We swing by the bookstore to pick up our canvassing packet, and Jamie enters an address from the top sheet into his phone. As we pull out of the parking lot, I glance down at the floor—there’s a crinkled mailer by my feet.
“‘Rossum believes in people,’” I read. “‘He believes in you. This July, vote Rossum. He’s awesome.’”
“Gabe came up with the wording for that himself,” Jamie says. “He flipped when the main campaign headquarters approved it. Wait.” He glances over at my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“This flyer.” I shake my head. “That slogan.”
“Well, yeah, it’s definitely cheesy.”
“Not just that. What kind of ad is that? Vote for him because he’s awesome? He doesn’t even say what he stands for. It’s like Kevin was saying. What do we really know about this guy?” I unlock my phone and google: Jordan Rossum. I’m a little embarrassed this is the first time it’s occurred to me to look into the guy. I’ve been Team Rossum because my mom has heart eyes for him, he visited our masjid, and I get a car out of this canvassing gig. But is that enough?
“Says here he went to the Gallovin School,” I read from his Wikipedia page. “So he’s super privileged. That school costs like fifty thousand dollars a year or something.”
“I think it’s like twenty-three thousand, actually. . . .”
“College at Emory.”
“Then he’s lived in the Atlanta area his whole life. That’s why he’s so invested in the community.”
“He’s a former tennis player, but his professional dreams crashed after a knee injury. He loves volunteering, and . . .” I scroll down. “He interned two summers with Representative John Lewis.”
“That last one is legit,” Jamie says. “Lewis is my second-favorite congressional representative of all time.”
I can’t help but smile a little. “Who could you possibly love more than John Lewis?”
“Well, my number one was Barbara Jordan from Texas. She was amazing. Her speech from the 1976 Democratic National Convention will give you chills. I can play it for you if you want! It’s online.”
“Okay—”
“And she was the first Southern black woman elected to the House.”
I glance at him. He’s so pumped. It’s like when my dad’s sharing basketball stats for his favorite players. I don’t think I know anyone our age into politics like Jamie. Or anyone of any age, really.
“That’s great, Jamie,” I say. “But she’s not running. Rossum is. And yeah, maybe he interned for John Lewis, but it was an unpaid internship. He was probably getting coffee and filing papers.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jamie says as we pull over to the side of the road at our neighborhood for the afternoon. “But Rossum’s got a great platform. He believes in a livable wage. He also wants to push for increased funding to public schools—people are really excited about that. He’s got a strong track record for civil rights activism too.”
“Maybe . . . ,” I say. “But he’s still brand-new at all of this.”
“Well, check out Newton’s deal,” Jamie says. “Even if Rossum is brand-new, he’s better than him.”
I click over to the other candidate. The dude is literally smirking in his photo.
I scroll through his campaign promises:
End entitlements.
Protect the Second Amendment.
Safeguard religious freedoms.
I know about that last one. It’s not my religious freedoms he’s talking about.
I pause at the next Google search link.
“Oh man.” I scroll through the article. “Newton favorited a Holocaust denier tweet a few months ago.” I pause at the article from two days earlier. “Look at this. He’s posing with that young Nazi guy that made headlines two weeks ago.” I skim the article. “And a former grand wizard of the KKK endorsed him. Wow.”
“What?!” Jamie looks at the screen. His jaw tightens.
“I mean, Rossum isn’t perfect.” I glance at him. “But at least he’s not saying ‘Give Nazis a chance.’”
We sit silently in the car for a few moments.
“In the Mario Bros. games there’s the big bad—Bowser, who is this evil mega-turtle,” Jamie finally says. “And they also have these Koopa Troopas—little turtles that are weirdly cute but completely evil. Bowser became president in 2016. But I guess I didn’t really think about how it’s not just about him—there’s hundreds of Koopa Troopas everywhere to watch out for too.”
“Thousands,” I say grimly. “Not as flashy—but just as dangerous.”
“It’s weird to think about.” Jamie turns to me. “But they were always there.”
“They hid themselves a little better a while back. They knew they’d get roasted for saying any of their white supremacy bullshit, but, well—”
“Bowser became president.”
“Exactly.” I look down at my phone. “And now they’re running for office and winning all over the country.”
“Not Newton. Not here.” Jamie shakes his head firmly. “We won’t let him.”
“Ready to knock on some doors?” I grin.
Maybe people who go to church on Sundays feel bad pretending they’re not home, because nearly every door we knock on opens for us today. In just a matter of hours, we’ve been hugged by one grandfather, been offered water bottles by three different families, and helped someone retrieve their puppy who bounded out of the house when they opened the door. We also got eleven commitments to vote.
After we drop off our packets, Jamie clears his throat. “Want a quick overview of how gaming works? Target has a demo screen.”
“I’m never going to be a gamer, Jamie.”
“I’m not a gamer either, but you can’t snark on a thing properly if you don’t even know what it is.”
“Good point.” I laugh. “Let’s go.”
“Mario Odyssey is the best gateway into gaming,” Jamie explains once we’re standing in front of the monitor. “It helps you get the best sense of the controllers.”
He tells me where to turn and how to duck as Mario walks through a red sand valley. He sidesteps a ghost. He throws his pal Cappy in the air and it boomerangs back. I have to admit, this is fun.
“The graphics are kind of cool,” I tell him.
“Kind of? Switch has the best graphics. Don’t tell Drew and Felipe that, though. They’re PlayStation all the way. But trust me, Switch is the best.”
“Where are the Koopa Troopas?” I ask him. “I want to kick some turtle butt.”
“That’s the weird thing with Mario Odyssey,” he says. “The Koopa Troopas are nice here.”
I take a step closer to him and lean in conspiratorially.
“Maybe the evil ones got voted out.”
He looks down at me, moving to speak, but before he can say anything, we’re interrupted.
“Back from another day of canvassing?” We look up and see Kevin.
“We had a good day,” Jamie says.