Yes No Maybe So

by Becky Albertalli

  “Yup. Giddy, glowing, can’t stop smiling.” I look at her. “You have all the symptoms.”

  “Sounds serious,” Maya says.

  “It is.” I nod. “I better document this.” I hold my phone up in front of my face, camera-style. Maya leans back against the loading dock railing, and I swear, her eyes are shooting off sparks. She presses her hands to her cheeks, smiling hugely.

  I sneak a peek at the photo, before looking back up at Maya.

  She’s so beautiful. Just ridiculously beautiful.

  Maya wrinkles her nose. “Am I doing the eye thing?”

  “The eye thing?”

  She widens her eyes to demonstrate. “Like the big bullfrog eye thing. I don’t know. I think I do it when I’m trying not to blink.”

  “You look perfect,” I say.

  Maya looks up at me. “Okay.”

  The air feels suddenly charged.

  She clears her throat. “So, I guess we better get you home so you can set up your account.”

  “My account.” I scratch my neck. “Should I follow Sophie? I’m kind of scared to follow Sophie.”

  “Definitely follow Sophie,” she says, falling into step beside me. “But follow me first. Oh my God. Now you can actually see my pictures!”

  I inhale quickly. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Oh yeah?” She smiles expectantly.

  I stare at my feet. I don’t have a clue how to begin. “Okay. I feel really stupid now, but remember when Grandma first followed you on Instagram?”

  Maya nods slowly.

  “That wasn’t Grandma. That was me. In her account.”

  “Oh.” Maya stops walking. “Okay.”

  “And I wanted to tell you, but you were so excited that she followed you, and I didn’t want to take that away. But I should have told you anyway. Or not done it. I’m so sorry, Maya.” My voice breaks, just barely. “You deserve to know who’s actually following you.”

  “That’s true.” She frowns. “I mean, I knew you ran the account sometimes.”

  “Still.”

  She looks like she’s debating what to say. But then, after a few moments, she meets my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you—”

  “It’s fine, I guess. I mean, don’t, like, do it again—”

  “I won’t. I promise. From now on, I’m my own man on Instagram.”

  She looks up at me, with a hint of a smile. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Maya

  Jamie’s standing by the front door of Schwartz-Goldstein Hall, where the kiddush luncheon is taking place. He’s chatting with his mother, Sophie, and Rabbi Levinson.

  The bat mitzvah ceremony just ended, and everyone’s pouring in for lunch. A huge table to the left is filled with bowls of fruit, platters of chicken salad, bagels, and lox.

  I was nervous when my dad dropped me off this morning, but as soon as I stepped through the side doors of the temple, Jamie found me and got me a seat in the VIP section—right next to his grandmother. Watching the ceremony from the front row, seeing Sophie read from the Torah—the lights overhead glowing warm as Jamie and his mother looked on from where they stood on the bimah—joy permeated the room like a thing I could touch.

  “Saved you a spot in line,” I tell Jamie when he walks over to me.

  “Thanks,” he says. “Ugh, this tie.” He tugs and grimaces. “It’s so uncomfortable.”

  “It looks nice,” I tell him.

  “I’m just saying, accessories for your neck—this should not be a thing.”

  It throws me off a little, seeing him so formal. The crisp white shirt, the red tie . . . He looks so handsome. Mr. Darcy–level handsome. I think of Nolan and flush. I will keep that thought to myself.

  “The flyers.” I clear my throat. “I brought them with me.”

  “Oh, that.” He looks at me. “My mom isn’t letting me hand them out. She said it would take attention away from Sophie’s big day, even though, you know, this is time sensitive, with actual liberties at stake. I’ll try to work on her for the reception later, though. She’s got to change her mind.”

  “She’s got a point,” I tell him. “It’s like how you thought canvassing on Eid wasn’t the best idea. Some days are meant to celebrate.”

  “But we can’t just not hand them out. Can you imagine the number of calls flooding in if we got this to each person here?”

  “Who said anything about not handing them out?” I ask him. “We can’t give them to people directly, but maybe we could stick them in places where people can find them? If that’s okay to do at a temple . . .”

