“What the hell is this?” He’s talking fast, his sneer making it hard to read his lips. But he’s using a type of universal sign language that makes him easy enough to understand: his gritted jaw says he’s pissed; his narrowed eyes scream his anger; and his clumsy stance tells me he’s far too drunk to rein in his emotions.
I hesitantly glance away from him and look to the envelope. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the emblem in the corner: the word “GALLAUDET” under a slim, double arch. I’ve stared at that emblem so many thousands of times as I surfed the Internet and daydreamed about college.
The letter is from Gallaudet University.
For a moment, I’m confused. Why would they be sending me a letter? I’m not on any of their mailing lists, and—
My application. Holy shit, it must be a response from the admissions office. I applied last year and got rejected, which was crushing, but no big surprise. My grades are barely average, and since it’s so hard to communicate with my teachers, the recommendation letters I got were lukewarm at best. But then a couple months ago, I decided to reapply for the spring semester. It was a long shot, but I’d poured my heart into the application essay and had crossed my fingers that it would be enough.
I didn’t expect to ever get a letter from them, because according to their website, only admitted students would receive notice by mail.
Which means I got in.
I stare in shock down at the envelope. It takes me a moment to realize I’m grinning like an idiot, but then I don’t care enough to stop. Gallaudet has been my dream ever since I was twelve and first stumbled across the university’s website. It has brilliant professors, one-of-a-kind courses tailored for people with hearing impairments, and a student body that is mostly deaf.
And now I get to go there.
It takes a hard slap to pull me back to reality. I yelp and press a hand to my stinging cheek. My head spins a little, and as I blink a couple of times to clear it, I look up at my dad. His angry expression hasn’t changed, although instead of staring at me, he’s now locked his glare on the envelope.
I realize the envelope is already open, its top ragged where my dad pulled out the letter. That means he’s read it and knows I was admitted. So he should be happy, right? He’s always complaining about how I do nothing useful, and now I have the chance to attend a top-notch school.
“Why?” he asks.
I hesitate, unsure what sort of reply he wants. When I don’t give an immediate response, my dad slams his fist down on my desk, narrowly missing my beloved keyboard. I have one second to feel relief, but then the fear comes rushing back.
But instead of avoiding his furious gaze, like I usually do, I stare back. This is my college, my life, my decision. I don’t know what he’s so upset about, but he has no right to stop me from attending the school of my dreams.
“Why did you apply?” he demands.
“I thought I might have a chance.” I gesture to the envelope. “And I did! Dad, I got in, and—”
“And you won’t be attending.”
My heart stutters and comes to a grinding halt. Then it starts beating overtime as anger sears through me. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“No,” I snap. “No, I didn’t hear you. Don’t you get it? I’m deaf. As much as you hate it, I can’t hear a single word you say. So why not let me go? Gallaudet is in Washington, DC. I’ll be far away from you, you won’t have to bother with me, and—”
“Enough!” His fists clench again, and I have the common sense to shut up. “You’re not going to argue with me on this, Alison. Gallaudet is the type of school that will ruin you. They teach you to embrace your weakness when you should be fighting it.”
“How could I fight it?” I demand. “We both know nothing can make my hearing come back.”
“That’s no excuse to wallow in self-pity for four whole years of college.”
“It’s not self-pity! Gallaudet is like its own culture. All the people there would understand me.”
“You’re the one who needs to start understanding things, not anyone else,” he snaps. “It’s about time you buck up and face real life. This world has no room for the weak, and I’m not sending you to a school that will make you even weaker.”
This is the point where I should shut my trap and go along with what he’s saying. But I can’t. The anger pulsing through me just won’t let me drop the argument, even if it’s for the best, even if it’s going to get me hurt. I shove away from my desk and stand to face him directly.
“I’m not weak! Don’t you get that? I’m different. That’s all. And the only bad thing about being different is that it scares people obsessed with being normal. People like you.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re saying I’m scared?”