“Maya?” a voice calls out. It’s Jamie. He’s looking at me with unmasked worry. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there.
“You need to sit,” he says. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
I sit down numbly on a folding chair by the wall. I don’t look at him. I can’t.
“Gabe left,” Jamie says. “I’ll find him. I’m going to handle this.” He kneels down in front of me. “Maya, please. Say something.”
But what is there to talk about?
He puts his hand gently on mine. I flinch. He quickly pulls it away.
“You have to breathe,” he says gently. “You’re literally going to faint.”
“How can I breathe? How could he? And the comments.” My eyes blur with tears. “The comments are endless—they won’t stop . . . everyone saying things,” I tell him. “The things they’re saying about us . . . it’s mortifying.”
“People can be the worst. But you can’t let it get to you like this, Maya. They’ve been saying stuff like that forever and . . .” His voice trails off.
“Forever?” I straighten.
Jamie bites his lip.
“What do you mean by that?” I look up at him.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“Jamie.”
“It’s just. Well. You and I have been in so many photos for the campaign, and I guess, people just . . . had opinions. . . .”
I pull out my phone and click on InstaGramm’s feed.
The Fifi Gets Flipped video.
Carmen’s Cupcakes, with Jamie, Grandma, and me posing with large smiles.
The Canvassing 101 photo. I’m holding the mic and side-eyeing Jamie with a smile.
Each and every photo, accompanied by hundreds of comments.
Her dimple is melt worthy.
They’re totally going to hook up soon.
They’ll have the cutest babies.
Comment after comment after comment.
About us.
“You knew people were talking about us like this?” I can’t even look at him now. All this time, people were dissecting everything about us—making up a love story that didn’t even exist—and he didn’t say a single word about it to me. “Jamie. That day when you were reading comments that people left about our video. Were people saying stuff like this, even that day?”
“I don’t know. I mean, does it matter?” Jamie blushes. “Who cares what they have to say?”
“It matters! Of course it matters! I can’t believe I fell for it. I mean, it explains everything, doesn’t it? Gabe didn’t care about us doing a Canvassing 101. He was using us for clicks and comments.” I stare at him. “And you knew.”
“I didn’t know that! I swear!” he insists. “These are just randos.”
“Randos?” My voice trembles. “These are thousands of people analyzing everything about us. They have been. For weeks.”
“But who cares, Maya?” he says. “I know it’s mortifying. I get it. But it’s not like these people know us or anything.”
He’s looking at me like I’m the one who needs to check myself.
“It makes sense you don’t care.” I wipe away tears. “I mean, you’re the same person who pretended to be your grandmother online.”
Jamie’s eyes widen.
“You know I even thanked her for following me? How stupid do I feel now?”
“I shouldn’t have followed you as InstaGramm,” he says. “I messed up. I’m so sorry. But I was too mortified to share these comments people were saying. And we don’t always share every single detail about everything with each other, do we? You didn’t tell me why you were so into canvassing, did you? That it was just for a car—”
“Just for a car?” I stare at him. “Is that really what you think?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, it’s fine. I get it.” He looks down at the ground. “But that was the reason you texted me to go canvassing again after the first time, wasn’t it? Because you’d get a car out of it?”
I can’t believe this is happening. Yes. It’s true. For maybe a minute that was my motivation. But. If he honestly thinks all the work we did together—knocking on doors, drafting flyers, putting up yard signs, was for a stupid car . . . what more is there to say?
All our hangouts. Our conversations. It was meaningless. It was nothing.
I shut out of Instagram and click open my rideshare app. With a shaky hand, I type in my address and stand up.
“I’m going home. Tell Sophie I’m sorry I had to duck out early.”
“You’re leaving? No!” Jamie says quickly. “Let’s talk this through, Maya.”
The app chimes. A driver has been found. Felix. 4.8 stars. Four minutes away.
I walk out the door to the parking lot.
“Maya, wait!” He hurries after me. “Don’t go like this. Please. We can’t let all of this get in the way of how we feel about each other.”
“How we feel about each other?” I whip around. “I can’t date you, Jamie.”
“Yeah, okay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s fine. Dating is so old-fashioned anyway. No one dates anymore. . . .”
“I’m not talking semantics. I mean we can’t be together like that. It’s not going to happen. Ever.”
“Oh.” Jamie falls silent.
And just like that, seeing his crestfallen face, my anger vanishes into the air. All I feel is sadness, instead. I don’t want to tell him. But it’s not fair to him. And I’ve put it off for way too long. I have to tell him the truth.
“It’s my parents, Jamie. I’m not allowed to date. I should have told you that from the start. I’m sorry.”
“Your parents?” Jamie repeats. His expression shifts. And when he speaks now, his voice is harder. “Can’t you own it at least?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a senior,” he spits out. “You’re seventeen years old. If you don’t want to be with me, don’t hide behind your parents.”
“You know I’m Muslim, don’t you?”
“So, is it your parents?” he asks. “Or is it that you’re Muslim? Make up your mind, Maya.”
“It’s both, Jamie! It’s because of my parents, because we’re Muslim. Dating is a little more complicated for me.”
“We almost kissed!” His voice rises. “I told you I loved you. If Gabe hadn’t burst in, you were going to kiss me back.”
“Yes.” I look down at the ground. “And it would have been a mistake.”
“A mistake . . . ,” he says softly. His eyes fill with tears.
“Jamie . . .” I move closer to him, just as headlights engulf us. A green Kia pulls up to the curb.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry this is so complicated. . . .”
“But you see, it’s not.” A tear slips down his cheek. “You either like me. Or you don’t. It’s really as simple as that.”