Free Song of Summer by Laura Lee Anderson Page A

and I kick off from the ground to glide out of the parking lot.
    The bike and I take a little time to get used to having a passenger. By the time I’m out of town and on the winding country roads, though, the three of us are a well-oiled machine.
    Once I’ve found our rhythm, I’m very aware of how tight she is against my back. Her thighs are pressing into my sides. I breathe in and out, once, and glance down. If I were to lean back, I could rest my arm on her leg like an armrest. It’s right there. Her hands tighten as we bank a corner and I feel her helmet against the back of mine. I glance in the mirrors and see that she’s watching the road.
    â€œOkay?” I sign.
    â€œYes,” she signs back, into my chest, her right hand pressing into my button-down. I guess she doesn’t want to let go. I smile behind the wind visor.
    When I was first allowed to carry passengers, I gave rides to each of my friends. I’ve taken a couple of girls out from my school this way, too. But dating is tough. Most of us grew up together. The Deaf community is a pretty small one, even in New York. The teen Deaf community? Even smaller. I can remember every embarrassing thing that all of them ever did. Every now and again, we get a new kid. Then it’s like a feeding frenzy and pretty soon they’re either hooked up or they just become part of the family.
    This girl? She’s practically a stranger. It’s… thrilling. To say the least.
    Her hands change their grip, opening so they hold on to my rib cage instead of curling into tight fists on my chest. Her fingers stretch and relax and my skin is suddenly extra-sensitive, tingling wherever she touches. She’s against my back, my legs, and around my ribs.
    I’m driving.
    I shouldn’t be this distractible.
    I turn by the Amish school and then into the long driveway to the parking lot. After rolling to a stop I take off my helmet and look back at Robin. She takes her hands off my ribs and the shirt is sweaty and wrinkled where she was holding on. She sits up straight and takes her helmet off, like me.
    Her cheeks flush and her eyes shine. Her hair is sticking out all over—little fuzzy curls all around her head like a dark halo. “Thank you,” she signs. “Thank you!” She shakes her head, grinning. “So much fun,” her mouth says clearly. “So much fun. Thank you,” she signs again.
    I grin. “You’re welcome,” I sign back.
    I feel her hands, small and warm, on my shoulders as she leans to swing her leg over and slide off the bike onto the gravel. Both feet on the ground now, she smiles and looks away, down the hill, over the town.
    â€œBeautiful,” she says without remembering that I can’t hear her. But since I can’t take my eyes off her lips, I have a pretty good idea what she’s saying. She looks back at me.
    I look out over the town, down the hill. “Beautiful,” I mouth, and sign. I look at her and she imitates my movement.
    â€œBeautiful,” she signs, grinning.
    I unhook the saddlebags and she looks at them, as though seeing them for the first time. There’s not much in them—just a picnic blanket and some food. Although plenty of tables are available, Robin finds a spot on the ground in the middle of the close-cut grass, and I approve. Eating on the grass is the whole point of a picnic, after all. I pick up one of the saddlebags and unbuckle it, pulling out the picnic blanket, tossing it to her. It billows like a photo-shoot fan is on, and she lays it gently on the grass as I pull out a few of cans of soda (sorry, “pop”) to weigh down the corners. Pulling off my boots and socks, I sit on the blanket and pour everything else out. There is a veritable smorgasbord of food—sandwiches, Cheetos, cheese, apples, chips, granola, crackers, cookies, chocolate… and there are gluten-free, nut-free, and meat-free options. A full-size