Chapter Thirty-One

Jamie

I don’t even know if I slept. I feel so bleary and strange, like my head’s been stuffed with cotton.

It’s all one giant blur. I barely remember getting home from the venue. There’s a croissant on my nightstand—Grandma must have snuck in here before she left this morning. And Boomer’s curled at the end of my bed. He hasn’t left my side all night.

My whole face hurts from crying. I don’t think I’ve cried like this in years, maybe not since Grandpa died. Everyone says crying’s supposed to help. It’s supposed to get rid of toxins or release endorphins or recharge you or something. But I don’t feel recharged. I barely have the energy to lift my phone off my nightstand.

I’ve never gotten so many texts in my life. Texts from Nolan, old camp friends, Felipe’s sister, and this guy Peter from Academic Bowl. Thirty-six texts on the group chat with Drew and Felipe. Texts from literally everyone. Except Maya.

And they keep coming. A new one pops up from Alison, the campaign intern. Whoa, you and Maya are on Buzzfeed!!!! There’s a link, but I don’t even need to click it. The headline tells me everything I need to know. These two teens fell in love working on a local Democratic campaign, and my heart is too full. The preview photo is Maddie’s picture. Of us.

I shove my phone back in its charger, flipping it facedown.

I just can’t believe it’s all over. Everything. Our campaign work, our friendship, and everything else I was stupid enough to hope for. I thought this would end like a movie. I honestly thought that. Awkward nerdy guy gets the dream girl. I mean, Maya said she wanted to kiss me. And her coatroom cake smash. Hands down, the sexiest moment of my entire life. I can hardly believe that was yesterday. Twelve hours ago. I still have icing on my wrist. Not the shape of a heart anymore—just a few smudges remaining. I guess it’s fitting.

It’s barely eight when Mom knocks on my door, but who cares? I’ve been up for hours.

“Hey. I’ve got leftover bagels.” She sets a plate next to the untouched croissant on my nightstand, before nudging Boomer off the bed and stealing his spot. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

I groan into my pillow.

“Not your best night, huh?”

I mean, that’s the crazy thing. Most of the night was good. It was incredible. The music, the hora, even the toast. And Maya. Who said she liked me. Who fit so perfectly under my chin on the dance floor.

One Instagram post ruined everything. Every single thing.

“Want to talk about it?” Mom asks.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. “Not really.”

Everything was fine. It was fine.

Yeah, the picture was weird. Obviously, I wasn’t cool with Maddie spying on us from the bushes, or wherever the hell she was, and Gabe putting it online was even worse. But Maya completely freaked out. I’ve never seen her go pale like that. She could barely speak at first. And the look on her face when she read the comments, like the idea of people knowing about us was too mortifying to stomach. Yeah. That felt great. Almost as great as when she said it’s not going to happen. Ever. In the most matter-of-fact tone. Like I was supposed to have already understood that. Like it’s obvious.

Cool. I guess I’m just delusional.

Mom scoots closer, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Honey, talk to me.”

I don’t know what she wants me to say. That I’m broken? Shattered? That I should have known it was too good to be true? Maybe Maya felt something for me, but it obviously wasn’t enough. If the situation were reversed, I’d have done anything to make it work. Anything. I would have toughed it out through any awkward conversation.

The way Mom’s looking at me makes my throat clench. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around me tightly. “Hey.”

She strokes my hair like she did when I was eight, which makes my eyes pool with tears all over again. When I finally speak, my voice comes out choked. “I’m in love with her.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“And I told her. Like you said. I told her how I felt.” I catch my breath. “I’ve never said that before to anyone.”

“And she didn’t take it well?”

“I thought she did.” I straighten up, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands. “She said she liked me. And she seemed like she was nervous to tell her parents, but—I don’t know. She didn’t make it sound like that was going to be a dealbreaker.” My throat clenches. “But then Gabe posted that picture, and everything just . . . collapsed.”

