“Really?” I fake gasp. “We’re hosting a bat mitzvah? Wow, it must have slipped my notice. Guess I haven’t run any errands recently—”
“Sweetheart.” Grandma sets a hand on my shoulder.
Mom looks up at me, stunned. “Jamie, what is this? Talking back? That’s not like you.”
My chest tightens. “I’m not—”
“Maybe Gabe isn’t the only one who needs to chill out a little,” says Mom.
“You think I’m like Gabe?”
“No, Jamie.” She snaps her laptop shut. “This isn’t worth fighting over, honey. We’re all on the same team here. I know it’s been a lot, and you’re under tons of pressure. Maybe you should take some time off from canvassing.”
“Time off from canvassing? The election is in eleven days!”
“I know, I know.” Mom peers at me. “But Jamie, I’ve never seen you this upset. Yes, it’s an important election, but you have to take care of yourself too. It’s just not sustainable otherwise. Why don’t you and Maya have a fun, normal date instead—”
“What are you talking about?” I gape at her. “Maya and I aren’t dating.”
Mom flips her palms up defensively. “Okay. I just thought, since you guys have been spending so much time together—”
“Oh my God. Can we not?”
I storm back to my room, yanking my phone from my charger, before collapsing into my desk chair. This is bullshit. Utter bullshit. Mom spends all her time trying to get me to speak up and be more assertive, but the minute I do, she can’t handle it. It’s ridiculous. And then she has the nerve to say I sound like Gabe—
Okay, maybe I do sound like Gabe. A little. But maybe Gabe is right! Not about Fifi—that was gross—but the fact that people only want to support Rossum when it’s convenient? That’s legit. Oh, sure, let’s canvass . . . when we have time. Resist white supremacy—as long as it doesn’t interfere with our super chill weekend. I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’m as guilty as anyone. But at least I’m trying.
And the Maya thing? Mom knows she’s not my girlfriend. Maya doesn’t believe in dating. And even if she did, there’s no way she sees me that way. We’re friends. Canvassing partners, like Nolan said. We’re canvassing friends who sometimes vent to each other about stuff.
The worst part is, I can’t even vent to Maya about this. Hey, Maya, my mom thinks you’re my girlfriend. Bet you’re totally cool with that. I mean, for all I know, Mom’s going around telling people that. People like Alina, which means—yup. Maya probably thinks I think we’re dating. Wow. That’ll be a fun conversation. Can’t wait to find out what it feels like to be unambiguously rejected by the girl I’m completely—
Yeah. Anyway.
A lump settles in my throat, thick and heavy. To think that an hour ago, I was sure I’d never stop smiling.
I open my laptop, blinking fast. I need a distraction. Like the H.B. 28 flyers. I could work on the flyers. Which are hardly a distraction, at least not from Maya.
Then again, nothing is.
By eleven, I’ve tried every font, every color, every layout. I have no idea which ones look good, or if any of them look good. All I know is that Maya hasn’t texted me, Grandma hasn’t knocked, Sophie’s still sleeping, and Mom—
I don’t want to talk to my mom.
I feel like I’m going to explode all over again.
This calls for the group text. I tap into iMessage, fingers flying over my keyboard.
Jamie: I’m so pissed at my mom
sflskjfghlkszjdhfglkjhsdlkj
Drew: whoa. what’s up
Jamie: I swear, I’m so
ARGHGGGGGG
like she’s so dismissive of the stuff I’m doing with H.B. 28
even the Rossum stuff!!!
Drew: huh really? I thought that was her idea
Jamie: It WAS
but apparently I’m supposed to turn all of that off and focus on the bat mitzvah
like I’m incapable of doing both!!
Drew: sorry dude, that sucks!
Felipe: Sorry I’m at work, customers just left, who gets fro yo at eleven??? Okay catching up now
Oh man, Jamie, I’m sorry. Maybe she’s just stressed about the bat mitzvah?
