight. It seemed like a thing a thoughtful person would do, not a spoiled one.
I want to know about you. True biz, I have a very important question for you.
The knot in her throat swelled. Whatever it was, she hoped he signed it small.
What’s your favorite pizza?
Charlie laughed.
Super important.
It’s not funny! It’s c-r-i-t-i-c-a-l knowledge.
That’s easy. Pepperoni.
You like the classics.
Why mess with the best?
Have you tried bacon?
On pizza? Gross, no.
They’re both pork!
You’re not one of those people who thinks p-i-n-e-a-p-p-l-e goes on pizza, are you?
What’s wrong with pineapple?
Charlie made a face and a playful push at his shoulder, but he was more solid than she’d been expecting, and she let her hand linger there. He brought his hand up to meet hers, ran his fingers along her wrist. She let herself be drawn into the greenwater wells of his eyes. Maybe it’d been a mistake to dodge his kiss when she’d had the opportunity, out on the loading dock all those weeks ago. In fact, she would’ve liked nothing more than for him to lean in right this moment and—
Did he just say he puts pineapple on his pizza? said Kayla, evidently unmindful of said moment. What’d I tell you about him?
Charlie smiled, but she could see a flicker of concern across Austin’s eyes.
What did she tell you about me?
None of your business. Roommate talk.
Fine—what’s your pizza?
B-b-q _______, said Kayla.
What?
C-h-i-c-k-e-n. Chicken.
Charlie started to copy Kayla’s sign, but Austin held up a hand to stop her.
Sign it like this, he said.
The signs were quite different—Kayla’s had been two-handed, a pinching of the pointer and middle fingers and thumbs, like a pair of beaks pecking downward, while Austin’s was one-handed, the pointer finger and thumb creating a slender beak beside his nose. Charlie raised a hand to her own face skeptically, copying Austin’s sign.
Chicken, chicken. Same difference.
Your sign looks like, _______
Austin said to Kayla. Then, turning to Charlie: d-i-a-p-e-r.
Tinker Bell, who had been drawn to the growing heat of the conversation, stifled a laugh at this, and Charlie had to admit, Kayla’s sign for chicken looked nearly indistinguishable from the one Austin had just done.
Fuck you and your diaper, said Kayla, and stormed off.
You’re not the only one who’s got Deaf family, you know! Alisha said to Austin.
Then she looked to Charlie.
It’s Black ASL, her sign.
There’s…Black ASL? said Charlie.
Of course. Deaf schools were also _______.
What?
S-e-g-r-e-g-a-t-e-d. Language developed differently.
But, wasn’t that a long time ago?
It’s cultural, said Alisha, then looked back to Austin. And you’re being racist.
Charlie didn’t know the sign for “racist” but Alisha had mouthed the English word with such vigor there was no mistaking it. For his part, Austin’s whole body had gone rigid, and Charlie could see he was about to protest, but instead let his hands drop. Alisha kept walking until she’d caught up with the rest of the group, motioning for Charlie to come with her. Charlie felt herself hesitate, but when she found her feet again, Alisha pretended not to have noticed.
Charlie tried to take in the conversation between Alisha and one of the Lost Boys, but she couldn’t concentrate. She knew it was unrealistic, but she’d so wanted River Valley to be different than the rest of the world. They had been mostly welcoming to her, and she’d assumed that was the benefit of a school full of rejects. But the realization that segregation and racism pervaded here, too, meant the Deaf world was just as fraught as everywhere else.
She looked over her shoulder for Austin, but he was no longer behind them—at some point he’d circled round and caught up with Kayla. The two were having a fast and emphatic conversation Charlie doubted she would understand even if she were close enough. At the pizza place, Charlie ended up on the opposite end of the table from both of them, stuck beside Tinker Bell, who wanted to talk exclusively about Broadway shows Charlie had never seen. The waiter arrived looking peeved and threw a spread of menus down in the middle of the table, a pile of napkins atop that, leaving them mostly to fend for themselves.
By the time the pizza arrived, Tinker Bell had given up trying to make conversation with her, and Charlie was content to gaze out the storefront window. It was twilight, and the foot traffic was already clearing. Then, into the center of the frame stepped Gabriella, staring directly at her with a grin she didn’t like. She pointed at Charlie.
Me? she said.
Gabriella nodded, then signed Austin’s name, eyebrows raised in request. Charlie waved across the table to get his attention—asking someone to tap or flag down a friend was common practice in a world where calling one by name was pretty much useless—but regretted it as soon as he looked up. The fact that her body had chosen this particular moment to fully integrate this cultural norm into her muscle memory was annoying; she certainly did not want to help Gabriella. Plus, now everyone was staring at her.
Your girlfriend…e-x girlfriend, wants you…
A few people giggled, but Austin just looked bewildered.
I mean, she’s outside. Standing in the window.
Austin blanched, then got up and walked toward Charlie’s side of the table. When Gabriella saw him, she waved, and he gave a reluctant hello nod. Then she pulled a sandy-haired, muscular boy—he looked too old to be a River Valley student—into view and thrust her tongue into his mouth. Austin blushed and made a beeline for the bathroom.
Somebody’s having a rough day, Alisha said.
And while Austin had deserved the trouble he’d caught that afternoon, Charlie also found herself relieved that he would not hear his classmates now erupting into laughter.
kayla could see that Austin had done it automatically, not like he was actively trying to be a dick. But did it matter? The hurt had come automatically, too.