Yes No Maybe So

by Becky Albertalli

  “I do like stroopwafels.” I grab two packs of them, handing one to Sophie, before sliding the box onto the floor. Sophie stares at it, glumly.

  Okay. Got to rally. Sophie’s clearly in that post–bat mitzvah slump. Which means she deserves a real big brother, not a catatonic mess.

  “Do you feel any different?” I ask. “You’re a woman now—”

  “Shut up. What happened with Maya?”

  My stomach drops. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

  “Excuse me. I woke up at the ass crack of dawn the day after my bat mitzvah to bring you stroopwafels. The least you can do is fill me in. Mom won’t tell me anything.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  Sophie looks at me witheringly. “Oh, so you didn’t spend the last hour of my party hiding in Mom’s car?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to—”

  “Jamie! It’s fine. I’m just worried about you. I’m trying to be a supportive sister here.”

  “That’s not how it works. You’re the little sister. I’m supposed to be the supportive one. And it was your night, which I ruined—”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.” Sophie scoots closer. “Shut up and just tell me what happened.”

  “Okay, those are slightly contradictory demands—”

  She pushes my arm. “So, you and Maya kissed.”

  “No! No, we didn’t. It just looks like that.”

  “Fine. You almost kissed.”

  “And then somehow Maddie photographed us? I didn’t even see her there.”

  “She feels awful,” Sophie says. “She saw Gabe looking for you at the luncheon, so she followed him outside. She really likes you, Jamie.”

  “Then why would she want a picture of me with another girl?”

  “I mean, I don’t think she really thought it through. She just snapped it, and texted it to the squad—”

  “And Gabe, apparently.”

  “Well, Gabe specifically asked for it,” she says.

  “And Maddie gave it to him.”

  “She didn’t know he was going to turn it into a campaign ad!” Sophie tilts her palms up. “I’m telling you, she feels so bad.”

  “It’s fine.” I stare at my barely nibbled stroopwafel. “I mean, it’s not fine, and Maya’s never going to speak to me again, ever. But that’s Gabe’s fault, not Maddie’s.”

  Sophie’s face falls. “You don’t think Maya will come around?”

  “Well, seeing as she said—and I quote—it’s not going to happen. Ever. . . .”

  Sophie’s face falls. “Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s the morning after your bat mitzvah. The last thing you need is my girl drama.”

  She sighs. “Girl drama is the worst.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I have some idea,” she says.

  “Yeah, okay.” I smile weakly. “I guess your friends are a little dramatic.”

  Sophie doesn’t say anything.

  I turn to face her. “Everything okay with the group? The squad isn’t fighting, is it?”

  “No, not squad drama.” Sophie pauses. “It’s Tessa.”

  “Oh, right. With the sketchy boyfriend. Ugh.” I make a face. “Sorry, Soph. That has to suck. I don’t know what I’d do if Drew or Felipe dated someone awful.”

  “Oh my God, Jamie.” Sophie presses her hands to her face. “You are missing the point in, like, fifty billion ways right now.”

  “I’m missing . . .” I shoot a fuzzy glance at Sophie, who’s now staring pointedly at her knees. And then it hits me. “Tessa. Oh. Sophie.”

  Her cheeks flush. “Don’t tell Mom, okay?”

  “Of course not. Soph.” I sit up straight, scooting closer. “So . . . you and Tessa. Are you guys—”

  “No!” She winces. “It’s just a stupid crush.”

  “It’s not stupid.” I peer at her profile. “Does she know?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “Wow. So this is like . . . is this . . . you’re coming out?”

  “I don’t have, like, a label or anything. I don’t know.” Sophie shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just saying, maybe I kind of get the Maya thing—”

  “Sophie. This is a big deal.” I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I’m really glad you told me.”

  “Okay.” She squirms out of the hug. “Just don’t be weird about it.”

  “I love you so much.”

  “Jamie! I said don’t be weird.”

  Suddenly, she bursts into tears.

