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Explain that,Kenya types. She looks like a kid on Christmas morning.
Nova sits on the bed and types out a message. She waves to get my attention and shows us the note on her phone.
Isn’t it obvious?
Someone flashes the lamp and I turn my attention over there next.
“Love,” Island signs. She’s got long, colorful nails and the smallest ASL vocabulary, but I’ve come to understand her signs like they’re her own particular penmanship.
Sunny, who’s standing right beside Island, makes hand puppets to mimic kissing.
Heat invades my cheeks and I’m careful not to look at my sister.
“Since when have you guys been so nosy?” I sign.
Dawn who is usually the most level-headed and, oh, well I’ll just say it…not crazyof the bunch is who I turn to for support. But she just gives me a secret little smile as if she’s enjoying watching me squirm.
More waving comes from my left.
Kenya types,Were you two really lost?
I push out my lips as I think about how to answer that. Finally, I settle for a ‘half-half’ gesture.
The women fling their hands up like sports fanatics screaming at the TV after a fumbled pass.
“Am I missing something?” I sign. This feels way too exaggerated for such a vague response.
Deej signs, “They had a bet.”
Sunny flashes her phone at me.
Were you kissing in the rain? Yes or no.
I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could melt through the floor. Escape isn’t a possibility. Not unless I crash through the window and roll to the grass two stories below.
Before I can convince myself I’ll survive the fall, all the ladies shift their attention to the door.
Someone must have knocked.
I let out a grateful sigh.
Hurrying to answer the door myself, I yank it open and then jerk it nearly-closed when I see that it’s Dare standing outside. If the ladies see him, they’ll grill him too and they won’t all use sign language, so I won’t be able to defend myself or change the conversation.
The back of my neck prickles with awareness. It usually happens when Deej or mom and dad talk to me. It’s like I recognize their voices even if I don’t quite hear those voices anymore.
I yank out my hearing aids.
There. That should give me a few seconds of peace.
Dare notices and flashes a secret little smile. His hair is drying and the natural texture is loosely curled. He’s ditched his tweed jacket and is just wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the top buttons undone.
My fingers itch to undo a few more.
Why is he so dang handsome?
No. That’s not it. When it comes to Dare, ‘handsome’ is an understatement.
Sexy would define him better. Magnificent, maybe? Glorious?