  “Like by the drinks table.” He smiles slowly. “And the bathrooms have really wide counters, perfect for flyers. Maya, you’re a genius.”

  “I’m not your political partner in crime for nothing, right?”

  He hugs me. A jolt of electricity courses through me.

  I look at him when we pull apart.

  Did he feel it too?

  Just then, we’re interrupted by two tweens.

  “Jamie!” one of them exclaims. She’s wearing a floral sundress. “You look so cute.”

  “Uh, thanks, Maddie,” Jamie says.

  “Seriously. I almost didn’t recognize you,” the other one adds.

  “Andrea’s right. You should change your aesthetic.” Maddie nods. “Suits all the way, all the time.”

  “Too bad no one wears suits outside of formal events,” Andrea says.

  “Set a trend, Jamie!” Maddie says. “If you just start wearing suits to school and to the mall, like it’s no thing, maybe it’ll catch on.”

  “Okay, um. This is my friend Maya.” He nods to me quickly.

  “Hi.” I smile at them.

  They give me a once-over.

  “So, Jamie.” Maddie turns back to him. “Did you see what Elsie was wearing? Red and yellow do not go together.”

  “And the white tights? Tragic. You should tell her,” Andrea says. “That’s what a real friend does. Gives their honest opinion.”

  “You’re right,” Maddie says. “I’d want to know.”

  “But even if the outfit doesn’t work, she’s already wearing it,” I tell them. “Telling her will make her feel horrible, won’t it?”

  “Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind,” Andrea says.

  “That’s such a good point.” Maddie nods somberly.

  They say goodbye and hurry away.

  “Wow.” I glance at their retreating figures. “They just reminded me how royally middle school sucked.”

  “I wouldn’t go back for any amount of money in the world,” Jamie agrees.

  We make plates for ourselves with bagels and cream cheese and fruit. Maddie and Andrea are now talking to someone in a red dress with a yellow cardigan. She’s still smiling, so they haven’t broken the news to her yet. Poor Elsie.

  “Want to put the flyers out now?” Jamie asks me when we’re done eating. “I’ll print more for the party this evening.”

  We decide to divide and conquer. I put a handful on some round tables by a library, and Jamie charms the security folks into agreeing to let us put out flyers by the check-in counter. I set the last of the stack in the ladies’ bathroom, and meet him in the hallway around the corner from the kiddush luncheon. Music and conversation waft down the hallway toward us.

  His back is to me when I approach—he’s taking a picture of a poster on the wall. Getting closer, I see it’s a photo of a rabbi—Jacob Rothschild—and a quote he said in 1948: We must do more than view with alarm the growing race hatred that threatens the South.

  “He said that over half a century ago,” I say once I’m next to Jamie.

  “Yeah . . .”

  “I can’t believe it.” I shake my head. “There’s this part of me that thinks if we work and resist long enough, we’ll get to ‘happily ever after,’ but . . .”

  “I know,” Jamie says. “Things change slowly. W
ay too slowly, to be honest. But what’s the alternative? Not like we can sit back and do nothing. We have to fight for change however we can.”

  I study Jamie’s profile. I never thought about change as something to fight for—more like something I’m always fighting against. It’s always the one thing that throws me completely off-kilter. And this summer has been a tidal wave of changes, one after the other, until it’s felt like there’s nothing left standing. But glancing now at Jamie, I smile a little. He’s right. Sometimes, change can be good.

  We wander out the side door of the temple. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here. I take in the view from the parking lot. Sometimes all the traffic and congestion can make me forget just how pretty Atlanta is. Skyscrapers and leafy trees line the horizon—the morning sun feels warm, beating against our bodies. I sit down on Alfie’s trunk. Jamie hops up next to me, our knees brushing together, and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment.

  Jamie pulls out his phone after a little while and clicks a few buttons.

  “Instagramming the poster?”

  “Yeah.” He glances at me and smiles. “I finally joined the modern world.”

  “The modern world welcomes you.”

