Cannon doesn't show up for ASL lessons on Sunday, and he doesn't text. I wait an hour, and then another. By four, I assume he actually was and is upset with me for getting his vape pen taken away and that he's not coming. I go to my room to continue binging "Schitt's Creek", which had been my sole plan for this weekend. I'm almost through season four when Mummy comes in, and I pause it.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

I use the remote to point to the television. Curing brain cancer.

"Well, it's seven."

I look to the T.V., then to her, then back to the T.V., then back to her. Cool?

"Time for lessons. Cannon's at the door."

I sit up. What?

"Cannon's here. It's seven."

Lessons are at two. Every Sunday.

"Well, he's here."

I stand and turn off the T.V. Well, he's late.

Mummy's right — Cannon's at the door. He's got his backpack on, three books in one arm, a brown bag hanging from the other arm, a coffee in one hand, and a folded piece of notebook paper in the other. He holds the paper out to me between two elongated fingers. His face is guilty. I take the note.

I'm sorry I didn't show up for lessons, and I'm sorry I didn't text. I've been trying to finish all my make-up work all weekend. I've still got four assignments to do. If I don't turn it all in by tomorrow morning, I'm out. I know you probably don't want to stay up late tonight doing someone else's work. But I really need your help. I went by The Mudhouse. They were out of bagels. But I know you like cinnamon, so I got you a cinnamon bun and a cinnamon coffee cake. I also got you coffee. If you help me with this, I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life. Don't say no.

When I look up, his face is pleading. "You're already indebted to me for life," I sign and mouth for his benefit. "Is that bribe for me?" I ask, looking at the coffee.

Cannon hands the coffee over and I take a long, slow sip. I smack my lips together. I pretend to think for a moment. I swirl the paper cup around in my hand. O.K. I nod to the sofa. Come on.

Cannon has two American history writing assignments, an art history quiz, and a physics worksheet. I'd rather do the writing assignments, but I can't exactly write in his hand, can I? I take the art quiz — it's the same one I got a 90% on.

"Get some wrong," he asks of me. "I wouldn't get them all right."

"Neither did I," I tell him.

The quiz takes me all of fifteen minutes to complete. I heat up the coffee cake. I've had this particular pastry from The Mudhouse before, so I know it's good. I break off a piece and offer it to Cannon. His hands are busy skimming and writing, so he opens his mouth and leans in a bit. Ew. I pop the piece into his mouth and retreat perfectly quickly before any unnecessary contact takes place.

I take the physics worksheet. As I'm working on it, Mummy drops a plate of chicken salad sandwiches on the coffee table before us. We'd had chicken salad for lunch. I'm full off the cake, but I wait to see if Cannon takes one. He doesn't. The worksheet takes me a full hour and a half.

We're finishing up the last assignment together at around 10:30, which isn't that late, really, but then I think about how late Cannon would have been up had he not had me to do half. At least one am. Which is late considering the six am wake-up call for school at 7:45. Typically, my parents are asleep by now, but my dad chooses this, the third time Cannon's been here, and the one time he's been here late at night, to come and introduce himself.

"Hey, pal," he says. He holds his hand out to Cannon. "I'm Daisy's dad, Paul." He's wearing his sweatpants and his white t-shirt — his night clothes. Cannon stops writing for a moment to stand and shake Dad's hand, which impresses me.

Dad, I sign. We're busy.

I'm just introducing myself, sweetheart. He looks back to Cannon. "You see, Daisy, here, has confined me to my bedroom every time you've been over for fear I'd embarrass her or scare you, maybe. But, as you can see, I'm not scary. I'm just a guy." He pulls his hands up and down his sides, motioning to his night clothes, and does a Dad chuckle. Cannon smiles back politely.

Dad addresses me. What time do you think you're going to be done, sweetheart? Mom and me are ready for bed.

We're almost done, Dad. You can go to bed.

And leave you out here with a boy? Then I wouldn't be doing my job as a dad.

He can read a little bit of sign language, I warn him. Regardless, anyone would be fluent in Paul Miller's Eyebrows. Please don't embarrass me.

"I was just hoping you two were about done for the night, Cannon," Dad says to Cannon, and I could actually physically facepalm. "It's getting late, and it's about time for Daisy to get to bed."

Dad! I sign violently.

It's O.K., Cannon signs with an easy grin. He begins packing his stuff up. He looks at me. I can finish. It's O.K.

I give my Dad a look that could kill. I don't think there's going to be any winning here for me. I start helping Cannon pick up.

"It was nice to meet you, pal," Dad says. "Drive safe."

Cannon gives my dad another polite grin and another hand shake.

Once Dad's gone back to the room and Cannon's bag is packed, I apologize. "Sorry. You can see why I banned him to his room."

"It's cool. You have a dad that cares. That's nice."

"Yeah, I guess."

I walk Cannon to the door. Thank you, he signs.

You're welcome, I sign. "See you at school."

It feels weird for him to leave like this without a hug or a handshake or something. But we're definitely too far along for a handshake, and we're definitely not far along enough for a hug. So I do something super freaking weird, something I never ever do to anyone, and I hold my palm up to him for a high five. Cannon looks at me weirdly, but I feel like retracting the hand would be even worse. He high fives me, and it's terrible and awful and I regret it to the fullest extent.

"See you at school, weirdo," he mouths to me. He walks to the little orange truck and I shut the door behind him, alone in my agony.