“You guys made a script, right?” Gabe asks as soon as we’re settled in behind the desk. He props up a slightly enlarged card stock picture of Fifi between us, and I try not to look too closely at it. “But don’t feel like you can’t ad-lib. I want this to feel fun, spontaneous, hip—you feel me?” He does jazz hands.
Maya’s eyes widen. “Okay.”
“Just make sure you hit all the beats we talked about. And don’t forget to tie it back to Rossum. Let’s keep that Fifi momentum going. We need people to be fired up.”
“Just have fun with it.” Grandma smiles from behind the tripod. “This is just the cutest idea ever. I love that you two thought of it.”
“Right?” Gabe says. “The more Fifi, the better.”
“That’s . . . not exactly our message,” Maya says.
“Just make sure you mention Rossum. And smile!” Gabe walks backward, tapping the corners of his mouth with his fingertips.
“Jamie, dear, move a little closer to Maya. Great. Now, try to project your voices as much as you can.” Grandma peers at us through her phone camera. “And remember, we can go back and edit later, so don’t worry if you need to repeat something—”
“But keep in mind,” Gabe interjects, “the fewer mistakes, the less time we have to spend editing, and the sooner we can get this up.”
“We’ll be fine.” Grandma pats Gabe’s shoulder. “So we’ll start with our intro, but let’s pause for a second before moving on to the washi tape. Gabe will keep filming straight on, and Maya, I’ll come around and zoom in over your shoulder. Sound good?”
I nod.
“Works for me,” Maya says.
“Great!” Grandma smiles. “I’ll count down with my fingers.”
She holds up three, and then two, and then one—and we’re off.
By five, Maya and I are tucked into our new favorite Target patio chair—the egg-shaped wicker love seat Maya once said was too small for two. I guess it’s big enough now.
Maya’s scrolling through the latest batch of polling data on her phone. I still can’t believe she gets Wi-Fi here.
“Everything’s still favoring Newton.” She puffs her cheeks out and sighs.
“But look. This poll’s from the twenty-eighth. That’s before Nicholas Wilson went viral. Maybe that will be the turning point?”
“Yeah, maybe.” She taps into Instagram, and her whole face brightens. “Hey, our video’s live!”
“On the Rossum page or Grandma’s?”
“Both. And apparently YouTube too.” She scoots closer, tilting her phone toward me. For a minute, I can hardly speak, or even breathe. Every single inch of my left side is pressed against Maya’s right.
“I’m scared to watch,” says Maya. “I love the caption, though. Fifi Gets Flipped!”
“Grandma does love a good hashtag.”
Maya grins. “You ready?” I nod, and she presses play.
A title screen flashes: Fifi Gets Flipped.
Video Maya smiles. “Hi, I’m Maya.”
“And I’m Jamie.”
“I sound so nervous,” I murmur.
Maya hugs me sideways. “You sound great.”
“—when you get Fifi’d,” Video Maya is saying. Then Fifi’s face flashes across the screen, accompanied by Halloween music.
Maya laughs. “Wow.”
“For those who don’t know,” Video Me explains, “Fifi is a meme popularized online in white supremacist, alt-right circles.”
Video Maya chimes in. “But recently, local trolls have taken Fifi offline and onto the streets of Brookhaven and Sandy Springs.”
The screen cuts to a montage of Fifi stickers on cars, including Alfie—culminating in a clip of Grandma bearing down on Nicholas Wilson in the Scavino’s parking lot.
Video Me nods solemnly. “Our team of grandmas is working day and night to keep our streets Fifi-free—”
“But just in case, we have a little hack to flip your Fifi nightmare into a resistance icon. Jamie, the washi tape.” Video Maya removes the Fifi picture from its display. “Let’s start with the teacup. If you look closely, you’ll see we’ve got an 88 here on the cup, and Fifi’s holding the cup with an okay sign. Yikes. These are both major anti-Semitic dog whistles.”
I lean toward Maya. “We missed the chance for a good dog pun here, didn’t we?”
Maya rolls her eyes, smiling.
“But with a few strategically placed strips of rainbow washi tape . . .”
“I can’t believe Mom’s washi tape obsession came in so handy,” I say.
The camera zooms in on a time-lapse demonstration of our hands covering the entire teacup with rainbow tape.
“Fifi could look cool wearing a pink pussy hat, don’t you think?” says Video Me.
“I most certainly do,” agrees Video Maya—followed by another hyper-speed washi tape montage. “And there you have it. Objective proof that cats are better than dogs.”
Video Me shoots Maya a quick but obvious side-eye.
“Oh my God, Jamie. Your face there.” Maya beams at me. “This video actually turned out really cute!”
I look at Maya on-screen. “Yeah.”
“—but remember,” Video Maya is saying. “The very best way to flip Fifi? Donate. Canvass. And most importantly, show up and vote for Jordan Rossum on July ninth.”
Video Me turns to Maya and smiles. “Jordan Rossum, for Georgia state senate, District Forty. Vote for Rossum, he’s awesome!” A Rossum campaign logo flashes, and then the video starts to replay.
I look at Maya. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“Not at all! We did great.” She leans forward, scrolling down. “Whoa, there are already more than four hundred views.”
I peer at the screen over her shoulder. “And almost a hundred comments!”
“Don’t read them,” Maya says quickly.
I laugh. “What?”
“Cardinal rule of the internet, right? Never read the comments.”
“You’re not curious to know what they say?”
“Of course I’m curious,” Maya says. “But trust me, it’s not worth it. One shitty comment can ruin your whole mood like that.”
“Do you think they’re mostly bad?” I glance at Maya’s screen, where the video’s still auto-replaying.
“Not mostly, unless the trolls find it. But there’s going to be at least a little bit of hate. Maybe not directed toward you, but definitely toward me—”
“No way. You’re a total pro. Look!”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s called being a woman on the internet, especially a brown woman. And my brain just fixates for days on the bad ones.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Sorry. That really sucks.”
“It is what it is.” She shrugs.
I pause. “Want me to read you some of the good ones out loud? Just so you can hear the nice stuff, without having to risk stumbling on any trolls?”
“Oh. Actually, yeah!” Maya nods. “I would love that.”
“Okay! Let’s see.” I scroll down. “Lots of heart emojis, a few people saying yassssss . . . all right, here’s one! Someone named Jacq with a q says: this is such a cute, smart idea, I love it!”