“That’s for getting back and forth between our places,” my mother says. “Those costs add up.”
“Then it’s probably time I get a car.” I cross my arms.
“Maya,” my mother sighs.
“I’m going to be stuck at home all summer. All our plans fell through. And no, I’m not going to dance or robotics camp, so don’t even bring that up. How am I going to get anywhere?” I stare at her. “And Dad just called and said he’s not coming tonight. You have a meeting after the event. How am I even getting home today? I’m completely stranded.”
“Someone can give you a ride after the iftar ends, inshallah.”
“If I had a car, this wouldn’t be happening,” I snap. “I’m seventeen.”
“Cars are expensive. They require insurance and gas and maintenance. We’re already overloaded with two places, two utility bills. With everything going on, it would be helpful if you could just take a break from arguing with me. At least just for this iftar.”
“This isn’t an iftar. It’s a campaign stop.”
“It is an iftar.” My mother shoots me a look. “And I’ve been working around the clock to get it done just right. The least you can do is not fume like this in front of everyone. And honestly, Maya, if—”
Before she can continue, the Rossum folks burst through the gymnasium doors across from us like an explosion of red, white, and blue confetti.
“There he is!” my mother exclaims. Her expression goes from frustrated to perky in a matter of half a second. Thank you, Jordan Rossum.
I recognize him immediately from his gray suit and yellow tie, since we have his curly-haired, smiling face on a flyer taped to our fridge. My mom is such a diehard she has not one but two Rossum signs in our yard. Before she can take a step toward him, he’s engulfed by a crowd.
I look up at the clock. Seven minutes to go.
“Alina?” a voice calls out over the din.
“Lauren?” My mother’s eyes widen. A woman with light brown hair wearing a power suit zooms toward us and smooshes my mother into a big bear hug. Jamie’s mom. She looks the same as ever; I recognize her instantly.
“What brings you here?” Lauren asks.
“I’m on the board for the mosque. We helped organize this. Did you join the interfaith alliance?”
“My nephew is Rossum’s assistant campaign manager. I’ve been trying to make it to some of his events to support him.” Lauren turns to me then and her eyes widen. “That can’t be,” she gasps. “Is it Maya?”
“It is.” My mother pats my shoulder.
“How does this happen? How do they grow up so quickly? Look at my Jamie. He’s taller than I am now.” She glances back. “Jamie, come here and say hello.”
“So that’s who Maya was talking to,” my mother exclaims.
I glance over at him. He hasn’t noticed any of this. He’s texting.
“Jamie!” his mother says louder. He looks up with a start and blinks, before coming over to join us.
“Jamie!” My mother leans over and hugs him. “How lovely you and Maya were already catching up. What grade are you in?”
“I’ll be a senior this fall,” he says.
“Of course, just like Maya.” My mother nods.
“They’re three and a half weeks apart, remember?” Lauren says.
“That’s right!” My mother laughs and turns to me. “Lauren went into labor at the Caribou Coffee while we were getting our decaf lattes!”
“We promised we’d keep up those coffee dates.”
“We did,” my mother says. “At least for a while.”
“But school.”
“Jobs.”
“And just like that the years slip by. Time is a trickster, I tell you.”
I will never understand why adults find the passing of time to be so unexpected. Time is literally what life is made of. But it’s like a ritual; each time my mom chats with a friend or family member she hasn’t seen in a while, they spend half the time talking about how fast time goes, and the other half promising to see each other soon, which they almost never do.
“This election feels like a family affair,” Lauren tells my mother. “But I’ve been so busy planning Sophie’s bat mitzvah, I haven’t been able to help out as much as I’d like. Jamie’s really stepped up—text banking and monitoring our social media analytics. He’s a lifesaver. People are retweeting about the campaign, but volunteers are scarce.”
“The national races get all the attention and volunteers.” My mother nods.
Our mothers continue talking and I look back over at Jamie. It makes sense now that he looks so familiar, but I swear it’s like I’ve seen him since then. I’m about to ask him which school he goes to when a loud voice interrupts us.
“How’s everyone doing today?” A lanky guy with a clipboard approaches us. He’s grinning so wide, I can see the fillings in the back of his mouth. He nods at Lauren and Jamie before fixing his attention on my mother and me.
“I’m Gabe,” he says, extending his hand.
“Alina, nice to meet you.” My mother shakes his hand. He’s just a guy who works for the campaign, not even the candidate, and my mother is so excited, she looks like the physical embodiment of the heart eyes emoji.
“Can we count on your vote next month?” Gabe fishes out two brochures and hands me and my mother one. “We’re getting enthusiastic feedback, but it all comes down to who comes out to vote.”
“I’m not old enough to vote yet,” I tell him.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“I’m seventeen.”
“Well, seventeen-year-olds can knock!” he says brightly.
“What?”
“You can knock!” He pushes the clipboard toward me. “It’s perfect, actually! We desperately need more canvassers to go door-to-door to spread the word about how awesome Rossum is. Studies show canvassing is the most effective way to get people to go to the polls.”
“Oh, I would,” I tell him. “But I don’t have a car.” A fact that, for the first time, makes me feel practically triumphant.
“But Jamie does!” Lauren exclaims.
What now?
Jamie looks up from his phone with a start.
“This works out great!” Lauren clasps her hands and turns to my mom. “I’ve been on Jamie to canvass for ages, but he’s so shy about it. But they can do it together! It’s perfect!”
I’m about to interrupt and tell them something, anything, to stop this, but my mother joins in too.
“That’s a great idea! Maya’s summer is pretty open, and this will give them a chance to catch up some more. I’ll drop her off at the campaign office tomorrow.” She takes the clipboard to fill out my information.
“I know it sounds scary,” Gabe says. “But after one or two houses, it’s as easy as stuffing campaign mailers into envelopes—which you can also help us with!” He grins at me. “The headquarters aren’t too far from here.” He hands me a business card with an address. “See you Friday at three o’clock sharp for orientation?”