“I’m not sure I’ve seen Gabe without a comeback before.” I wipe the perspiration off my forehead. “Hannah’s right, though—it is really hot today. Can we swing by to get some iced coffee?”
“I need a palate cleanser after that too,” Jamie agrees. “Sometimes, I can’t believe that guy is my cousin. I mean—he’s not usually this ridiculous. The problem with Fifi is they’re not actual swastikas?”
“Dog whistles are worse, because they’re designed for maximum plausible deniability.”
“Exactly! People can throw up their hands and say, ‘What do you mean the 88 is anti-Semitic?’” Jamie says. “‘I just like that number. Am I not allowed to have a favorite number?’ Or, ‘Hey, it’s an okay sign. It’s just me saying all is cool—why would you think it’s bigoted? You’re overreacting.’”
“Gaslighting is way worse,” I agree.
We pull up and order our coffees. He hands me mine and I take a sip.
“Oh, yum. I’ve missed iced coffees.” I glance at him again. “Sorry again about that time I nearly bit your head off for getting me one.”
“I get it. I mean, I should have gone past the first Google search page.”
“I think I was just stressed about Dickers,” I say. “That woman probably has a PhD in dog whistles.”
“As crappy as that went, I don’t regret going.”
“Me either.”
We park by the neighborhood sign for the street we’re about to canvass. But neither of us gets out. I glance out the window. There are no clouds in the sky. The sun is blazing so hot, steam rises from the concrete.
“Gabe’s speech knocked all my enthusiasm out of canvassing. We’re not doing it for Gabe,” I say. “But still . . .”
“No.” Jamie nods. “I get it.”
Jamie puts the car in park as Lois Reitzes finishes up an interview with local author Laurel Snyder.
“Next up,” Lois says, “Tammy Adrian, with a look at today’s local headlines.”
“Good afternoon, Atlanta listeners, Tammy Adrian here with your local news updates. First up is H.B. 28.”
Both of us fall silent.
“Asa Newton announced yesterday at a fundraising event that passing H.B. 28 will be his first order of business in office. Whether the law passes constitutional muster, however, may be a matter decided in the courts if it’s passed. Meanwhile, the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra just celebrated its . . .”
Jamie clicks off the radio.
“Speaking of coded assholes.” I sigh. “Holden and Newton are literally the worst.”
Two kids bike past us. Jamie glances at them, and then he looks at me.
“What if we don’t canvass today?” he asks.
“Really?”
“Let’s do something about this bill. Maybe we can figure out how to get a rally set up at the capitol or something.”
“Don’t we need to get permits for that?”
“Oh, right.” His face falls. “That’ll probably take a long time to get through.”
We sit quietly for a few seconds.
“What about informational flyers?” I say. “That’s more important anyway, because so many people aren’t aware of H.B. 28. NPR is covering it, but Sara didn’t know the bill existed.”
“We could print them out and stick them on people’s mailboxes.”
“And hand them out at restaurants and shops!”
“Should we get a notebook and brainstorm?” he asks.
“To Target it is.” I smile.
The patio section is all ours today. We load up on two notebooks, a pack of colored pens, and a little more coffee, before settling into a little couch that fits both of us perfectly. Jamie’s T-shirt brushes against my bare arm.
“It has to be catchy,” I tell him. “The slogan. Something to roll off the tongue, like Nike’s Just do it or The few, the proud, the Marines.”
“Or Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar.”
“Yeah.” I look at him. “Like that.”
“I got it!” he says. “How about Love, not hate. Say no to H.B. 28.”
“Jamie! That’s genius! It makes a good rally cry too!”
We doodle talking points and sketch out ideas on how to design it. The hours slip by until Jamie gets a buzz on his phone.
“That’s my alarm reminder,” he says reluctantly. “My mom made me promise this morning to swing by and get some confetti before dinner tonight.”
I glance at the clock with a start. We’ve just spent five hours here. That’s got to be some sort of record for a Target hang. After a crappy few days, it feels good to have done something positive today.
I flip on the TV that night and settle into the sofa with the notebook we were working in. My mom’s door is closed, the lights are off.
New Ninja Warrior today, my dad texts me. I’ll save it to watch with you tomorrow.
I send him back a heart eyes emoji. Our favorite show to watch together, rooting for every single person and getting choked up at all the emotional personal stories.
My thoughts drift to Jamie. It was probably just the welcome reprieve of air-conditioning on this absurdly hot day, but curling up with him at Target was the happiest I’ve felt in so long. I wonder what Jamie is doing right now. Is he watching a movie with his friends? Drafting his toast?
I load up The Office on my TV and glance back at my notebook. I love the slogan Love, not hate. Say no to H.B. 28, but we need another piece. I just have to figure out what it is. . . .
I glance at the television. Michael Scott is sharing the downsides of depression and deciding if he’ll jump off the roof onto a bouncy castle below, before Pam and Darryl stop him.
“I saved a life today,” Michael says solemnly into the camera. “My own.”
And that’s when it hits me. The perfect slogan.
I pull out my phone and call Jamie.
He picks up immediately.
“Hello?” he says in a hushed voice.
“Oh,” I falter. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call back tomorrow.”
“No, no . . . one sec.” I hear some noise in the background, and then a door shutting. “Sorry,” he says. “I was just watching TV. No one calls me, really.”
“Yeah.” I blush. “Same here. I got so excited because I had this idea for our flyer.”
“Cool! What were you thinking?”
“Everyone likes to think of themselves as a hero, right? So, what if we have in big print on the bottom of the flyer: ‘It takes thirty seconds to be a hero—call your state senator today.’ And then we have a phone number. So we have a message, but also an action item.”
“That’s brilliant,” Jamie says. “I can’t believe you came up with that out of nowhere. I’ll fiddle around with the design tomorrow.”
“I was watching The Office,” I admit. “Michael Scott gave me inspiration. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“I’m watching The Office too!” he says. “Which episode?”
“The one where he talks about depression on the roof?”