  “Soph.” I hug her again, and this time she buries her face in my chest. “Shh. Hey. It’s going to be fine.”

  “I know.” Her voice is muffled. “I’m just relieved. And I feel ridiculous. Like I just made a big deal out of nothing.”

  “You’re not ridiculous.”

  She draws back, wiping her eyes. “Listen. I can’t promise I won’t steal your girlfriends—”

  “Okay, someone needs to have a serious talk with you and your friends about appropriate age gaps.”

  “I love you too, by the way.” Sophie smiles tearfully. “You’re my favorite person. That was a rock solid coming-out talk. Ten out of ten.”

  “Ooh, good call. There should be Yelp ratings for this—”

  “Hey. I have something to show you,” Sophie says, reaching down into the stroopwafel box. She roots around for a moment before pulling out a manila envelope.

  “Should I be worried?” I narrow my eyes. “It’s not from Maddie, right?”

  She laughs, pinching the clasp open. “Nope. Well, sort of. It’s from everyone.” She upturns the envelope, dumping a pile of postcards onto the bed. “You kind of inspired us.”

  I pick one up, examining it. It’s addressed to Congressman Holden. Hi, my name is Andrea Jacobs, I’m an almost eighth grader at Riverview Middle School, and I’m writing to say please vote no on H.B. 28. It is an unfair discriminatory bill and it is racist and cruel. Please vote no or I will remember and vote against you in five years which is when I am old enough to vote. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, Andrea Jacobs.

  I look at Sophie. “Andrea wrote this?”

  “I know Holden’s not going to vote against his own bill,” Sophie says. “But a bunch of Hebrew school people live in other districts, so maybe their Congress guys will listen? I don’t know. Maybe it’s pointless—”

  “It’s not pointless.” I shake my head. “Sophie, this is amazing.”

  “Everyone wrote one. Every single person,” she says, nudging me sideways. “See, my friends aren’t scary. Well, except Tessa. She’s terrifying.” She pulls Tessa’s postcard out of the stack to show me.

  Dear Congressman Holden, My name is Tessa Andrews and I’m thirteen, I go to Riverview Middle School. I am writing this postcard to tell you to vote against Racist H.B. 28 or I will tell my parents not to vote for you. Discrimination is not okay!!!!! Yours truly, Tessa Andrews.

  “I can’t believe you got everyone to do this. Sophie.” I look at her. “During your bat mitzvah reception.”

  “In the teen room.” She shrugs.

  “I legit thought you guys were going to use that room to make out with each other.”

  Sophie stares at Tessa’s postcard and sighs. “Yeah. I wish.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Maya

  The clock blinks 12:45 p.m. when I finally sit up in bed.

  I didn’t sleep all night. My chest constricts now, thinking of Jamie’s face—the way his eyes widened when I told him we couldn’t date. How he yanked his hand away from me. Tears spring to my eyes again. You’d think a person has only so many tears in their head—I know better now.

  I pick up my phone from the nightstand. The texts keep coming. I even have a missed call from Shelby. I let her know I’m not up for talking, but appreciate her checking in. Thumbing through my messages, I land on my last exchange with Jamie. We’d been at the bat mitzvah
reception when I sent it.

  You’ll see this text when you finish the toast—but you’re killing it! My cake smash trick is genius. I’m going to write a book about it and make millions.

  And then, two minutes later, I’d added—

  Oh! Remind me to tell you about Drew and Rachel.

  I blink back more tears. Such casual messages—like I had no doubt there’d be a million more texts to follow.

  I think back to the parking lot outside the temple, overlooking skyscrapers and oak trees. I always thought those parts in the movies where two people grew silent and leaned forward to kiss seemed so unrealistic. But in that moment with Jamie, kissing him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

  But we didn’t kiss. We almost kissed. And an almost kiss isn’t a kiss.

  I wonder what Jamie’s doing. The look on his face, the tear trailing down his cheek as the car pulled away—my stomach hurts. I should have let him drop me off at home. Maybe we could have talked. Sorted things out.

