“Rossum is awesome,” Gabe says.
“Rossum is awesome.”
“And we’re about to kick some canv . . . ass!” Gabe claps. “Sweet. You guys can partner up, and then we’ll turn it over to Hannah, who’s going to walk us through the Door to Door app.”
“Go, Hannah!” cheers the woman with dimples.
Hannah winks. “Thanks, Mom.”
As soon as Gabe descends from his stool, he makes a beeline for Maya and me. “’Sup, Big J!” He fist-bumps me. “Glad you could make it.” He turns to Maya. “I’ve been trying to talk this guy into canvassing all summer. Should have known all I needed to do was bring in a few cute girls. Am I right?”
“Gabe, stop.” I feel my cheeks burn. Maya looks unamused.
Gabe pats my shoulder. “I see our social media queen just got here.” He juts his chin toward the back of the room. I glance back to find Grandma in the doorway, wearing a printed blouse, blazer, and her signature red glasses. She smiles at me and points to Gabe, curling her finger back to beckon him over. “Duty calls,” Gabe says.
“Wow,” Maya mutters as soon as he leaves. “How did Rossum find this guy?”
“Oh. Uh, Rossum went to Hebrew school with Gabe’s sister Rachel, so I guess—”
“Nepotism. Great,” she says. “Also, why are the campaign headquarters in a bookstore?”
“Well, they have a real office space in Dunwoody, so this is just a satellite location. Kind of an extra home base. Fawkes and Horntail usually does book clubs and stuff back here, but they’re renting it to the campaign for a dollar per month.”
“A dollar?”
“They really want Rossum to win.”
Maya’s expression softens a little. “Well, clearly, you’re Gabe’s favorite volunteer.” She lowers her voice, imitating him: “I’ve been trying to talk this guy into canvassing all summer.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m not really his favorite. I’m more like . . . his cousin.”
Maya’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She pauses. “Ohhhh.”
I shrug, and glance back at Gabe—who’s currently getting a smudge rubbed off his face by Grandma.
“Sorry,” Maya says sheepishly.
I turn back to her. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Well, I’m sorry I was late.”
“You didn’t really miss much.”
“We just knock on doors, right? Give them a flyer? Say ‘Vote for Rossum, he’s awesome’?”
“Well, there’s a script, but Gabe said it’s good if we use our own words. And then they want us to try to get people to commit to voting, and we mark down their response—definite yes, definite no, maybe—”
“So it’s like those notes you pass in third grade.”
I smile. “Will you go out with Jordan Rossum on July ninth? Circle yes, no, maybe so.”
“So that’s it?” Maya asks. “That’s all the data they want for the app?”
“I mean, there are a few other options you can pick, but it’s pretty self-explanatory. We can skip the app training if you want. I already have it downloaded.”
“Okay—”
“Or you can download it yourself, if you want to split up the houses. Divide and conquer.”
She shakes her head. “Let’s just go together.”
“Really?” I glance at her in surprise.
She opens her mouth to respond, but suddenly we’re intercepted.
“Jamie! I’m so glad you’re here.” Grandma hooks her arm around my shoulders. “Now, I was just talking to Gabe, and he mentioned wanting to get a couple of shots and maybe a little video. Oh, and hello, dear. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ruth.”
“I’m Maya.”
She extends her hand, but Grandma swoops in for the hug.
I guess the last time I hung out with Maya was before Grandma moved in with us. Which makes my friendship with Maya feel like something from another era.
“So nice to meet you, sweetheart,” says Grandma. “Would you mind if I snap one of you two? Here, Jamie, grab one of those yard signs. Perfect. Now, Maya, why don’t you take the other end.” Grandma peers at us through her phone camera lens, while Maya and I awkwardly fake-smile. “Lovely. Let me just take one a little closer up, and . . . voilà! Flawless. Now, are you okay if I post this on our Instagram?” Grandma tilts the phone screen to show us the photo, and I nod.
Maya shrugs. “Sure.”
“Fabulous.” Grandma adjusts her glasses, blows us a kiss, and totters off to help two of the Spelman girls pick up an overturned box of campaign stickers.
Maya blinks, watching Grandma’s retreating figure. “This campaign is a mess,” she mutters.
Okay, it’s one thing to insult Gabe, but coming for my grandma is another thing entirely. And the campaign? Funny how Maya’s the expert, even though she hasn’t stuffed a single envelope. Not to mention the fact that this is her first time setting foot in its headquarters. And she was late.
She sees me staring at her and narrows her eyes. “What?”
I should call her out. Tell her exactly who that woman who took our picture is, and why she’s completely amazing. I’ll think of the most scathingly perfect comment and fling it at Maya, and she’ll spend the whole ride stunned and remorseful.
But by the time we reach my car, all my arguments dissolve on my tongue. I’m not exactly a scathing callout kind of guy. I’m not even a mildly confrontational kind of guy. I guess you could say I’m more of a food-as-a-peace-offering kind of guy.
I reach behind my seat, handing Maya a fresh bag of Goldfish I’d stowed away for later. “Here, help yourself.”
She looks down at the bag, and then back up at me, almost incredulously. “What is this?”
“Uh, Goldfish?” I’ll just note for the record that the packaging of Goldfish crackers is not subtle. The bag literally says Goldfish Baked Snack Crackers. With a Goldfish cracker dotting the i. But, okay, maybe Maya shops exclusively at farmers’ markets or something and legit doesn’t recognize them. “They’re like a snack cracker—”
Her mouth quirks. “I know what Goldfish are.”
“They’re cheddar,” I add, digging into the bag for a handful.
“Jamie.”
I look at her. “You . . . don’t like Goldfish?”
She looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. “Seriously? They’re okay, I guess. But we were just at an iftar.”
I nod slowly, trying to decode this.
“Jamie, I’m fasting. For Ramadan?”
“Ramadan! Right.” My cheeks flush. “Crap. I’m so sorry. Here.” I roll down the top of the Goldfish bag and fling it into the backseat, out of sight. “I can probably find a trash can when we get there. I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting Ramadan is all month. Our fasts are only one day—not that it’s the same—wow. Okay, yeah. I’m shutting up. Oy. I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine.” Maya presses my arm, for just a split second. “You’re fine. Just drive.”