Jamie: she doesn’t have to be so condescending though! She was implying I was only doing it as a way to get closer to maya. She was like, just go on a normal date
Drew: ohhhhhh shit
okay so not gonna lie, we thought the same thing at first BUT
we get that you’re for real with this stuff.
I stare at my laptop screen. So that’s what everyone thinks. All this work—the canvassing, the flyers. It’s all to get closer to Maya.
I mean, do I like seeing Maya? Yes. Is it fun to work on this stuff with her? Yes. Do I have a crush on her? Yes. Okay? But that’s not why I’m doing this. That’s like saying I don’t care—about the campaign, about H.B. 28, about Islamophobia and anti-Semitism and bigotry or anything. And the idea that I would use all of that to somehow trick Maya into falling for me. Like it’s even possible to trick someone into falling for you!
I reread Drew’s text, and—yeah. I need to calm down. Drew’s saying he knows I’m for real now.
So why does it feel like he’s saying the opposite?
Maybe Drew’s not actually the one questioning my sincerity.
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, before turning back to the screen.
Drew: though maya is reeeeealllly cute bro
Jamie: that doesn’t mean we’re dating!!
Felipe: You should ask her out
Jamie: that’s not the point!! The point is that my mom totally trivialized my work when she said that!
Drew: okay but also
you should ask her out
Jamie: uh yeah, not doing that.
Felipe: Why not?
Jamie: remember the slowmance!!
Felipe: Hahahahaha, legendary, but Maya actually likes you! You know that, right?
Jamie: as a friend
Drew: uhhhh
Felipe:
Jamie: what??
Felipe: Nothing. We just . . . did not get a friend vibe on Wednesday.
Um. WHAT?
I stare at the messages box, stunned. Not a friend vibe. And from Felipe too, who’s way less likely to be joking.
Drew: dude, have you seen the way she looks at you?
Jamie: uh
Drew: okay, here’s a question. When you’re alone, does she touch your arm and stuff? Lean into you? things like that?
I think about Wednesday, when Maya was so upset about Sara. The way she collapsed into my arms and stayed there, and how she laced our fingers together when I grabbed her hand. But that doesn’t count. She was upset. And I was comforting her!
But the way she kept drifting near me on the walk afterward was . . . kind of flirtatious, maybe? And the tiny couch she picked at Target yesterday was definitely built for physical contact. Unless that was unintentional. Probably unintentional. Definitely.
Felipe: She texts you a lot right??
Jamie: yeah
she actually called me yesterday
For eight hours and twenty-five minutes.
Drew: DUDE
like on the phone?
Jamie: well at first it was about a protest idea
Drew: uh, she could have texted that shit. She likes you
But she can’t. There’s no way. Unless—
Maybe? Maybe? I mean, Drew and Felipe are probably just trying to make me feel like less of a loser. But then again, they’ve always been brutally honest about my lack of game. So.
Maybe?
Felipe: Is she going to the bat mitzvah?
Drew: oooh good call
Jamie: I don’t think so—haven’t brought it up
with maya OR with my mom
Felipe: Well I think your mom just made it clear that she approves haha
You should invite her! see what she says
Jamie: I don’t k
now
I can picture it. Maya wincing. Maya biting her lip. Oh. Jamie, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I really love us as friends. Maya patting my arm. I think you’re a really great guy and everything, but . . .
Drew: Don’t overthink it!! just be casual.
Jamie: okay! Sheesh
Give me a minute
Maybe if I did it over text. Kept it really casual. I mean, it would make the bat mitzvah a million times more bearable having her there. After all, Felipe and Nolan have each other, and God knows Drew will be busy hitting on my cousin Rachel. And the thought of dancing with Maya, hanging out with her all night, maybe sneaking off somewhere to be alone—and if she does like me—NOT that she does.
Okay. No big deal. Gonna just—
Jamie: Hey, I meant to ask you
Do you want to come with me to Sophie’s bat mitzvah?
WITH ME? With me with me with me with me. Seriously? Why am I like this?
