“But I’m a cereal monogamist,” says Drew, throwing back a handful of Goldfish.
“Clearly not.” Maya side-eyes him.
Drew beams up at me, not-so-subtly mouthing, “I like her.”
“Well, it was really cool to finally meet you guys,” Maya says. “Sorry I was such a mess—”
I shake my head. “You weren’t—”
“I should probably head out.”
“No!” Drew jumps up, flinging the Goldfish box at Sophie. “Nope. We were just leaving, right?”
“Yup.” Felipe and Nolan stand and hold hands.
Drew turns to Maya. “You should stick around to keep Jamie company.”
“Definitely,” says Felipe.
“Indubitably,” says Nolan.
Sophie narrows her eyes at Nolan. “You got that from a Bitmoji.”
Maya turns to face me.
“You should stay!” I say. “If you want to. You don’t have to. But you totally could. That would be great. Unless you—”
Drew smacks my arm to shut me up.
“Okay, cool,” Maya says.
“Sweet. We’ll just head on out, then,” says Drew. “Let you two have some alone time.”
Wow. I don’t know if I want to choke Drew or hug him. Maybe both.
But. Alone time. With Maya. In my house, which contains my room, which contains my—okay, I’m not going to think about beds. That would be absurd. No point in thinking about beds or alone or Maya or alone with Maya in beds or—
“Yay, I love alone time!” says Sophie. “Should we move to your room, Jamie?”
We end up working on the toast—which I thought would be torture, but isn’t. Sophie sinks backward onto my bed, already bubbling with ideas for how I can sing her praises. “Tell the one about when I put Saran wrap over the toilet.”
“Why would I possibly tell that story in public?”
Maya grins, leaning into my yellow wingback chair. “You could always just tell it right now.”
“Oh my God,” Sophie says. “It was a mess. It, like, caught his pee—”
“Soph, you do not want to bring up the subject of pee,” I say warningly. “Trust me.”
“Do you have two full sets of Harry Potter?” asks Maya, peering at my bookcase.
“Of course. Hardcovers and paperbacks.”
She looks around. “I love your room. It’s so you. Is your wallpaper border . . . a timeline?”
“Of US history.” I nod.
She picks up a framed picture from my desk. “And that must be your grandpa.”
I smile. “Yup.”
“My friend Maddie says our grandpa was hot when he was younger. And I was like, okay, but he looks exactly like Jamie, and Maddie was like, I know.” Sophie sits up straight, her eyes practically shooting off sparks. “So, Maya, what do you think? Hot grandpa?”
“Hey,” I say loudly, pointing over Maya’s shoulder. “Want to see me at the fifth-grade presidential reception? It’s the one in the shiny frame.”
Eleven-year-old me, in a button-down shirt, tie, and cardigan, smiling next to a propped-up photo of the Carter Center. Could be worse, right? I mean, Felipe had to play Eisenhower in a bald wig. So there’s that.
“Jamie. Oh my God.” Maya presses her hand to her heart.
Sophie looks at me. “Wasn’t that the time you called President Carter a pe—”
“OKAY. Sophie. I think Boomer needs you.”
Sophie is unmoved. “Nah, he’s fine. Mom just got home. Maya, want to see Jamie’s official bar mitzvah photo?”
I shoot her an especially vicious are-you-serious-right-now face.
Sophie widens her eyes and does an unmistakable just-trust-me nod.
“Are you asking if I’m up for more adorable vintage Jamie Goldberg photos?” Maya says, beaming. “Um, obviously.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance at it quickly.
Sophie: See? Adorable.
Adorable. Great. Like a puppy. Or a gnome. No one passionately makes out with adorable. And even if that weren’t the case, let’s be real. My bar mitzvah picture? Is about as adorable as Mr. Droolsworth, Boomer’s chewed-up stuffed mallard.
I glare at Sophie, who saunters toward the door, entirely unfazed. Maya jumps up to follow her—but then she pauses, glancing sheepishly back at me. “I should head back home after this, huh?”
“What? No, you don’t have to—”
“My mom’s probably wondering where I am. This has been so nice, Jamie.” She meets my eyes. “Thank you.”
“At least let me drive you.”
“I can totally use my app. It’s fine!”
“Are you kidding?”
“Maya, come on!” Sophie calls from the hallway.
Okay, if Maya thought the presidential reception was awkward, she clearly hasn’t seen the “cool casual” super-enlarged portrait Mom had matted in advance for guests to sign at my bar mitzvah. It hangs framed over our dining room table, my metallic-smiling face surrounded by scrawled Sharpie messages and misspelled “congrags” and “mazzle tovs.”
Maya studies it like she’s in a museum, the corners of her mouth twisting upward. “That is some outfit.”
“Right?” Sophie giggles. “I love the polo shirt with the gym shorts.”
“Business on top, party on the bottom.” I blush. “That was my look in seventh grade.”
Maya sighs. “Wow. I so wish I’d gone to this.”
“Is that Maya?” Mom calls from the kitchen. A moment later, she pops her head in the doorway. “Hi!”
“Hi.” Maya smiles. “Sorry! You’re probably about to have dinner. I was just heading out.”
“No rush whatsoever. Stay for dinner!” Mom says.
“I should head home.”
“Do you need a ride?” Mom asks.
“Oh. Well. Jamie said he’d take me, but—”
Mom laughs. “That’s who I was going to volunteer. It’s so good to see you, sweetie. Are you canvassing again soon?”
Maya nods. “Thursday, right?”
“Ooh,” chimes Sophie. “I could do Thursday.”
Mom shakes her head. “You have tutoring.”
“What? No, that’s—”
“I scheduled you an extra day. On Thursday. Jamie and Maya are going to have to go by themselves.” The second Maya looks away, Mom shoots me a wink.
And there you have it: my new crowning achievement.
I’m pretty sure my mom is my wingwoman now.
Chapter Twenty
Maya
When I check my phone, there are three texts. One from Jamie that he’s on his way. Another from my mom. She’s wondering if I’m staying with my dad tonight. Shelby messaged that the movie selections this week are unappealing—if anyone wants to meet up for laser tag tonight, she’ll organize.
Zero texts from Sara.
Not that I expected one. But she’s leaving soon. She might already be gone. I’m tempted to send her a quick message. Just to reach out. But I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t reach back.