Chapter 21

Nancy Funnel stood waiting for us by the admissions building. She gave a big wave as we approached, making sure we saw her.

I figured we must look completely out of place, like a family on vacation somewhere for the first time. Dad carried the suitcases, Mom held bags from the grocery store, Marie had my pillow slung over her shoulder the way Santa Claus carried a bag of toys, and I walked a few steps behind, bowed under my backpack.

Good morning, Ms. Funnel signed and wasted no time as she led us past the admissions building to Willis Hall. This is the boys’ dorm room. Younger kids on the first level, older kids upstairs, she continued as she led us up a staircase.

An easel holding a chalkboard displayed a list of chores telling who was responsible for what. Someone had to take out the trash, someone else had to sweep the hall floors, while someone else was responsible for keeping the lounge area clean. But above the lists, in big colorful balloon letters, someone had written: WELCOME, MARCO LIPPA.

Mom looked at me and smiled. I tried to smile back, but inside me a big space had just opened up. Seeing those words should have made me feel welcome. Instead, they made me feel hollow again. I was the new kid, the outsider. I would be living here, away from home, away from my family.

Ms. Funnel went all the way to the end of the hall. I noticed some of the doors on the floor were open. I looked into the big rooms as I walked by, noting the plain white walls, the beds and dressers. The room Ms. Funnel led us into was no different—bare walls and two beds, two dressers, and two nightstands split down the middle in a mirror image. The bed by the window was made with a Star Wars bedspread. Books and a box of tissue paper were on the dresser beside it. I set my backpack down onto the other one. This mine? I signed.

Ms. Funnel nodded, made a fist and shook it up and down. Yes. She explained that I had an eight-year-old roommate, Kyle.

“Eight?” I said and used my hands, touching my middle finger to my thumb—the sign for the number eight. That would be like rooming with my sister! Though my sister’s cool, it didn’t mean I wanted to team up with some other peewee kid.

Ms. Funnel nodded. He can’t wait to meet you.

I’ll bet. He’d be getting a big brother out of the deal, while I’d be getting stuck with a babysitting job—only without any pay.

Mom didn’t waste any time. She took the suitcase from Dad, unzipped it and unpacked the clothes onto the bed, then began to sort and fill the dresser drawers. Next, she set to work on the grocery bags, emptying onto the bed cream-filled cupcakes, bags of chips, boxes of raisins, some bubble gum, and packets of dried apples and apricots.

This made Ms. Funnel laugh. Kids don’t go hungry, she told her. The fridge is in the lounge, down the hall. I’ll help you put that stuff in there, if you’d like.

Mom touched a hand to her heart. I couldn’t see what she said, but I assumed it was the I’m-his-mother-I-worry bit. She performed this for my teacher on the first day of kindergarten, first grade, second grade—she’s done it every year. I knew how lucky I was to have her as my mom, but it was still hard not to be embarrassed by her.

The lounge also has a small kitchen table, a stove and microwave, Ms. Funnel signed.

I realized Marie was just standing in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. With her hands behind her back, she stared at the ceiling, at the floor and at the walls.

“You like my new room?”

She pouted, but nodded, Yes.

I took the pillow from her and set it on the bed, unzipped the backpack and took out the picture Marie had drawn for me, along with a roll of tape. After I hung the picture over my dresser, I looked at Marie for approval.

She smiled and clasped her hands together. Her cheeks turned red.

I knelt beside her and opened my arms. She came into them, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back. Her tears wet through my shirt and felt cool on my skin.

“I need you to do me a favor.” I hoped I was whispering.

Marie pulled out of the hug and looked me in the eyes. “I want you to take care of Whitney for me while I’m here at school, okay?” My throat burned from holding back my own tears. I really wanted to be brave for them so they wouldn’t worry so much about me. They weren’t making this easy. “She’s going to need someone to walk her, and feed her, and make sure she has fresh water—every day.”

Marie kept nodding that she could do it. Her lips quivered and tears streaked down her face. Then she hugged me again, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. I looked up at Mom and Dad. They had an arm around each other. Both had tears in their eyes.

When we stepped out of the dorm into the bright early morning sunlight, the school campus had been transformed. It was 8:00 a.m. and kids were everywhere—all different ages and sizes, boys and girls. Which ones would be in classes with me?

I noticed kids that looked my age grouped together, some carrying backpacks and others cradling books, walking toward one of the buildings. I saw parents leading younger children by the hand toward another building.

So young, Dad spelled.

“They’re deaf, not sick,” I snapped.

Not what I meant, Dad signed. So young to be living away from home.

The parking lot had been altered into a loop so cars could easily pull up and let kids out.

At the car, Dad pulled out his wallet and handed me money. Enough?

“Yeah, Dad.” I brought my fingertips to my chin and lowered my hand. “Thank you.”

Call us tonight, Mom signed, making a letter “Y” and holding her thumb to her ear and her pinkie to her mouth. Though the TTY was installed recently, we hadn’t had an opportunity to use it yet.

When Mom, Dad and Marie finally got into the car, I was surprised to feel my mouth go dry. Knowing I was going to be living at school and actually doing it were two different things. As they drove away, I stood there waving and waving until I couldn’t see them any longer, and then I stood just a moment more, my hand frozen in the air. My legs felt as if they’d turned to lead.

Standing alone at the edge of the parking lot I was not sure I remembered what I was to do next. I was supposed to go somewhere. Ms. Funnel had given me a map and a schedule, but… did she want me to come back and meet her? Or was I supposed to just head to a class?

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and slowly turned around, looking at the trees, the grass, and the buildings. There was still a smattering of kids going from here to there. Most everyone else seemed to have vanished. I knew classes would be starting soon.

Ms. Funnel stood by a tree waving at me. Oh yeah—I was supposed to meet with her! I walked over to where she stood. Ms. Funnel put an arm around my shoulder and we headed toward a long red-brick, rectangular-shaped building with a sign hanging over the door: Westervelt Hall. She opened the door for me. A row of vending machines lined one wall, while unusual art, depicting hands doing strange things in vibrant colors, hung on the others. It was different than the art that hung in Ms. Funnel’s office. I’d never seen anything like it.

We passed through another doorway. On the left was the auditorium. We went up a few stairs on the right and then down a hall that led to the beginning rows of classrooms.

“How many kids here?” I asked and signed.

All together, one hundred and forty-five, Ms. Funnel signed. Your classes will be on the third floor. We’re going to meet your interpreter.

Will I be going to classes this week?

Some. Mostly you will work more on signing, Ms. Funnel explained.

As we walked down the hall, I looked into the classrooms where students were sitting at desks. The walls were papered with colorful posters and flyers—so many bright colors advertising soccer tryouts, play auditions, the importance of reading, and lunch menus. There were also movie posters and magazine pages hung all over the place. I saw stocked bookshelves and globes hanging on their axes. Everything looked similar to the way it was at my old school.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. Day One—ready or not, here I go.