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For a spoiled heiress.
“You pierced your ears at the mall too. Both of them. And then you bought these obnoxious stud earrings. Mom got the credit card alert on her phone and nearly fainted.”
Dare chuckles beside me.
My smartwatch buzzes.
I open my phone and find a text from him.
Well done.
I text back:
Thank your earholes for not healing properly.
Dare massages his earlobes quizzically. I swallow the giggles that bubble in my chest. His ears weren’t the only clue. When we were exchanging messages in the car, I accidentally swiped to his music app and saw a bunch of classic rock bands. That, coupled with the earring holes made me take a stab in the dark.
I’m glad, for once, that the childhood version of Dare was a rocker kid stereotype.
Dare climbs to his feet and gestures for me to follow. The amused grin is gone from his face, and he looks especially serious when he speaks to his sister.
I want to pay attention, but my smartwatch vibrates three times.
The special alert for Deej.
Deej: Where are you?
Yaya: Out.
Deej: Mom and dad said your agency sent a limo. Did you book something huge without telling me?
I wish.
Yaya: I’ll explain later.
By the time I look up again, the serious conversation seems to have ended. Dare has one side of his lips curling up as if he won an argument. Lucy is begrudgingly smiling back at him too.
Whatever she lost, she doesn’t seem that upset about it.
As Lucy approaches me, I pocket my phone so I can give her my full attention. She takes my hand and then drops it like it’s hot to the touch. Her mouth moves in a funny way. She’s slowing down her words, making it impossible to lipread even if I wanted to.
Since I have an interpreter, I wait patiently for Lucy to finish talking—which takes twice as long thanks to her slow speed.
“Sorry. Holding your hand while we’re talking is like clipping someone else’s mouth shut, huh?” Jenny signs. “Welcome to the family, Yaya.”
Lucy moves her mouth around unnaturally again, and I get the impression she wants me to lipread without any interpreting help. She points to her lips and nods, proving my theory right.
Can you hear me?
Did you read my lips?
Can we have a conversation without any interpreters?
I lift my hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Slowing your words doesn’t help me lipread. It makes it more difficult.”
Lucy waits for my interpreter. Her eyes narrow when she hears my words.
Jenny signs, “How do you know I was slowing my words. Can you hear me? Are you even deaf?”