“Okay, well, first of all, if it’s any consolation, Gabe is in some deep shit with your grandmother. She’s at the campaign office right now.”

I wipe my eyes again. “Good.”

“But listen. Jamie. The stuff with her parents . . . I have no idea what it would mean in Maya’s family if she dated a guy who isn’t Muslim. Or if she dated at all.”

I shake my head. “If she knew she couldn’t date a guy who isn’t Muslim, why did she almost kiss me? You can’t do that. It’s fine if you can’t date, or you don’t want to date, or you don’t want to date outside your religion. But if your best friend tells you he’s in love with you, don’t act like his girlfriend all night and come this close to kissing him, and then turn around and call it a mistake.”

Mom just looks at me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I really am.”

“It’s whatever.” I rub the last bit of chocolate off my wrist, flicking little specks of it onto my bedsheet. I’m too tired to care.

“It’s not whatever,” Mom says. “Listen. I’ve got to run out and grab those centerpieces back from the event planner, but I’ll be around all afternoon. Let’s do something special. You, me, and Sophie.” She leans forward, pressing her hands to my cheeks. “We’re going to get through this. I promise. And Jamie?”

I look up half-heartedly.

“You should be really proud of yourself,” she says. “For everything. For your speech. For your advocacy work. And for having the guts to tell Maya how you feel. That was incredibly brave.”

“I don’t feel brave.”

“I mean it. Jamie, I know you have this idea of yourself as this awkward kid who never knows what to say, who screws everything up—”

“Negative self-talk. I know.”

Mom smiles wryly. “I won’t get on your case about it. But can I ask you one question?”

“Okay.”

“Why do you think you’re so awkward?”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“What’s your evidence? What makes you such a screwup?”

“Um.” I look up at her. “I mean . . . I vomited on your boss.”

“Okay, but look at all the people you didn’t vomit on.”

I nod slowly. “That’s a low bar for success.”

“I’m just saying. This is your narrative. You get to pick the framing. Why does that one interview have to define you? Maybe it was just a shitty morning. Maybe you ate something weird for breakfast. Whatever! Look at everything you’ve accomplished since then. The canvassing, the videos, the toast. You know that toast was amazing, right?”

“Amazing? Yeah, right—”

“Hey, you’re smiling.” She pokes my cheek. “Because you know you killed it up there.”

“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “I killed it. I’m amazing. I’m an amazing speaker who inspires the masses and hardly pukes on anyone. You happy?”

“You did,” Mom says firmly. “And you are. And I am.”

I don’t want to cry again. I don’t even think my eye muscles have enough strength left for round three. But a tear breaks free anyway.

“Love you, Mom.” I swallow thickly.

She kisses my forehead. “Love you too.”

She leaves, Boomer trotting out behind her, and my whole body deflates. But the moment I settle back onto my pillow, my phone buzzes. And then buzzes again. I tug it out of my charger, my heart lodged in my throat—

It’s Grandma. Of course. Not that I thought . . .

Yeah.

Grandma: Hi, lovey! Just wanted to let you know that a certain picture is officially gone from Rossum’s page! All I had to do was threaten to delete every single piece of Rossum content from my personal account, and your cousin was very reasonable about the whole thing. Apparently there’s an election in two days he’d like to promote. Who knew? And I’m emailing Buzzfeed, Hypable, and Upworthy right now.

I shove my phone under my pillow. God. The picture made it to Upworthy too? Hypable?

There’s a knock. “Let me in.” Sophie’s morning voice, husky with sleep.

I sit up, cross-legged, yawning.

“It’s open.”

Sophie’s in pajama pants and a tank top—half loosely curled bat mitzvah hair, half bedhead. There’s an open cardboard box tucked under her arm.

“Dad sent stroopwafels,” she says. “Global overnighted them. Probably cost a million euros. Here.” She sets the box by my feet on the bed, and then plops down beside it. “I guess we should eat them. Or something.”

“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.”