Yes No Maybe So

by Becky Albertalli

  I swallow roughly. I’ve never seen Maya this upset. Not even after the Dickers meeting. She’s crying so hard, she can’t talk, can barely even catch her breath. But she pulls me in so tight, there’s not an inch of space between us.

  “I’m sorry,” she says shakily. “Your friends are still here, aren’t they?”

  “What?” I draw back, just enough to see her face; she’s gazing past me at Felipe’s car in the driveway. “No—no, it’s fine. They’re just hanging out here. Maya.”

  She disentangles from the hug, breath still ragged. “We can talk later. I’m totally fine. I can just—”

  I grab her hand. “Please don’t leave. Just. Hold on.” I crack the door open to peer inside—sure enough, the guys are camped in the entryway, looking way too intrigued. “Get Sophie to cover for me,” I mutter to Felipe—and then I yank the door shut again, turning back to Maya. “They’re fine, okay? They’re just playing Settlers of Catan. Sophie’s going to step in, and she’ll probably win the whole game.”

  Maya wipes her eyes with one hand, but keeps the other hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. Which is—okay. Wow. Wow.

  Except Maya’s clearly heartbroken. There’s nothing wow about that.

  “Do you want to sit out here and talk? We could go on a walk. I could grab Boomer.”

  Maya shoots me a teary half smile. “Boomer the celebrity Insta-dog?”

  “Boomer the influencer!” I make myself let go of her hand. “Okay, wait right here. I’ll get him. Don’t leave, okay?”

  Maya nods. “I won’t.”

  By the time I step back onto the stoop with Boomer, Maya’s much more composed. She shoots me a wavering smile. “Hey.”

  “We’re back! Maya, meet Boomer. Boomer, meet Maya.”

  Boomer decides to meet Maya very intimately. She steps back, with a startled laugh.

  “Boomer, NO.” I yank his leash back, cheeks burning. “Sorry. He’s—uh. Friendly.”

  We set off down the street, Maya walking so close beside me, the backs of our hands keep brushing. It’s strange just drifting through the neighborhood with Maya. I keep getting the urge to knock on doors.

  “You sure this is okay?” Maya asks. “I don’t want to pull you away from your game. I should have checked—”

  “It’s totally fine. I’m just glad you’re here. What happened?”

  For a moment, she’s silent.

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Whatever you want to talk about, I’m all yours.” I blush. “All ears.”

  “Thanks, Jamie.” She stares glumly at our street sign and sighs. “It’s Sara.”

  “I thought so.”

  She nods. “We had the talk. I was pretty up front about all of it. I guess a part of me thought—maybe this is stupid, but I hoped it was this big misunderstanding, and she’d feel so bad for hurting me, but we’d talk through it, and everything would be fine.”

  I glance sideways at Maya. “But it wasn’t fine.”

  “No.” Her voice sounds choked all over again.

  “I’m so sorry, Maya. I shouldn’t have told you to—”

  “No, no—it’s not your fault! It needed to be said, really. It’s been the elephant in the room for so long. But it was just so bad. It’s like she didn’t even care that I was hurt. She turned it all around, like I was the unreasonable one. Like I’m so immature—”

  “What?” My jaw drops. “You’re like the most mature person I know. You use a rideshare app to get around town!”

  Maya laughs tearfully. “True, that’s pretty mature of me.”

  “And you canvass, and we had that meeting with Dickers—that was mature of us. And you watch The Office. It’s a show about work! That’s peak maturity.”

  “True!”

  “And that is a very mature cat poster at your dad’s house—”

  “Shut up.” She bumps me sideways, laughing for real now. I bump her back, trying not to grin.

  But Maya’s face falls. “I just don’t know where to go from here. It’s like she doesn’t even want to be friends anymore. Just like that.”

  “How could she not want to be your friend?”

  Maya shrugs. “She has Jenna.”

  “Well, fuck that.”

  “Jamie!” Maya gapes at me.

  I smile sheepishly. “Fork that?”

  “No, I liked the first one. I’m just shocked.” She laughs, sounding startled—and then hugs me again. “Only you could say fuck and have it be the sweetest gesture ever.”

