CHAPTER TWELVE
The next day I sat on the living room sofa and looked through my ASL textbook. Out the window I saw Patrick ride up the driveway on his bike. He climbed off, removed his helmet, and hooked the straps over the handlebars. I grabbed my cane and hurried out of the living room toward the stairs.
Mom, coming down the stairs with the laundry basket, held out her hand, thumb up, pinkie down, as if we were about to shake hands. She ran the first finger of her other hand down the open palm. What?
“I’m going up to my room to lie down,” I said. “I’m really tired.”
I ran into my room, jumped on the bed and closed my eyes. I knew that if she peeked in, she’d think I was resting or had even fallen asleep and would leave me alone.
I didn’t have all my strength back, or my balance, or
