“Is this real life?” I whisper.
I glance over at Jamie for the first time.
He is holding Grandma’s phone. He’s . . .
“Are you recording this??”
Jamie’s jaw is tight.
“Instagram Live just got a whole lot more interesting,” he says.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jamie
Stepping into the campaign office on Sunday is like stepping into an alternate universe. For a moment, Maya and I just stand frozen in the doorway, gobsmacked. Gabe had mentioned we should come in through the front of the bookstore today. But I didn’t realize that was because we’d now taken over the front of the bookstore. And the back. And the extra event space near the side window.
“Seriously, where did all these people come from?” Maya whispers.
I peer around the room—which is so packed with earnest-looking college kids, you’d think this was an Apple Store. I spot Hannah near a display of scented candles, brandishing her phone for a large huddle of volunteers. Meanwhile, Alison the intern is sorting through printed address lists, looking frantic. But for all the bustle and chaos, there’s this thrum of hopefulness in the air. I pause, taking it all in—the buzzing conversation, people clustered between rows of bookshelves, the ABBA album blaring in the background. I haven’t felt this sort of electricity since Jordan Rossum himself burst into the iftar.
“I think there are more than forty people here,” Maya says, sounding awed. “Remember when half the volunteers were related to either Gabe or Hannah?”
I laugh. “To be fair, Hannah’s mom works for the Democratic Party.”
“But still.” Maya grins.
Gabe pops his head out of the annex, and his whole face lights up when he sees us. The next thing I know, he’s springing toward us like an excited puppy. “The heroes of the hour!” He hugs me, and then Maya. “Listen. You two? Are game changers.” He whirls around to beckon over a few nearby volunteers. “Guys, this is my little cousin Jamie and his best bro, Maya!”
Best bro. Bro? I mean, after dealing with Mom and the guys, I guess it’s a relief that someone out there doesn’t assume Maya and I are dating. Not that I mind the assumption. I just mind the idea of all those conversations leaking back to Maya. But then again . . . bro? How should I interpret that? Drew and Felipe saw some kind of vibe between us, but now I wonder if that’s even real. Because if Gabe thinks we’re bros—
“—the ones who filmed the Instagram Live and exposed the fuck out of that troll,” Gabe declares.
“Oh. Wow!” says one of the volunteers, an East Asian girl in a Rossum shirt. “That was amazing. It has over a million views now, right?”
I blush. “It was all Grandma—”
Gabe thumps my back. “Give yourself some credit, Big J. Remember, if it’s not on film, it didn’t happen. You two are the reason for all of this.” He gestures broadly around the room. “You know, we’ve had a threefold increase in volunteer turnout since the Fifi video went live?”
Maya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Wow—”
“Bustle, Mashable, BuzzFeed, Upworthy.” Gabe counts them off on his fingers. “The AJC piece goes live tomorrow, and we’ve got Hannah’s write-up in the North Fulton Neighbor. Pod Save America wants to interview Grandma. What did I tell you about building a narrative? Now you’ve got Newton, the official candidate of sniveling racists. But if you’d rather have a sweet little Nazi-crushing grandma? Booyah! Welcome to Team Rossum. We’re going viral, baby!”
We all laugh, and Gabe pantomimes a mic dropping—for himself. But I can’t even muster up a proper eye roll. It’s almost like . . . Gabe is actually making sense, for once. I mean, it feels funny to be happy about anything related to Fifi, but I can’t deny the palpable energy in the room today. And for a local election? The tiny satellite office? It’s nothing short of incredible.
Gabe turns to Maya and me. “Let me get the new guys started really quick. You two, don’t go anywhere. Grandma’s on her way, and we’ll start filming as soon as we clear everyone else out. It’s gonna be so hype. Reclaiming Fifi from the dark side!” He fist-bumps each of us.
Maya watches Gabe herd his group of volunteers toward the back room. “Wow. I can’t believe he actually did it. He managed to go viral.”
“Right? It’s pretty wild,” I say. “Plus, the ACLU just did an email blast asking its members to donate and canvass. The campaign has pulled in more donation money in the last twenty-four hours than all of this year, total. And Hannah said the Georgia Democratic Party is planning to fund a whole TV ad campaign!”
“Holy shit. Rossum may actually have a shot.”
“He really might.” I glimpse Alison, balancing a stack of folders almost higher than her head.
As soon as the volunteers file out, Hannah makes her way toward us. “Hey! Glad I caught you guys before your video thing.” She clasps her hands. “So, my mom’s organizing volunteers to be poll observers on election day. Can I sign you two up for a shift? It’s pretty chill, and the training is super simple. You basically just hang around the polling place and make sure nothing shady happens.”
“Oh,” I say. I glance sideways at Maya, who smiles and shrugs.
“Sounds good to me,” Maya says. “Maybe we can get a slot together.”
“Definitely.”
“Awesome!” Hannah says. “Adding you to my list. Election Protection Squad for the win.” She high-fives both of us. “Thank you guys so much, seriously. For everything.”
Maya and I exchange grins, and I’m basically a human hot air balloon. Warm and buoyant and bright. I mean, our video actually changed the course of the campaign. It did that. We did that. And if we changed the course of the campaign, maybe we’ll change the outcome of the election.
Which would change history. Just a little slice of it, but still.
Not to mention the full-circle perfection of spending election day with Maya. It’s honestly hard to believe I ever stepped foot in this office without her. Or that I used to dread coming here. I mean, my stomach would drop every time I pulled into the parking lot. I’d have to brace myself for small talk, even just with Hannah and Alison. And then there was Gabe, forever wanting more. Make more phone calls. Knock on more doors. Be less Jamie.
Everything’s different now.
Yeah, Gabe is still all kinds of annoying, and the campaign’s a haphazard mess. There’s still small talk. I’m still awful at it.
But when Maya’s here, every bit of it feels like home.
Half an hour later, Grandma’s completely taken over. “Gabe, sweetheart, can you push that desk right in front of the backdrop? Good. And a few inches to the left. Thank you, lovey. Oh, I wish we had natural light in here.” She unfolds her tripod, planting it a few feet in front of Hannah’s now-pristine desk. With a sheet of heavy white fabric hanging behind it, it looks a little like the makeshift doll photography studio Sophie made in our basement at age nine. But when Grandma lets me peek at the setup through her phone screen, it looks surprisingly professional—a noticeable level up from the usual Rossum campaign content.