You know what, at least that's a question that she gets a lot. The normality of it is something to aim herself towards.

Shaking her head, she digs in her bag for her notebook. It seems to take forever to find her pen next, and her nerves start to ratchet up again at the thought that maybe she lost it. It's probably no more than a few seconds of scrabbling before her fingers close around it and she lets out a breath.

Flipping to the first page of the book, she shows it Raskolnikov.

MY NAME IS CHELL
I AM MUTE. I CAN HEAR YOU IF YOU SPEAK.
I USE SIGN LANGUAGE.
I LIVE AT [an address on Haven Street is written here]
I DON'T HAVE A JOB YET.