“It’s fine. Dr. L knows I can handle it,” I snap.
But he just stands there, being all tall, and now he looks hurt.
“Sorry. Like I said. I’m tired. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I understand,” he signs.
He’s doing little words now. I can’t help smiling, no matter how hard I try to stop it.
“You’re improving.”
He beams at me. “Thanks, Jacks.”
I snort.
“What?” I make out on his lips. He goes for his phone again.
Isn’t that your name sign?
“That’s what Bowie calls me. Like... calling me Jacks instead of Jackson.” I make my regular name sign, a variation of the letter J. “That’s Jackson.”
Oh. Sorry.
Should I not call you that?
I want to tell him no. That it’s too intimate.
That it’s something special between me and Bowie.
But his smile starts to fade, and I never want him to stop smiling.
“You can call me that too.”
Liam’s smile makes a comeback. Despite his thin lips, it lights up the stage.
“Okay.”
14
When I come downstairs Monday morning, Jasmine’s at the blender. The pitcher is filled with a bunch of ice cubes and topped with blackberries, and she’s spooning strawberry yogurt on top.
“Jasmine?”
“Oh, hey. I’ll be quick.”
“What are you doing? You hate smoothies.”
“It’s for Liam.”
“But...”
I’m in charge of shmoodies.
That was the deal: Liam gets a part, I make him shmoodies.
Totally platonic shmoodies.
She can’t take it over just because they went on one date. A date that went really well, according to Jasmine. She spent all weekend smiling.
