Calmly, Carefully, Completely(9)

“Have you been there before?” he asks. He’s kind of like a puppy. A puppy that can kill people. Maybe a cocker spaniel. Those always were f*cked-up little dogs. My neighbor, Mrs. Connelly, had one, and I used to walk it. That thing would bite you as quickly as it would look at you.

“Where?” I ask.

“The farm,” he says, getting all excited again. I hear him moving in his seat like he can’t sit still.

It’s actually called Cast-A-Way Farms, based on the brochures I saw yesterday. I force my eyes open. “No. Never been.”

“Me, neither. But I know someone who went last year. He said it was nice. Except for the sick kids and the ones who are retarded.”

I f*cking hate that word. “They’re not retarded,” I say. “They’re deaf. And some have MS. And some have autism. And lot of other things that make them special. But they’re not retarded.” I f*cking hate labels. My brother, Logan, the one who is deaf, has been called more names than I can count.

“Oh, okay,” he says. He nods. “Okay.” He repeats himself.

“Don’t use that word again,” I warn.

“Okay,” he says. He nods, his head bobbing like a dashboard dog.

The bus driver gets on the bus, and my parole officer enters, carrying his clipboard. He sits down in the seat opposite me and flips through his paperwork. He’s big and beefy, and he’s packing. He’s dressed in a V-necked shirt that stretches tight across his shoulders and khaki pants. He looks over at me, and his eyebrows draw together. “You Reed?” he asks.

I open my eyes. “Yes, sir,” I say. We actually met at the prison, but he must not remember.

“How’d you score this program?” he asks.

I shrug. “No idea.” I have a good idea it had something to do with Mr. Caster, but I don’t know what happened. He acts like this is an honor or something.

My parole officer’s brows pucker again, and he reaches for his clipboard. “You’re the one whose brother is deaf.”

I glare at him. “Yep.”

He nods and sets his clipboard to the side. “There will be a few hearing-impaired kids at the camp. And there’s one boy who has MS and has a tracheostomy tube, so he can’t talk. You’ll be working with him as a translator.”

I nod. “Sounds good.”

“How long have you been signing?” he asks.

My brother lost his hearing when he was thirteen, and that was ten years ago. “About ten years?” I say. I’m not completely sure. I’ve been signing so long that I don’t even realize I’m doing it most of the time.

He turns so that his knees are facing me. “What were you in for?” he asks quietly.

I nod toward his clipboard. “You already know,” I say. I close my eyes again.

He grabs my foot and shakes it. I jerk my leg back. That’s something one of my brothers would do. “I’d rather you tell me.”

“Possession with intent,” I say quietly. I really don’t want Tic Tac behind me to hear me.

He extends a hand to me. “My name’s Phil,” he says.

I grip his hand in mine. “Pete.”

“You’re not going to be any trouble, are you, Pete?” he asks.

“No, sir,” I reply. No trouble at all. I want to go home when this over.

He nods. “Fair enough. I may need for you to help me with some of the younger kids.” He jerks a thumb toward the back of the bus.

I nod. I’m the oldest one here, aside from Phil.