Maya inhales so sharply, I can almost feel it.
“You’re blaming hate crimes on the victim!” I say, flushing. “Your logic implies that wearing a hijab—a religious garment—means you’re hiding something. Are you serious right now?”
“Yessir, Congressman Holden and I are serious about protecting our constituents.”
Maya’s eyes flash. “What do you think my mom is hiding under her hijab?”
“I hear you,” Ms. Dickers says, smiling gently at Maya. “And it breaks my heart that a few bad apples make it necessary for us to take certain steps—”
There’s an abrupt knock—which turns out to be the preppy guy staffer. “Pardon,” he says. “Ms. Dickers, your eleven fifteen is here.”
“Already?” She smiles widely at me first, and then at Maya. “Well, time just flies, doesn’t it? Thank y’all so much for taking the time to stop by and share your concerns.”
Maya shakes her head. “But—”
“Blaine will walk you out to the waiting room. You two have a wonderful day, now!” She waggles her fingers, and then steps past Yacht Club Blaine, who lingers in the doorway, barely sparing us a glance. When I meet Maya’s eyes, she looks as bewildered as I feel. Thirty seconds ago, we were in the middle of a meeting. Now we’re being escorted out by a guy who looks like he was born inside a Brooks Brothers.
“How’d it go?” Kristin asks cheerfully, but we barely acknowledge her. I just stumble out to the hallway behind Maya, my heart in overdrive. Maya turns to me, looking like she’s this close to bursting, but she doesn’t say a word until we’re in the elevator.
Then she explodes. “What a monster. A few bad apples. She actually went there.” She combs her hands through her hair, almost aggressively. “And the way she was just smiling the whole time, totally calm. So evil!”
“Yeah.” I blink. “I felt like I was losing my mind—”
“Right! The gaslighting. And they just create their own totally warped reality. The bandanna thing. What?” Her hands fly to her temples. “She’s seriously trying to sell this like it has nothing to do with their raging Islamophobia!”
“And then the victim-blaming—”
“Oh my God, don’t get me started. She’s an awful person. Like, these are terrible people.” The doors open, and Maya practically jumps out of the elevator, like she can’t leave this place soon enough. “I mean, that sucked.” She meets my eyes. “But you. Jamie, wow.”
I blush. “What?”
“I was like, whoaaaa, Jamie. Call her out. You were amazing.”
“Amazing?” I gape at her.
“Okay, so explain the supermajority thing. If Rossum wins, there’s no supermajority? And they need that to pass this bill? What even is a supermajority?”
“It’s when one party has two-thirds or more of the seats,” I say. “Republicans have had that in the Georgia House for forever, and now Rossum’s our last hope to block it in the senate.”
Amazing. I was amazing. Is she serious?
“And they need a supermajority to pass H.B. 28?” Maya asks.
“Yes, because Governor Doyle says he’ll veto it—”
Maya’s face whips toward me. “Wait, really? He’s a Republican.”
“I think he basically doesn’t want to piss off the film industry, you know? He mostly cares about the optics. But yeah, the thing with the supermajority is that a Republican supermajority in both houses can—”
“Override a veto,” Maya says. “Got it.” She stares glumly out toward the parking lot. “We really need Rossum to win, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We do.”
There’s nothing sadder than coming back down to earth after you shoot your shot and fail. Even the backtrack through the parking lot makes me ache. We’ve barely spent an hour here, so we’re walking by the same parked cars we passed on our way in. But the whole world feels like it’s gone gray since then. We came in so hopeful. It’s strange to even realize that, because at the time, I mostly felt terrified. But I think some tiny part of me thought this meeting could make a real difference. Maybe we’d say the perfect thing. Maybe hearing it from us in person would make Dickers see things differently. And then she’d convince Holden to strike the bill, and he’d issue a public apology, and then we’d end up on Upworthy or one of those inspirational videos Mom’s always sending me from her suburban resistance Facebook groups.
Now I just feel depleted.
When we reach Alfie, I don’t even notice the bumper at first. Not until I hear Maya’s soft gasp. “No.” She grabs my arm. “Jamie.”
My eyes track down to the bottom right bumper, normally home to a circular blue Rossum logo. Mom’s actually the one who talked Gabe into doing car magnets instead of just bumper stickers, so local Dems could flip each other’s magnets upside down in parking lots. “It’s a wink wink, I see you,” she’d insisted. “It shows solidarity.” And I have to admit, I’d get a tiny thrill every time we’d step out of Publix or Target to find our magnet flipped. It felt like an underground high five. Like we were part of something secret and important.
But now. Even with the midday sun glinting off Alfie’s rear, it’s plainly visible.
The magnet’s gone.
And in its place is a sticker of a crudely illustrated, stark white, smiling poodle, with humanoid fingers making the alt-right “okay” sign. It’s holding a white teacup too, branded with the number 88. I’ve seen this image hundreds of times on computer and phone screens, in countless variations—Fifi with the word cuck in a speech bubble, Fifi in a MAGA hat, Fifi transposed over a photo of Auschwitz.
But seeing it in real life is different. On a car. On my car.
Suddenly, all I can hear is Dickers’s voice saying religiously motivated attacks.
But whoever did this probably doesn’t know I’m Jewish. And anyway, no one’s really anti-Semitic around here.
Right?
I glance quickly around the parking lot, a sudden chill coursing through me. What if whoever did this is still here? What if they’re watching us right now?
“Jamie?” Maya says tentatively. I look back at her with a start. “You okay?”
I nod.
“You’re not saying anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just worried,” she says. And then she hugs me, sending my heart leaping into my throat. So I hug her back, pulling her closer.
“Whatever troll did this,” she murmurs into my shoulder, “can go fuck himself.”
“Fuck him,” I say, the word heavy and strange on my tongue.
“There you go,” Maya says, hugging me harder.
Chapter Twelve
Maya
It’s not that I didn’t think Jamie could get mad. I’ve just never witnessed it before.
Irritated—maybe.
Frustrated—sure.
Terrified squirrel? On a daily basis.
But this—his cheeks flushed, jaw clenched, kneeling in front of Alfie’s bumper, scraping at the sticker with a flimsy plastic knife he dug out of the car? This is new.