“You see?” His grandma glances back at me and smiles. “Didn’t I say a video was the best way to go about these things?”
“Yes. Grandma. You were right,” Jamie replies.
“‘Grandma, you were right’ is quite possibly the best sentence in the English language,” she says.
We pull into the canvassing office. There are even more cars than yesterday in the parking lot—we end up having to park by the acupuncturist next door. Stepping into the bookshop, we realize there are way more people too. Yesterday, the campaign had to move into the actual bookstore space; today they’re practically filling it.
“Seventy people.” I count again, just to be sure.
“Hey, you two!” A woman in athleisure wear and a ponytail walks over to us. “Your video was the cutest,” she says. “And what he did to that poor sweet dog.” She shakes her head. “I shared it with all the parents in the Ashford Park PTA—we figured if teenagers can wake up early in the summer to canvass, we can too.”
After she leaves, Jamie leans in and whispers, “That’s one more for Team Dog!”
“She just didn’t want the dog to be racist! There’s a difference!”
Before we can continue our debate, Gabe hurries over to us, coffee splashing out of his mug.
“Hey, guys! Check out this crowd.”
“That’s really great, Gabe,” I say.
“You guys are two for two with viral Fifi videos.” His eyes sparkle. “Nicholas Wilson is the gift that keeps on giving!”
Jamie and I glance at each other and sigh. Gabe.
“By the way, I need to ask you guys for a favor,” says Gabe.
“What kind of favor?”
“Just a quick talk to the crowd. Nothing big.”
“No way,” Jamie says firmly. “Not ever.”
“Great! You’ll do awesome!” Gabe says. Before we can say anything more, he’s hopped over to the front of the room and grabbed a microphone.
He starts off with the patented canvassing talk, thanking everyone for coming and explaining the packets.
“What does he want us to talk to them about?” Jamie whispers. He’s flushed.
“Let’s just leave,” I whisper. “He can’t ask us up if we’re not here.”
But before we can move, Gabe is pointing to us.
“Today, I’m passing the mic to Maya and Jamie—our canvassing experts—to share with you some of the dos and don’ts of knocking on doors.”
I glance at Jamie. His color has shifted from red to green. I’m ninety percent convinced he’s going to puke right now.
“Come on over, kids,” Gabe says to us. “These two are our rockstar canvassers! They’ll share their experiences, especially for any first-timers, as you prepare to hit the road.”
“I am going to strangle Gabe,” I mutter to Jamie.
But then I glance at the faces looking over at us. The college students fanning themselves with flyers. The moms with strollers. The senior citizens in velour jogging suits. Three women in hijab in the front row. I think of the man with the blue swordfish T-shirt I met on my second day canvassing. The way I froze up. The way I couldn’t move.
“We got this,” I tell Jamie. “We can do this.”
I grab his hand, and together we walk up to the front of the room.
Everyone claps as I take the microphone. The crowd looks way larger standing from this angle. Gabe is in the back taking photos of us with his phone. I clear my throat and glance at Jamie. Judging from his expression, I’m definitely going to have to be the one who speaks first.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I tell the crowd, trying my best not to let my nerves show. “As Gabe, um, just mentioned, we’ve done a bit of canvassing, and there are definitely some things I wish we’d known.”
One of the women in hijab smiles at me and nods. I smile back at her. And then I begin to share.
Do knock on the door and give it a few beats before knocking again.
Don’t knock more than twice; stick a flyer in and move on.
Do stick a flyer in the door or through the handle.
Don’t put it in the mailbox. There’s some sort of law against that.
“And hydrate,” I tell everyone. “It’s hot out there. And be careful of eating greasy or oily foods that can make you sluggish in the heat.” I glance at Jamie and wink. “Like donuts.”
Jamie straightens a bit at this.
“But Goldfish,” I reassure the crowd, “are completely acceptable.”
Jamie’s looking less green. He’s smiling.
“I have one.” He edges closer to me. I hand him the mic.
“If you get tired while you’re going, just stop,” he tells people. “You’ve been assigned quite a few houses, and no one reasonable expects you to be able to hit them all.”
“And if someone makes you uncomfortable—leave,” I tell them. “You do not have to give them a flyer or any of your time. Trust your gut and go.”
We offer a few more tips. Some people have questions. About footwear and knocking versus ringing doorbells. I’m stunned to realize we can comfortably answer all of them.
When we’re finished, everyone claps.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Jamie says, once Hannah takes the stand to explain how to work the app. “Once you went after donuts, I realized I had to start talking.”
“And did you see them clapping for us? I don’t think anyone’s ever clapped after Gabe spoke.”
“Rolling their eyes, definitely, but not clapping. Never.”
“I’m still going to strangle Gabe, though,” I say.
“Oh, totally.” He nods.
My phone buzzes. Glancing down, I blink. I have over one hundred notifications. Ever since our video about fixing the Fifi stickers got posted, I’ve been inundated with follow requests from people I don’t even know.
“Terrific talk.” A man approaches us. “You laid it out all so easily. And great to see you both in person. Fifi gets flipped!” He pumps his fists.
“Fifi gets flipped.” We smile. It was one thing to say it in a room with just us and Jamie’s grandma, but people listened. They cared. They showed up.
“I didn’t know until your video that anyone was canvassing for this election,” he continues. “Not a single person has come by my neighborhood.”
“Where do you live?” Jamie asks.
“Hampton Hall. We’ve got hundreds of homes. Most of us are Democrats, but this election is more about letting people know it’s happening in the first place.”
“Let’s see if it’s on the canvassing list.” I turn to Jamie. “If it isn’t, we could just pop over. I mean, every vote counts.”
“Hey, y’all!” Hannah interrupts us. “Can I speak with you both for a second?”
We excuse ourselves and turn to Hannah.
“The water bottles!” Jamie exclaims. “They’re in the trunk. I totally forgot.”
“No, it’s not that.” Hannah shakes her head. “Well, first thing, you guys were amazing up there. Old pros!”
“Thanks.” Jamie is blushing again. But in the best possible way.