Ellipses. Maya’s typing. Okay.
God. Why did I say with me? Why?
Maya: Oh!
More ellipses.
Shit.
Okay, I can’t do this.
Jamie: Was just thinking we could pass out flyers and stuff!
Cool. Just like Mom expressly forbade. Awesome. This is going great.
Maya: Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up the numbers or anything!
Oh, right, the flyers!! That makes sense
Jamie: You wouldn’t be messing up anything! You should come
Maya: Okay! That sounds awesome. Thanks, Jamie!!
I lean back in my chair, pressing my hands over my eyes, just breathing. Wow.
I mean, I did it!
Sort of.
Drew: did you ask her???
what did she say
Jamie: she said
Felipe: The suspense!!
Jamie: she said sounds awesome
Drew: SHIT
Felipe: What did I tell you!!
Jamie: as friends though! Not a date.
Not a date. Definitely, definitely not a date.
Drew: we’ll see
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maya
“Busy day?” my dad asks. He’s making coffee and scrambling eggs. “You’re up way too early for summer vacation.”
“It’s ten in the morning.” I glance at the clock.
“At your age, I hibernated until lunchtime.”
“I can’t imagine you sleeping in. You’re such a morning person.”
“It’s your fault.” He takes a sip of coffee. “When you were a baby you woke up every morning at five. Screaming. As if there was some important meeting you urgently needed to be at. Ever since then, I get up at five and hit the gym. You sleep trained me pretty good.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! Look at these guns.” He flexes his arms.
“You are ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Canvassing with Jamie today?”
“We’re doing something different.” I pull up the flyer Jamie and I designed and formatted. We were up late last night FaceTiming and figuring it all out.
My dad squints at the screen. “Love, not hate. Say no to H.B. 28. . . . It takes thirty seconds to be a hero. Call your state senator today!”
“The second part was me, the first part was Jamie.”
“Wow, Maya. When your mom offered a car in exchange for canvassing, I figured you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps and do the bare minimum to seal the deal, but you’ve gone above and beyond.”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “It’s not just about the car anymore. . . .”
“I’m proud of you, bug.” He kisses my forehead.
My dad heads off to work, and I wander to my bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reread the text from yesterday where Jamie invited me to Sophie’s bat mitzvah. For a split second, I felt goose bumps. He asked if I wanted to go with him to the bat mitzvah. His plus-one. Which—we hang out all the time, but being an official date for his sister’s bat mitzvah—what does that mean, exactly? I had no idea how I’d explain it to my mom (and way to go, Maya, for defining all hangouts as dating). But it’s not a date. Jamie made that very clear.
So, dilemma solved.
Whatever it is, I’m excited about Sophie’s bat mitzvah. I really like her, and plus I’ll get to hear Jamie’s toast in person. I spent the evening googling gift ideas for a bat mitzvah. Some people give money in multiples of eighteen because it symbolizes life—but it feels so impersonal to give cash. And then what to wear? I went to a few when I was twelve, but I’m sure fashion standards have changed. Also, according to my research, you can show up in jeans at some bat mitzvahs, and some have people wearing full ball gowns.
Jamie hands me my invitation when he picks me up that afternoon.
“An official invite!” I squeal, opening the envelope quickly. “Look at this.” I trace my hands along the embossing. “It’s so fancy, like a wedding card.”
“My mom has no chill.”
“So that means this will be a fancy event, right? I should dress up?”
“That’s up to you,” Jamie reassures me. “You can wear whatever you want.”
“I’m not showing up in my pj’s. Any guidance at all on what to wear?”
“I’m wearing a suit and tie, if that helps.”
“Suit and tie isn’t my aesthetic.” I shoot him a look. “I just wanted some ideas. I don’t want to show up looking completely ridiculous.”
“You couldn’t look ridiculous if you tried.”
I meet his gaze, expecting a half grin, but he’s looking at me with such utter sincerity, I suddenly feel shy.
“I printed out the flyers.” He clears his throat. “They’re at your feet.”
