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She elbows me, obviously reading nonverbal clues that I didn’t realize I was putting off.
“So, Theo wanted to learn the proper way, as well.”
“That’s wonderful.” Dr. Sinclair states.
Riley looks up at me, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“I appreciate it. She’s alive, so it’s a blessing.” I shrug.
She then smiles and lifts a hand to Gina.
Dr. Sinclair is nodding as we all look back to her, no doubt all still wondering why we were held back.
“Right, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I held you back.”
None of us answer because it’s obvious.
“Gina, I wasn’t aware I had a student with a disability, and I wanted to make sure you are comfortable asking for accommodations if you need them.”
“I’m good,” Gina signs and speaks. “I’ll bug this guy if I need anything. If he doesn’t have an answer, I’ll email.”
“Gina has new ears.” I smile at her because I know how exciting this is for her. Those things are not cheap or readily available, and her new aids are so small, covered by her hair.
She signs, but doesn’t say, “I think you’re more excited than I am.”
I laugh. “Totally.”
I can’t wait until I can afford to get Quincy all the newest as devices as they come out, and there’s no jumping through hoops from insurance companies and getting excited that life is about to change, only to get denied.
“Riley’s taken classes with my husband, and I know she signs, as well.”
I look over at her. “Yeah?”
She signs ‘a little.’
“I just wanted to pull you three aside and let you know why I’ve made this decision, and so, when you do get your assigned group, there are no surprises.”
“Could you tell us which president we’ll have?” Riley asks.
“Then you wouldn’t have any surprises left at all.”
* * *
Walkingout of the lecture hall, Gina asks, “So, which one do you think we’ll get?”
“Not Theodore Roosevelt.” I chuckle.
“Because of your name?”
“No, because he lost his hearing in his left ear. It would be too obvious,” Riley answers.
“If she’s on the disability train, the other obvious president would be, Franklin. He was in a wheelchair,” Gina adds.
“Or the immigrant’s track. Jackson, Buchanan, Arthur Wilson, Hoover, Obama, and Trump are all children of first-generation immigrants,” I add seriously just to keep the conversation going.
I look over and see Riley staring at her screen, probably getting a text from Oz.
She holds up her phone. “His dad’s not first gen, doesn’t count.”
