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get out of as many of the meetings as he could, claiming homework or tiredness as an excuse not to go. He’d been blessed with a mother who was almost dangerously persistent, and despite her busy work schedule, she would drive him there herself if need be.
    The group took trips from time to time, hooking up with a network of other deaf support groups up and down the east coast and sometimes even farther afield. Caleb had gone on field trips to Chicago and Seattle and once to Disney World in Florida.
    For the Saturday night meetings, things were usually a little more formal. Caleb dressed in nice jeans and a button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. They would have dinner, usually ordered in from a local restaurant, and sit around a big square table where everyone could see everyone else. It was supposed to encourage conversation.
    There were a few other kids at the group Caleb sort of thought of as friends. It was difficult—no, almost impossible—for him to make friends at school, and these kids were nice enough. It would have been better if he could make friends based on common interests, though, rather than because they shared an inner ear problem. That alone was not a foundation for a meaningful friendship.
    Out of everyone, Caleb got on best with Marshall. Marshall was probably in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and married with a child on the way. Caleb knew he was at the group to interact with kids his own age, and he admitted that it was probably a little streak of rebellion that had him gravitating to someone older.
    Marshall had been born deaf and seemed to be the only person who made an effort to communicate with Caleb, despite him being difficult. He looked past Caleb’s lack of expression and his painful, often stilted sign language. When other members of the group got frustrated and made their excuses, Marshall had taken the time to learn some of Caleb’s home sign—the shorthand he used with his family—and sat patiently and waited for Caleb to find a way of expressing himself. One of the founding members of the Deaf Youth group, Marshall had stayed with the small community even when he grew out of the target age range for members. He was a tall man with caramel skin and wire-framed glasses. Caleb had gravitated toward his aura of calm and was fairly settled in the other man’s presence.
    While the other kids in the group played pool, watched a subtitled movie, or played card games, Caleb and Marshall sat opposite each other in warm, squashy arm chairs and held a quiet, private conversation.
    “ I met someone ,” Caleb said, trying not to blush.
    “ Yeah? That’s awesome .”
    “ His name is Luc. He’s from New York .”
    Marshall looked surprised for only a moment; then he smiled. “ New York is fairly close. Are you going to meet him ?”
    “ I hope so. I haven’t told my parents yet .”
    “ About Luc ?”
    “ About liking a boy .”
    Out of everyone, Caleb thought he could confide in Marshall about this burgeoning relationship. Despite Marshall being married—to a woman—he was cool. He liked Neil Patrick Harris in the opening number at the Tonys. Then again, who didn’t.
    “ Do you think they’ll mind ?” Marshall asked, and wasn’t that just the million-dollar question.
    “ No ,” Caleb signed. “ I don’t know. I don’t think so. I feel guilty .”
    “ You can’t help who you’re attracted to .”
    “ I know. But I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I’m the only one, and I’m not normal .”
    Normal. The whole idea of giving his parents a “normal” son was almost a joke by this point. He was a socially stunted, emotionally repressed deaf kid. Adding “gay” to the mix wasn’t going to change their world. They’d probably just be pleased that he was interested in anyone at all.
    Talking to Marshall lightened some of the load, though.
    By the end of the evening Caleb was itching for his mother to come get him. Having to wait for a ride always made him