“How’d you do?” Bowie asks.
Philip hands over a stack of bills. “Ten so far.”
Ten? Bowie and I only sold four tickets today.Braden might actually be right about them selling more tickets.
“Great.” Bowie puts the cash in the box and adds it to their ledger. “Thanks for your help today.”
Cam licks around the edge of his ice cream sandwich before it can drip. “Anytime.”
I resist the urge to scoff, but only barely. Cam’s helpfulness always evaporates any time there are sets to paint.
Cam gives Bowie a little wave, and me a curt nod, before taking Philip’s hand and wandering off.
Once they’re gone, Bowie switches back to sign. “So? If youdon’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but don’t pretend there’s nothing going on.”
“All right, all right.” I look around the cafeteria and then lean in to shield our hands. I don’t think there are any other signers at school (not counting Liam) but I’m not risking it. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
I take a deep breath. “Liam and I kissed.”
Bowie’s eyebrows nearly fly off their face.
“I think we’re dating now?”
Bowie’s jaw drops too.
But before they can ask me anything else, Braden steps up to the table.
“Hey, bros,” he says. “How’re you doing?”
Bowie shakes themself, like they’re snapping out of a dream.
“Fourteen tickets,” they say. “Not too bad.”
Braden beams and nods, sending a lock of floppy hair over his forehead. He pushes it back. “So that’s thirty-five in toto?”
“In total?” I ask.
“In toto. It’s Latin, bro.”
I glance at Bowie, willing them to meet my eyes, but their face is aggressively neutral as they keep their gaze fixed on Braden. “Right. We should have a good crowd Saturday.”
“Sweet. I’ve got to somethingsomethingsomething meeting?”
“Sure,” Bowie says.
Braden charges off. I don’t know where he gets so much energy.
I straighten out the stack of flyers for the dance. They’re in Papyrus—the worst font—but Bowie wouldn’t let me help.
“We’re not done talking about this,” they sign to me, before spotting a pair of juniors heading our way. “Hey! Want to come to the Winter Banquet?”
***
Bowie catches me at my locker before seventh hour.
“Okay. Spill.”