  Okay, I might be a terrible person. Maya’s having the absolute worst day imaginable, and here I am, flooded with sunshine. It’s not that I’m happy she’s upset. I could never be. But I’ve never gotten to hold her hand like that, or anything close to the way it’s been today.

  “I think I just need a distraction,” Maya says.

  “A distraction. Hmm.” I pause. “Look! A squirrel!” Boomer stiffens, tugging the leash taut. “Well, my distraction worked on Boomer.”

  Maya laughs. “What’s InstaGramm working on? Mostly Rossum stuff right now, right?”

  “Yeah, I think Gabe is pretty much monopolizing her time. Tomorrow he’s actually going to photograph Rossum himself with Grandma and Boomer.” I shrug. “Gabe is obsessed with trying to go viral.”

  Maya smiles down at Boomer. “Oh my God, you lucky dog. You get to meet Rossum?”

  “He’s already met him! Boomer’s very well-connected.”

  “I would flip if I met him,” Maya says. “I’m kicking myself that I didn’t get an introduction at that mixer! I didn’t really get it, you know? It was just a thing my mom made me go to.”

  I nod. “Same here.”

  “You haven’t met Rossum?” Maya looks surprised.

  “Sort of? He’s mostly based at the Dunwoody office. And I’ve been to lots of his events, but I’ve never gone up and talked to him or anything.”

  “Do you think you would now?”

  “I don’t know. I’d be so tongue-tied.”

  “I think you’d be great,” Maya says. “You’re so much braver than you think you are.”

  I turn to see if she’s messing with me, but her expression is completely sincere. I guess that’s the thing about Maya. When she thinks or feels something, she says it. Which can be a little scary sometimes if she’s pissed at you, or if you’re a Koopa Troopa like Dickers who needs to be called out. But Maya never lets the good stuff go unspoken either. There have been hundreds of moments where Maya’s sweetness or cuteness or brilliance has struck me. I just never work up the nerve to say it out loud. But Maya always says it out loud.

  And she’s so casually convinced that I’m brave, I almost believe it.

  “Well, that means a lot coming from you,” I say.

  Maya smiles, and I swear she holds my eyes a beat longer than usual. “Thanks.”

  For a moment, we just stand there smiling on the sidewalk, Boomer pacing ahead of us.

  “So . . . do you think Sophie’s ruined everyone at Catan yet?” I ask finally.

  Maya laughs. “I love Sophie so much.”

  “Oh, the feeling is very mutual. She hasn’t shut up about you since we finished canvassing.”

  “I remember when she was a baby!” Maya says. “Your mom let me hold her, and I went home and threw the biggest tantrum, demanding a little sister. I was so jealous of you. I just remember thinking she was so cute. And now she’s this legit grown-up person, and she’s actually really cool. She was so great at canvassing too!”

  “Maybe you should give the bat mitzvah toast,” I suggest.

  “Nice try.” Maya grins up at me. “I’ll help you with it later, though.”

  We make our way back home, where the guys and Sophie have abandoned Catan in favor of Bob’s Burgers and Goldfish crackers. Felipe and Nolan are on the love seat, while Drew and Sophie have claimed the couch, an economy carton of cheddar Goldfish stationed between them. Boomer dive-bombs into S
ophie’s lap as soon as I release him.

  I hang back in the living room doorway with Maya, suddenly feeling like I’m under stage lights. “So. Uh. Guys, this is Maya. Maya, this is Felipe, Nolan, Drew, and you know Sophie.”

  Felipe jumps up to hug Maya, which seems to both startle and please her. Nolan peers over the back of the couch, smiling. “You’re Jamie’s canvassing partner, right?”

  Drew snorts and grins. “Canvassing partner.”

  I ignore Drew, turning quickly to Nolan. “Yes!”

  Maya eyes the Goldfish carton. “Are you guys obsessed with Goldfish too?”

  “No,” Felipe says. “It’s just the official Goldberg house snack food. I’m more of a Cheeto Puff guy.”

  Nolan smiles. “You don’t say.”

  “And I’m a cereal guy,” says Drew.

  Maya tilts her head. “You know you don’t have to pick just one snack food, right?”

  “But I’m a cereal monogamist,” says Drew, throwing back a handful of Goldfish.