  I can’t imagine how upset he must be right now.

  I open Instagram. I was so upset last night, I soft blocked Jamie and InstaGramm—but searching now, I find Jamie’s profile. It’s the same four photos from when he opened the account, plus the one of the Rabbi Rothschild quote he snapped yesterday. But nothing since then. No record of everything falling apart. I can look at these photos and almost pretend yesterday never happened.

  I wish so badly it was true.

  Rossum’s official campaign account pops into my feed. I hesitate, before scrolling down to the video. Our video. I brace myself for the comments. I know I shouldn’t do it—this is like picking a scab—but I need to know. As soon as I dip into the first few, I remember, yet again, you can’t brace yourself for things like that.

  They’re the cutest.

  Maya’s got the most kissable lips.

  She’s not that hot.

  He could do better.

  How much you want to bet they’re doing it?

  There are twenty-seven nested replies to that one.

  It feels like I got dipped in an ice bath. I drop the phone on the bed. I understand why Jamie didn’t read the comments to me. But I don’t know how I’ll be able to look him in the face again.

  I exhale and stand up. I throw a sweatshirt on over my pajamas. When I step into the hallway, a glass clinks in the distance. My mother. I don’t want to talk to her about this. She tapped on my bedroom door late last night and peeked in at me. I did my best to look asleep. But I live here. I can only hold her off for so long.

  I take my time brushing my teeth and washing up, but when I step into the kitchen, I freeze. I must be having an official nervous breakdown, because my brain just conjured up both the most bizarre and most ordinary figment possible: My mother brewing tea in the kitchen. My dad on the love seat, feet kicked up on the coffee table, watching soccer in the family room.

  “Maya.” My father looks over at me and sits up.

  It’s real. He’s really here. He’s sitting on our couch, watching television like he always does on Sundays. They’re hanging out together in this house—under the same roof—like on a regular weekend. A jolt of sunshine kicks in. As randomly and suddenly as they announced their separation, it’s over.

  My mother turns off the stove and hurries to me as my father strides over.

  “You’re back?” I whisper to my dad. “I knew you’d get back together. I knew it.”

  “Oh, honey, no . . .” My mother glances at me and then at my father. “It’s still . . . it’s a work in progress.”

  “I came over as soon as I heard what happened. We wanted to talk to you. Together,” my father says. “About . . .”

  Oh.

  I sink onto a kitchen stool.

  My mother puts a hand gently on my shoulder.

  “Holding up okay?” she asks.

  I shrug. I want to say I’m fine, so we can get through this conversation as quickly as possible. But the words are stuck in my mouth. Because the truth is, everything is not fucking fine. I am not okay. Tears spill down my cheeks.

  In an instant they’re hugging me. My parents on either side and me in the middle. If you told me twenty-four hours ago I’d be having a group hug with my parents under one roof, I’d have melted into a puddle of relief.

  But today everything aches.

  We walk over to the family room. I settle onto the ottoman and tuck my feet under; Willow hops into my lap and nuzzles me. My parents sit across from me on the love seat. Both watch me with concern.

  “I’m okay,” I manage to say. “I’m sorry for melting down like that.”

  “It’s okay to be upset. The photo going viral. That’d be rough for anyone.”

  For a split second, I’m confused. And then it hits me all over again. The photo. The news sites and magazines and comments. They don’t know about my fight with Jamie. They don’t know the rest of it. And how the rest of it hurts so much more.

  “I don’t really want to talk about this right now,” I whisper.

  “But we need to,” my mother says. “That’s why we’re having this family meeting. So we can all discuss together.”

  “Think you have to be a family to have a family meeting,” I mutter.

  My father leans forward.

  “We are still a family, Maya,” he says. “It’s been a rough few weeks, but no matter what happens, the three of us are forever connected. And you are always our top priority. That never changes.”

  I look down at my lap and blink back tears.

