Invincible Summer(23)

He’s quiet for a minute. “Well, it’s different with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I love you, *.”

I smile. “Ever consider that Gideon might love me too?”

“I guess it’s a possibility. I actually never thought about . .

. I mean, let’s be honest, you’re pretty unlovable. . . .”

“Uh-huh.”


We park and unpack Gideon—he’s still babbly. The speech therapist’s office is identical to the rest of the buildings here—they all look old, but like they could be swept away at any minute by a stray wave. When we sit in the waiting room, Gideon between us, I flash back, weirdly, to taking my learner’s permit test. I sat on that stupid bench for hours, watching the ads on the wall and wondering when the hell they were going to flash my number.

I’m even more nervous now. The longer we wait—ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty—the more I feel myself growing a scowl to match Noah’s.

The therapist’s name is Miss Lyn or some shit like that, and she crouches down when she talks to us, like Noah wouldn’t be a full foot taller than her if he stood up. “I’m just going to take Gideon back with me for a little while and see how he communicates,” she says. “Why don’t you boys stay here and fill out some forms, okay? And when Gideon and I are done, we’ll all go over them together.”

“He’s totally deaf,” Noah tells her. “Wouldn’t hear if you shot a gun next to him.”

Miss Lyn smiles. “Well. We’ll take very good care of him, then.”

“Born deaf,” Noah says. “Can’t lip-read at all.”

“Lip-reading’s a tough skill.”

“His signing sucks, too.”

“Well, maybe we can help with that.”

This is so not the answer Noah’s looking for, though God knows if there’s anything that could make him happy at this point. He frowns hard at Miss Lyn as she takes Gideon’s hand and brings him to a back room.

Soon we’re both frowning hard at the paperwork. “Middle name?” Noah says. “Does Gideon even have a middle name?”

“I don’t know.”

Noah turns to me and says, “Do you have a middle name?”

his glare implying that, if I do, this whole thing is somehow my fault.

“I . . . have no idea.”

“Primary language spoken at home.” Noah makes a face. “What does this mean? Our primary language? Gideon’s?

That’s sort of why we’re here. . . ”

“Um, it’s under family, so I’m guessing ours?”

“Well . . .” Noah lowers his pen. The paperwork has defeated him. “What’s our primary language?”

“English? ASL? Physical affection?”

“Food?” Noah says.

“Food’s a good guess.”

He picks up the pen. “I’m writing food, comma passive aggressive.”

“Good call.”

We’ve barely finished filling out the damn forms when Miss Lyn comes back with Gideon. Noah and I are instantly examining him, looking for tear marks or handshaped bruises, but he looks like our same stupid Gid.

Then she’s talking to us.

“What we’d really like to do,” she says, “is bring him up to a functional for-age ASL level. You expressed interest in keeping him in mainstream school?”

We nod.

“Then you might want to consider a cochlear implant, since his base hearing is near nonexistent. This obviously isn’t for everyone, and it’s quite expensive, even with insurance.

But if you want him to have the closest to the stereotypically normal life, that’s going to be your best option, though his hearing will probably never be equal to that of a person born hearing.”

She puts her hand on his head. “Now, Gideon’s obviously a very bright boy—”

She loses us here.

“—and we really just want to bring his language skills up to that level of intelligence.”

“He doesn’t have to act like a hearing boy,” I say. “We like him how he is.”

“A normal, hearing lifestyle doesn’t have to be your goal,”

she tells us. “In fact, I’m relieved if it isn’t. A normal, comfortable lifestyle for a Deaf boy could be a fantastic thing for him.

What you need to do—”

Then she starts giving us names. ASL tutors who can help him. Videos that will improve his sign language. Ways to get him involved in the community. Methods that have proven helpful in cases like Gideon. Counselors for families with deaf kids.

It really doesn’t seem fair to me. I think if a kid is born deaf, he should be born to learn sign language. It’s the only way that makes sense. And I don’t know what Noah’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure he also thinks this isn’t okay.

I wanted a solution. I wanted someone to flick a switch in Gideon’s brain that would make him want to talk to us, make him cut off his ears and throw them at us if it would make us listen to him. I wanted proof that Gideon gives a shit, or that he should give a shit, and I’m leaving with a list of tutors.

A list of more people who will tell me how much work my brother needs.