Walking toward my house after school, my hearing aids were making an annoying beeping noise.  I check my phone: Aids- 0%. 

"Shit."  I mumble as I take them out.  It doesn't matter, I'm home now.

I walk upstairs on the porch and to the door, feeling for my keys.  My pockets are empty.  I don't remember taking them off my desk this morning. 

"Dammit!" I yell in frustration.

I sit on the porch bench, taking out my book to try and occupy myself for a few hours.  After about 20 minutes, my peripheral vision directs me to someone trying to get my attention. 

I look up to see Brendon.  He's waving at me, and I can tell he's been saying my name. 

I smile and wave.

"Why are you outside?"  He signs and says.

"Locked out."  I sign.

"Where are your hearing aids?"

"Dead."

"Where are your parents?"

"Working."

"When are they coming back?"

I shrug.

"Wanna come over until they do?"

I think about it for a minute.

"You shouldn't be outside like this.  It's freezing, you'll get sick."

I don't know.

"Come on."

He's right. I pick up my bag and walk off the porch.  Following him to his house.  He opens the door.  The house is standard, but nice.

"You can set your bag down there."  He signs.

I do. 

After a while, we found ourselves watching The Office with closed captions, laughing our heads off.  He taps my shoulder.

"What were you reading earlier?"  He signs.

"Brave New World."

He nods in amazement.  "That's good."  He signs.  "Do you read a lot?"

"Yes."

"Who's your favorite author?"

"Alice Sebold.  She wrote The Lovely Bones."

"I read that in college.  You have good taste.  What music do you listen too?"

My mouth curls into a smile.  "Palaye Royale and Twenty one Pilots, mostly."

"What's with the smile?"

"The question was, 'What music do you listen to?' Not, 'Do you listen to music?'"

He laughs.  "People can be jerks sometimes."

I nod.  "Why have you moved so much?"

"Reasons."

"Are you a secret agent, or something?"

"Maybe."

His eyes shift to the door, then stands up to open it.  I see him nod before motioning me to come over.  It's my mother.

"There you are, sweetie."  she says, relieved as indicated from the untensing of shoulders.  "What are you doing here?"

I sign, "My aids died and I left my keys on my desk.  Brendon saw me and wanted to ensure I was warm and safe until you guys came home."

My mom smiles.  "She said she got locked out and you took her in.  Thank you."

"No problem.  How do you say 'you're welcome'?"

My mom signed.  So did Brendon.

The short walk home, I couldn't help but think, "He communicates sign language so fluently, how come he didn't know how to say 'you're welcome'?"

But, I didn't think much of it.