sign {h.s.}

hoofdstuk vijf

"HIS NAME B-R-O-D-Y," I sign for Lola, sitting on my bed with Brody hot on my heels. He hesitates for a minute before joining me on the plush cushion. When he joins me on the bed, our thighs touch. Just as quickly as they do, he moves only slightly away. "Brody, this is Lola," I speak aloud. Though the words are directed towards Brody, I look at Lola so that she can read my lips as I speak. Brody and I are in the same advanced transfer seminar for communications. He had transferred from a college in New Hampshire. After two years there, he decided that he wanted to be closer to his home in Springfield, Massachusetts.

Brody politely waves his hand towards Lola. In return, she makes eye contact with me, slowly signing out "nice to meet you." I know she is moving slowly for my sake, and I appreciate it. I interpret for Brody and he smiles at her broadly. While she has been a lot more willing to speak in front of me, I doubt she would speak in front of him: someone she barely knows.

I turn back to look at her, suddenly realizing that she is alone. To be fair, Harry doesn't exactly spend every waking minute here, though, I've definitely grown used to his selectively brooding presence in our room. Simply signing Harry's name at her, she seems to understand that I'm asking where he is and if he'll be joining us soon, because she gives me a nod. When he isn't here, we don't really talk about him and that's probably for the best.

Earlier in the day, I had cleared it with Lola to ensure she would be okay with someone coming over to study. She was immediately okay with it—joking that she wouldn't be bothered by us if she couldn't hear us. Not to mention, she was insistent that she doesn't mind when people come over, ever. Lola claimed it would be unfair of her to pick and choose when Harry is almost always in the room.

I agreed with that statement more than I let on.

Repressing my eye roll is more of a chore than I would have thought. I wait for Lola to look away before I release the tension in my face, a scowl settling there. "What's the face for?" Brody asks, clearly noticing the shift of my features.

Before I even get the chance to answer, the door is swinging in and in walks Harry. His eyes soften as they land on Lola, he signs her a quick greeting. Immediately, Harry joins her on the bed. She doesn't mind being that close to him. Lola's head buried in a notebook. For once, Harry seems to be paying no mind to me. "Who's he?" Brody whispers, jutting his chin at Harry.

Brody is a good looking guy. He's rather tall, high cheekbones, angled jaw, messy dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He's also got some freckles sprinkled across his face that are just exceptionally cute. There's something about him that mixes the traditional jock figure with the high school nerd that everyone loves; the boy next door. His thick eyebrows are raised as he waits for my answer, though, before I get the chance to answer, Harry is speaking. "Soy Harry," his answer is glib and deliberate. I can feel his eyes burning on me as he speaks. [Spanish: I am Harry.]

"Inglés," I hiss at him, not having patience for his antics today. [Spanish: English.]

The tension that was settling in his shoulders releases when I speak to him finally in a language other than my own. It hadn't been intentional, at least, I don't think. The annoyances from his presence and the lingering stupidity from when he had addressed me in Spanish a couple of days boiled over into the present situation: leaving me feeling like a mother scolding her insolent child. Certainly that's how he acts. Petulant and impossible to bear in large quantities, I find it rather fortunate that I've found the will not to murder him at all at present.

"Speak in English," I repeat, my voice losing the caustic note when I address him again.

Like a flip had been switched, the tension is back. "She speaks," Harry throws his hands up in mock excitement. The suddenness of his gesture draws Lola's curious attention. She's rather good at lip reading, but it is hard for her to keep up in fast-paced conversations. Upon Lola's incessant tapping, he rapidly summarizes our conversation for her. "You are?" He asks Brody, his eyes still locked on me and his hands moving absently to explain his words to Lola. She seems satiated now, transfixed on the rhythm of his hands that hardly have to think a second before interpreting the conversation for her.