  “Thanks for being one of my two followers,” he says.

  “Keep posting and you’ll get as many as me!”

  “Fifteen?”

  “Exactly. Goals.” I grin. “But seriously, I can’t believe you posted the goofy one of me after meeting Rossum.”

  “You look so cute in it!”

  “Ugh.” I wince. “I look like such a fangirl.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. It was Rossum.”

  “Well, that’s true.” I nod. “After all the crap we’ve dealt with, it felt good to meet the person this is all about.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. And, hey, thanks for coming to the bat mitzvah.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” I say. “Although Sophie’s friends are intense.”

  “Right? And Maddie is just . . . the most intense.”

  “I told you. Maddie has a crush on you, that’s all.”

  “No,” he says quickly. “That’s just how she is.”

  “Trust me. I know a crush when I see one.”

  Jamie flushes. I bump my shoulder against his and laugh. He’s so cute, but I swear he doesn’t know it.

  “I’m traumatized by middle school,” Jamie says. “I think even being middle school–adjacent gets me anxious.”

  “I don’t think anyone looks back fondly on their middle school years.”

  “Sophie might. She’s friends with everyone.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “She’s fearless. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her.”

  “Sounds like the exact opposite of how I was,” I say.

  “Are you kidding me? You were the one doing those killer Cirque du Soleil moves on the rotating twirly thing at Catch Air. Half the kids crowded around to watch you.”

  “Stop! I never did that!” I bat his elbow.

  “You so did. I’m sure my mom has receipts on her phone. It was really cool.”

  “Well, even if I did that when I was five . . . middle school was different. It was mortifying. You know those yogurt squeezes you get from the store? My mom packed one for me on the first day of sixth grade, and somehow I squirted the entire tube on my face. Kids teased me about it all week.”

  “That’s amateur hour.” Jamie scoffs. “I asked a girl I had a crush on to slow dance with me at the Snow Ball, but I got so nervous I asked her to slowmance with me. People still bring it up.”

  “What’s wrong with slowmance? That should be a word. It’s like a slow romance. A way to let the romantic moments linger.”

  Jamie looks at me with an expression I don’t recognize.

  “What’s wrong?” I reach over and squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

  He doesn’t respond, but I can see the way he’s biting his lip and looking at me—a million thoughts are running through his mind.

  “It’s just,” he finally says. “You’re the only one who’s heard that story and hasn’t laughed.”

  “It’s a sweet story, Jamie, and besides—you invented a word. How many people can say that?”

  He meets my gaze. I hadn’t noticed until now how close we’re sitting together. My heart flutters. And then—

  “Maya, I love you,” he blurts out. “I mean . . . I’m in love with you. It’s just. You’re funny and smart and pretty, and I love—I love hanging out with you. And watching TV with you. And knocking on doors with you and falling asleep on the phone with you. You make me better and braver, and . . .” He swallows. His eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m—”

  “Jamie, it’s okay. Breathe.” I lace my fingers through his. “You didn’t freak me out. I’m just . . .”

  Now I’m the one who can’t figure out the right words. Sara, Nolan, my parents—so many conversations swirl in my mind . . . there’s so much I should be thinking about, but all I feel are Jamie’s hands in mine, and the electricity coursing through me as I look into his green eyes. Jamie loves me. He is in love with me.

  “Mint,” I finally whisper.

  “Mint?” He tilts his head.

  “You always smell like mint. It’s not bad. It’s good . . . ,” I trail off.

  He smiles a little. “My mouthwash? I guess—”

  I look into his eyes. The warmth of his hands. His lips, so close to mine. I inch closer until nothing separates us. He hesitates before leaning in.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  It’s like my body has decided to mute my brain. I close my eyes.

  Jamie. Goldberg. Is. About. To. Kiss. Me.

  And then—a high-pitched squealing shriek.

  Instantly, we spring apart.

  “What was that?” My heart races in my chest. The noise continues to blare in a pulsing beat. I know I’m not supposed to get intimate with anyone—but did God literally intervene on a kiss?