  “I had no idea anyone was taking photos. One minute everything was great, and then all of a sudden, people are staring and talking and laughing.” I blink back tears again. “It was mortifying.”

  “It’ll blow over,” my father reassures me. “A few bigger sites caught it, but most of it’s just local stuff.”

  “I live locally,” I say.

  “And, well.” My mother shifts and glances at my father, before looking at me. “Well, we also wanted to talk to you about . . .”

  “Oh God.” I look up at them both. “Is everyone talking? My phone has been buzzing off the hook. I’m so sorry. Serene and Rania texted me too, and . . .”

  “Don’t worry about any of that.” My mother shakes her head. “This is between us. This is about our family. That’s it. And, well, we need to talk about the kiss. Jamie is such a sweet boy—he always has been. Cute too. And, well, I understand why you’d want to kiss him, but . . .”

  “We didn’t kiss.” I flush. “I swear. It’s the angle that stupid photo was taken with, but we didn’t. You have to trust me—”

  “We believe you,” my father says. “If you say you didn’t, you didn’t.”

  “Are you mad?” I ask in a small voice.

  “We’re not mad,” my mother says. “It’s natural to have feelings for someone. But.” She glances at my father. “Even if you haven’t kissed . . . you have been spending lots of time together.”

  “Trust me.” I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “You don’t have to worry about Jamie and me.”

  “Dating in high school is incredibly complicated,” my mother says. “That’s why we’ve always cautioned you against it.”

  “Because my brain cells grow in after next year, right?”

  “Not exactly.” My mother smiles a little. “Like we said, there’s so much already on your plate with high school, and college applications are around the corner, and . . .” She hesitates. “With Jamie, it’d be even more complicated. He’s not Muslim. That opens up so many other questions. How will you reconcile your different identities and faith? How will you raise your children? Religious traditions and practices . . . It’s a lot to consider.”

  “Um, first of all, I’m not in a relationship with Jamie, much less planning kids.” My face burns. “And second of all, what about Auntie Jameela?”

  “Uncle Scott converted,” my mother says. “And my kid sister is a good example of what I’m saying. She had y
our cousin Reem just after high school graduation. They’re doing okay enough now, but trust me, they had major growing pains. Relationships are complicated when they start out so young.”

  “Apparently they’re complicated at any age.” I glance at both of them.

  My mother’s eyes get moist. My father looks down at his lap. Suddenly, I feel awful.

  “I think what we’re trying to say,” my father says, “is that we all know how hard uncertainty is for you. And that’s part of entering into a relationship. You go in not knowing what the future holds, and take a leap of faith anyway into the great unknown. You have to ask yourself if you’re ready to add one more complication and uncertainty onto your plate—if you’re ready to deal with the emotional fallout that can happen.”

  I don’t want to admit it. I don’t. But that makes sense.

  I can’t handle any more what-ifs.

  “We’re not here to dictate what you can and can’t do,” my mother says. “You’re too old for that. This time next year, you’ll be packing up for college.”

  “You’re your own person.” My father nods. “But we’re also going to be here to tell you our opinions and thoughts—part of the gig when you sign up to be parents.”

  “I didn’t mean to lash out,” I say. “But I promise, there’s nothing to think about. Jamie and me . . . there’s nothing happening.”

  And it’s probably for the best.

  We’re quiet for a few seconds, and then my father clears his throat.

  “There’s also one more reason for the family meeting,” he says.

  My mother smiles at this. Both of them stand up.

  “What is it?” I ask them.

  “Come along and see.” My father nods to the front door. We slip on our sandals and walk onto the driveway.

  There’s my dad’s Toyota Highlander. Next to it is a Jetta.

  “Whose car is that?” I ask.

  “Yours,” my mother says.

  “What?” I glance at them and back at the car. “Are you serious right now? You’re not pranking me? That is my car?”

  “It’s been waiting in my apartment garage for a week now.” My dad smiles. “Thought we’d surprise you with it after the election, but today felt like a good time.”