  “Clearly not.” Maya side-eyes him.

  Drew beams up at me, not-so-subtly mouthing, “I like her.”

  “Well, it was really cool to finally meet you guys,” Maya says. “Sorry I was such a mess—”

  I shake my head. “You weren’t—”

  “I should probably head out.”

  “No!” Drew jumps up, flinging the Goldfish box at Sophie. “Nope. We were just leaving, right?”

  “Yup.” Felipe and Nolan stand and hold hands.

  Drew turns to Maya. “You should stick around to keep Jamie company.”

  “Definitely,” says Felipe.

  “Indubitably,” says Nolan.

  Sophie narrows her eyes at Nolan. “You got that from a Bitmoji.”

  Maya turns to face me.

  “You should stay!” I say. “If you want to. You don’t have to. But you totally could. That would be great. Unless you—”

  Drew smacks my arm to shut me up.

  “Okay, cool,” Maya says.

  “Sweet. We’ll just head on out, then,” says Drew. “Let you two have some alone time.”

  Wow. I don’t know if I want to choke Drew or hug him. Maybe both.

  But. Alone time. With Maya. In my house, which contains my room, which contains my—okay, I’m not going to think about beds. That would be absurd. No point in thinking about beds or alone or Maya or alone with Maya in beds or—

  “Yay, I love alone time!” says Sophie. “Should we move to your room, Jamie?”

  We end up working on the toast—which I thought would be torture, but isn’t. Sophie sinks backward onto my bed, already bubbling with ideas for how I can sing her praises. “Tell the one about when I put Saran wrap over the toilet.”

  “Why would I possibly tell that story in public?”

  Maya grins, leaning into my yellow wingback chair. “You could always just tell it right now.”

  “Oh my God,” Sophie says. “It was a mess. It, like, caught his pee—”

  “Soph, you do not want to bring up the subject of pee,” I say warningly. “Trust me.”

  “Do you have two full sets of Harry Potter?” asks Maya, peering at my bookcase.

  “Of course. Hardcovers and paperbacks.”

  She looks around. “I love your room. It’s so you. Is your wallpaper border . . . a timeline?”

  “Of US history.” I nod.

  She picks up a framed picture from my desk. “And that must be your grandpa.”

  I smile. “Yup.”

  “My friend Maddie says our grandpa was hot when he was younger. And I was like, okay, but he looks exactly like Jamie, and Maddie was like, I know.” Sophie sits up straight, her eyes practically shooting off sparks. “So, Maya, what do you think? Hot grandpa?”

  “Hey,” I say loudly, pointing over Maya’s shoulder. “Want to see me at the fifth-grade presidential reception? It’s the one in the shiny frame.”

  Eleven-year-old me, in a button-down shirt, tie, and cardigan, smiling next to a propped-up photo of the Carter Center. Could be worse, right? I mean, Felipe had to play Eisenhower in a bald wig. So there’s that.

  “Jamie. Oh my God.” Maya presses her hand to her heart.

  Sophie looks at me. “Wasn’t that the time you called President Carter a pe—”

  “OKAY. Sophie. I think Boomer needs you.”

  Sophie is unmoved. “Nah, he’s fine. Mom just got home. Maya, want to see Jamie’s official bar mitzvah photo?”

  I shoot her an especially vicious are-you-serious-right-now face.

  Sophie widens her eyes and does an unmistakable just-trust-me nod.

  “Are you asking if I’m up for more adorable vintage Jamie Goldberg photos?” Maya says, beaming. “Um, obviously.”

  My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance at it quickly.

  Sophie: See? Adorable.

  Adorable. Great. Like a puppy. Or a gnome. No one passionately makes out with adorable. And even if that weren’t the case, let’s be real. My bar mitzvah picture? Is about as adorable as Mr. Droolsworth, Boomer’s chewed-up stuffed mallard.

  I glare at Sophie, who saunters toward the door, entirely unfazed. Maya jumps up to follow her—but then she pauses, glancing sheepishly back at me. “I should head back home after this, huh?”

  “What? No, you don’t have to—”

  “My mom’s probably wondering where I am. This has been so nice, Jamie.” She meets my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “At least let me drive you.”

