“Come on,” I mutter. “It’s one letter. Get your shit together.”
I try again.
Still wrong.
I exhale and drop my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. The engine ticks quietly as it cools. Somewhere across the lot, a nail gun fires in steady bursts.
My phone screen dims. No new messages. No text from her yet today.
I’m not proud of how often I’ve checked.
“Okay,” I tell myself. “Either go back to work like a normal person or stop half-assing this.”
I pick up the phone again.
Instead of restarting the video, I flip to the browser and type:
ASL classes near me.
Scroll. Scroll.
There it is.
Beginner ASL – 8 Week Course
Center for Sight and Hearing
Mondays, 6–8 pm. $75.
I stare at it for a second, thumb hovering.
It’s fast. It’s extra. It’s… a lot.
But the idea of every word between us going through someone else makes something in my chest go tight. James seems like a good guy, but I don’t want to always talk tohimto talk toher.
I want to tell her things myself. Ask questions. Hear her answer in the way she knows how to speak.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap Register.
Name. Email. Card info. Done.
A confirmation email pings my inbox three seconds later.
I stare at it.
I actually did it.
The corners of my mouth tug up.
My phone buzzes again, and for once it’s not spam.
Bayleigh: You working hard or hardly working?
I huff out a laugh.
Me: Attempting to be a responsible adult.
Bayleigh: Gross.