  “Why is a car alarm going off?” Jamie glances around.

  “Hey, guys!”

  It’s Gabe. He’s heading toward us.

  My knees are shaky. Did he see us?

  “Looking all over for you, Jamie,” he shouts over the noise. “Your mom wants to do family photos.”

  “Oh yeah, photos.” Jamie clears his throat.

  “They’re right outside where the benches are. The photographer’s paid by the hour, so chop-chop, little cuz.” He slaps Jamie on the back. If he did see us, he shows no hint of it.

  Jamie looks at Gabe and glances at me. He bites his lip.

  “We’ll talk more tonight,” I tell him.

  “Yeah?” He looks at me with a nervous smile.

  I nod.

  We trail behind Gabe through the side entrance, toward the luncheon hall. Maddie’s leaning against a wall near the doorway, but she’s so fixated on her phone, she doesn’t even notice us walk past her.

  Jamie extends his hand. A minute ago, I’d have taken it without a second’s hesitation.

  But it feels different now.

  Everything does.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jamie

  Felipe, Nolan, and Drew show up at six on the nose, wearing the same suits they wore to the ceremony. “Is your cousin Rachel here yet?” asks Drew, peeking past me, down the staircase.

  I keep glancing at my texts. Nothing from Maya. Not a word since we left the kiddush luncheon. I’m so anxious to see her again, even the sight of her name stops me short.

  I just wish I knew where I stood with her. I don’t know what to make of what happened today in the parking lot.

  Or what almost happened.

  What I think almost happened.

  Am I crazy to think Maya and I almost kissed? Obviously Gabe, being Gabe, had to show up and ruin it. But my brain keeps rewinding past that part, back to when Maya said I smelled like mint. When she sh
ut her eyes and leaned forward, just barely. Maybe it was a platonic gesture that I just grossly misinterpreted? But . . . at that point, Maya already knew I was in love with her.

  Am in love with her.

  Because I told her.

  I told Maya I’m in love with her. I made those words in my brain and I said them and Maya heard them and she didn’t freak out.

  I don’t think she freaked out?

  I mean, I almost kissed her.

  And she almost kissed me back. I really think she would have kissed me. If not for Gabe.

  Gabe. I can barely stand to look at him. He spent the whole family photo session grinning into his phone. I know that shouldn’t piss me off. It probably means good news for Rossum. Still. It’s like some kind of spell was broken the moment he showed up.

  He probably has no idea what he ruined.

  Sophie’s friends start trickling in, leaving gift bags near the front table. The boys are all wearing literally the same ensemble: black jackets over white collared shirts, with blue ties. But the girls have all changed into shorter, tighter dresses, most of which basically look like tubes of fabric. Maddie shows up, looking tearful, and she and Sophie hug for about an hour. Then Maddie spends another hour hugging a wavy-haired blond girl—Tessa, as I now know from Instagram. And then she gets going again with Andrea—and even Andrea’s sister. Apparently Sophie’s reception is also a Maddie support group.

  “Sophie looks so cute,” Nolan says. “What a little peanut.”

  I nod, but I’m only half present. My eyes keep glancing back to the staircase.

  Felipe prods my arm, smiling knowingly. “She’ll be here.”

  “What? No, I’m just—”

  My words fall away. Maya drifts up the staircase, carrying a wrapped gift and a tote bag, and my heart leaps into my throat.

  She’s dressed in pale gray lace, with delicate short sleeves. I’m pretty sure Drew’s speaking to me, but I’m just—Maya’s hair. It’s shiny and straight, curling just barely at the ends. And her skin glows golden brown in the light of the reception hall.

  Forget the toast. I legitimately don’t know if I can get through the word hi. But I rush to meet her, leaving Drew hanging mid-sentence. I don’t know if I should shake her hand or hug her, and if I hug her, should it be a quick friend hug? Or one of those century-long Maddie friend hugs? Or no hug? Do I keep it verbal? I mean, she said talk. Maybe she meant that literally. A nice, collegial, hands-free platonic talk.