  “I can totally use my app. It’s fine!”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Maya, come on!” Sophie calls from the hallway.

  Okay, if Maya thought the presidential reception was awkward, she clearly hasn’t seen the “cool casual” super-enlarged portrait Mom had matted in advance for guests to sign at my bar mitzvah. It hangs framed over our dining room table, my metallic-smiling face surrounded by scrawled Sharpie messages and misspelled “congrags” and “mazzle tovs.”

  Maya studies it like she’s in a museum, the corners of her mouth twisting upward. “That is some outfit.”

  “Right?” Sophie giggles. “I love the polo shirt with the gym shorts.”

  “Business on top, party on the bottom.” I blush. “That was my look in seventh grade.”

  Maya sighs. “Wow. I so wish I’d gone to this.”

  “Is that Maya?” Mom calls from the kitchen. A moment later, she pops her head in the doorway. “Hi!”

  “Hi.” Maya smiles. “Sorry! You’re probably about to have dinner. I was just heading out.”

  “No rush whatsoever. Stay for dinner!” Mom says.

  “I should head home.”

  “Do you need a ride?” Mom asks.

  “Oh. Well. Jamie said he’d take me, but—”

  Mom laughs. “That’s who I was going to volunteer. It’s so good to see you, sweetie. Are you canvassing again soon?”

  Maya nods. “Thursday, right?”

  “Ooh,” chimes Sophie. “I could do Thursday.”

  Mom shakes her head. “You have tutoring.”

  “What? No, that’s—”

  “I scheduled you an extra day. On Thursday. Jamie and Maya are going to have to go by themselves.” The second Maya looks away, Mom shoots me a wink.

  And there you have it: my new crowning achievement.

  I’m pretty sure my mom is my wingwoman now.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maya

  When I check my phone, there are three texts. One from Jamie that he’s on his way. Another from my mom. She’s wondering if I’m staying with my dad tonight. Shelby messaged that the movie selections this week are unappealing—if anyone wants to meet up for laser tag tonight, she’ll organize.

  Zero texts from Sara.

  Not that I expected one. But she’s leaving soon. She might already be gone. I’m tempted to send her a quick message. Just to reach out. But I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t reach back.

  Ja
mie pulls up. He waves. Suddenly I feel a little self-conscious as I get in the car. Maybe it’s post-embarrassment syndrome from barging into his house with snot and tears all over my face.

  “Any luck with the toast?” I ask him.

  “Not yet. Been so busy with other stuff, I haven’t had a chance to draft anything.”

  “Yeah.” I flush. “Me crashing your hangout with your friends definitely didn’t help.”

  “Crash away,” Jamie says. “My friends loved you.”

  “Even with our conflicting snack philosophies?”

  “Can you believe it? Only thing is, next time you’ll have to play Catan with us.”

  “I’ve never tried that game, but I’m up for it.”

  I know Jamie complains about how loud and messy his house can get, but I love that about his place. All the different corkboards up with plans for the bat mitzvah resting against the kitchen counter. Rolls of washi tape on the table. The sofa filled with friends and Goldfish crackers. His house isn’t chaotic. It’s perfect.

  The campaign office is busier than usual today. In addition to the ladies in batik scarves and the usual handful of college folks, there’s two moms wearing babies in carriers, and a bunch of people my parents’ age reading pamphlets and glancing around nervously.

  “Newbies,” Jamie whispers.

  “Totally.” I smile.

  You’d think Gabe would be doing cartwheels at all the fresh new faces to pontificate to, but instead, he’s sucking down an iced coffee and he looks . . . agitated.

  He rattles off the usual speech about canvassing, and lets them know Hannah will help troubleshoot the Door to Door app. I wait for him to conclude with his patented “rah rah rah, Rossum is awesome” portion of the speech, but he’s more solemn today.

  “Folks,” he says, setting down his coffee. “I cannot stress to you how important it is to make these final days count.” He clasps his hands. “We need to get as many doors in as we can. We must make sure every registered Democrat votes. We need every Independent in our district to get their butts in the voting booth too. This is a fight to the finish, people—we have to show the other side”—he raises his hands—“that we have claws!”