I pull up the cardboard box. Opening it, my eyes widen.
“How many are in here?”
“Three hundred. To get us started.”
“These are in full color! This must have cost a fortune.”
“It’s my house printer.”
“Your mom was cool with that?”
“I figure all the unpaid labor for this bat mitzvah is worth at least a pack of ink cartridges.”
I look at the freshly printed flyers. They looked nice on the computer, but holding them in my hands, it feels real.
“I can’t wait to show these to Kevin. He’ll love them.”
“Yeah.” Jamie glances at me. “My grandma was saying we might not be allowed to just hand them out at Target, though.”
“Maybe most people can’t, but we have inside connections.” I grin.
Kevin is at customer service helping someone with a lamp when we walk in. He nods to us as he finishes up her return, and then waves us over.
“Hello, my dudes!” he exclaims. “Welcome to casa Target. Returning that box?”
“Hey, Kev.” I open the lid and hand him a flyer. “No. Actually, had a question for you. A favor. We want to hand these flyers out to get the word to customers about this bill. It’s set to be passed after the election. But we want to squash the narrative they’re trying to build before it gains steam.”
Kevin reads it. He frowns.
“This is so messed up!” he says. “I’ve never even heard about it.”
“Exactly!” I say. “That’s why we need to get the word out.”
“Definitely. This is straight-up racist.”
“Thanks, Kevin.” I feel a rush of relief. “We were thinking we could maybe park ourselves somewhere, by the patio section or the dorm room displays, and hand them out.”
“Oh.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, Maya. That’s going to be a solid no.”
“What do you mean? You said this bill is messed up.”
“It is. I’ll call this number on my next break. Who doesn’t want to be a hero? But you can’t campaign here. Customers want to buy their hand towels and head on to the next thing, you know?”
“It’s not campaigning,” I tell
him. “It’s handing out a flyer.”
“Well, it sort of is campaigning when there are two sides you can take, and one side wants this policy, and one doesn’t,” Kevin says.
“Taking sides?” I repeat. “This is a fucking racist policy. There’s only one side to take—the right side.”
“Whoa.” Kevin holds his hands up. “I’m on your side here. There’s no need to raise your voice.”
Raise my voice?
“That’s the whole problem these days,” he continues. “Everyone is in this constant state of outrage. How are you going to build bridges between both sides when everyone’s so angry, they won’t listen?”
“There’s no two sides to this,” Jamie says.
“You say that, my dude. But there are. That’s why there’s so much anger.”
“Well, Kevin.” I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry I’m not speaking to you politely. But I’m not sure how to be upbeat when the other side says your mere existence is a problem to be outlawed. First headwear. Then what? Where will it end? When will it be okay for me to raise my voice?”
“I wasn’t thinking of all that, but—”
“Of course you weren’t,” I tell him. “None of it affects you. This world is set up for you—and the rest of us? We have to be nice while people tell us they’ll arrest us for what we wear.”
I grab the box of flyers and storm out. Jamie hurries to catch up.
“You okay?” he asks.
“He’s unbelievable.” I exhale. “Fine. Maybe handing out flyers there was a long shot, but the nerve of him. Both siding it?”
“I know,” Jamie says. He puts an arm around me. I bite my lip to fight back tears.
“I can’t believe I yelled at Kevin,” I say softly.
“The way he looked at you, I don’t think Kevin believed that someone yelled at Kevin.”
I laugh a little at that. But it’s true. There are a few people at school I could reasonably see myself getting into it with. Never Kevin.
Jamie’s phone chimes. He glances down.
“My grandma,” he says. “She’s at that new restaurant that just opened up, Scavino’s. The owner bought all the servers optional Rossum gear to wear for work until the special election. She wanted to do some Stories about it for Instagram and maybe a live thing too. . . .” He hesitates. “Want to come with?”
“Are you serious? I get to meet InstaGramm?”
“You met her before.”
Yes No Maybe So Page 19
