Page 31 of Interpreter

One dainty little shoulder shrugs. “When I get emotional, I need sugar. Oliver and I didn’t have any in our bags. You did.” Another shrug as if she’s suggesting that her being emotional is somehow my fault. “Who brings cherry tarts in their lunch anyway? Are you too good for a sandwich and a Butterfinger?”

I grin. “Who says I don’t have a sandwich?”

She throws her arms back and points to the frosted container of food which, in fact, is not a sandwich but a kabob of lean meats and veggies that one, Brecklyn Jameson, worked hard on this morning.

“Refined carbs are bad for you” is all I respond with, nodding to her sandwich.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll take refined carbs over river fish any day.”

Slipping into the seat, I mouth “river fish” and chuckle, sliding a bite of salmon, not river fish, off the skewer with my teeth.

Milah swallows roughly and chokes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, getting up to pat her on the back or something.

“I’m fine.” She waves me away with her eyes wide and her hair looking a little mussed. “I told you, Oliver, we should have let him starve.”

What?

“Are you saying I made you choke?” Is that what she means?

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I laugh at her annoyed expression, which makes her look even more flustered. “Okaaaay.”

Her chest rises a few times, and then she sweeps her hair up, securing it with a hair tie, as if she needs the heat off her neck. “Oliver, do you have a ride to the festival tonight? I can come pick you up if your foster parents can’t do it.”

Foster parents? Festival? How long have I been in the music room?

“What festival?” I leave out the question about Oliver’s home situation. I will ask about that later, in private.

“It’s the Fall Festival—ahh! That’s the bell.” She gathers her and Oliver’s food, and I toss mine back into the bag Aspen decorated for me. “We need to go. But the Fall Festival is tonight. They always follow it up with an outdoor movie. All teachers are supposed to attend to support the school or help out with events.”

Her face goes a little funny. “I’m not sure if they need any more help, but—”

“I’ll be there.”

I don’t do being different. I’m either a teacher or not. If we have to be there, then I will be there—even if I would rather saw off my foot with a butter knife.

Anniston is bent over her desk when I knock softly. She looks tired but, otherwise, like the focused leader I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. At the sight of me, she smiles and waves me into her office.

“What’s up?” she asks verbally, signing only the word up. Anniston always makes sure she is looking at me and enunciates her words clearly so reading her lips is easier. I think she knows that I would prefer to read lips rather than sign. It’s harder, but I feel less like of an outsider when my family and friends can carry on as usual and not sign when it’s faster for them to speak. Or maybe Anniston has just always been so focused and caring when any of us need to see her that I just didn’t appreciate it until now.

I sigh and rake a fidgeting hand through my hair, flopping down in the wingback chair facing her desk. “There’s a fall festival tonight at the school,” I mumble.

“Oh fun,” she says and then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, distracting me from her amused smile. “Are you going?”

“No.”

Her eyes widen. I’ve shocked her with my answer, and for a moment, I feel a grin tug at my lips. But then the heaviness settles back in my chest and the amusement slips away just as fast as it came. “I mean, yes,” I say, making a pained noise at the end.

“So youaregoing?”

I pop up and stand, stashing my hands in my pockets. I don’t want to sign this next part. “Teachers are supposed to make an appearance.” And without thinking, I said I would come. What the hell is wrong with me? “Family is welcome to come,” I add as if it were an afterthought and not the real reason I came in here.

Anniston nods, digesting my words with a slight tilt of her head. “It’s tonight?”

I nod. “It starts at six.”

---