“Jamie.” I take his hand in mine. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. I’m not explaining myself well. . . .”
And for the first time ever—Jamie pulls away from me.
“You’ve explained well enough,” he says evenly. “Safe drive home. And you should ask your parents for that car now. You’ve definitely earned it.”
I get in the car. It pulls away and turns down the road. Jamie’s figure grows smaller and smaller, until it’s out of sight.
Until now I thought the word heartbreak was a cheesy poetic term—not an actual breaking that splinters down to the core of your being.
As the car pulls onto the highway, I sink my head into my hands.
Only now do I begin to cry.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jamie
I don’t even know if I slept. I feel so bleary and strange, like my head’s been stuffed with cotton.
It’s all one giant blur. I barely remember getting home from the venue. There’s a croissant on my nightstand—Grandma must have snuck in here before she left this morning. And Boomer’s curled at the end of my bed. He hasn’t left my side all night.
My whole face hurts from crying. I don’t think I’ve cried like this in years, maybe not since Grandpa died. Everyone says crying’s supposed to help. It’s supposed to get rid of toxins or release endorphins or recharge you or something. But I don’t feel recharged. I barely have the energy to lift my phone off my nightstand.
I’ve never gotten so many texts in my life. Texts from Nolan, old camp friends, Felipe’s sister, and this guy Peter from Academic Bowl. Thirty-six texts on the group chat with Drew and Felipe. Texts from literally everyone. Except Maya.
And they keep coming. A new one pops up from Alison, the campaign intern. Whoa, you and Maya are on Buzzfeed!!!! There’s a link, but I don’t even need to click it. The headline tells me everything I need to know. These two teens fell in love working on a local Democratic campaign, and my heart is too full. The preview photo is Maddie’s picture. Of us.
I shove my phone back in its charger, flipping it facedown.
I just can’t believe it’s all over. Everything. Our campaign work, our friendship, and everything else I was stupid enough to hope for. I thought this would end like a movie. I honestly thought that. Awkward nerdy guy gets the dream girl. I mean, Maya said she wanted to kiss me. And her coatroom cake smash. Hands down, the sexiest moment of my entire life. I can hardly believe that was yesterday. Twelve hours ago. I still have icing on my wrist. Not the shape of a heart anymore—just a few smudges remaining. I guess it’s fitting.
It’s barely eight when Mom knocks on my door, but who cares? I’ve been up for hours.
“Hey. I’ve got leftover bagels.” She sets a plate next to the untouched croissant on my nightstand, before nudging Boomer off the bed and stealing his spot. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
I groan into my pillow.
“Not your best night, huh?”
I mean, that’s the crazy thing. Most of the night was good. It was incredible. The music, the hora, even the toast. And Maya. Who said she liked me. Who fit so perfectly under my chin on the dance floor.
One Instagram post ruined everything. Every single thing.
“Want to talk about it?” Mom asks.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. “Not really.”
Everything was fine. It was fine.
Yeah, the picture was weird. Obviously, I wasn’t cool with Maddie spying on us from the bushes, or wherever the hell she was, and Gabe putting it online was even worse. But Maya completely freaked out. I’ve never seen her go pale like that. She could barely speak at first. And the look on her face when she read the comments, like the idea of people knowing about us was too mortifying to stomach. Yeah. That felt great. Almost as great as when she said it’s not going to happen. Ever. In the most matter-of-fact tone. Like I was supposed to have already understood that. Like it’s obvious.
Cool. I guess I’m just delusional.
Mom scoots closer, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Honey, talk to me.”
I don’t know what she wants me to say. That I’m broken? Shattered? That I should have known it was too good to be true? Maybe Maya felt something for me, but it obviously wasn’t enough. If the situation were reversed, I’d have done anything to make it work. Anything. I would have toughed it out through any awkward conversation.
The way Mom’s looking at me makes my throat clench. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around me tightly. “Hey.”
She strokes my hair like she did when I was eight, which makes my eyes pool with tears all over again. When I finally speak, my voice comes out choked. “I’m in love with her.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“And I told her. Like you said. I told her how I felt.” I catch my breath. “I’ve never said that before to anyone.”
“And she didn’t take it well?”
“I thought she did.” I straighten up, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands. “She said she liked me. And she seemed like she was nervous to tell her parents, but—I don’t know. She didn’t make it sound like that was going to be a dealbreaker.” My throat clenches. “But then Gabe posted that picture, and everything just . . . collapsed.”
“Okay, well, first of all, if it’s any consolation, Gabe is in some deep shit with your grandmother. She’s at the campaign office right now.”
I wipe my eyes again. “Good.”
“But listen. Jamie. The stuff with her parents . . . I have no idea what it would mean in Maya’s family if she dated a guy who isn’t Muslim. Or if she dated at all.”
I shake my head. “If she knew she couldn’t date a guy who isn’t Muslim, why did she almost kiss me? You can’t do that. It’s fine if you can’t date, or you don’t want to date, or you don’t want to date outside your religion. But if your best friend tells you he’s in love with you, don’t act like his girlfriend all night and come this close to kissing him, and then turn around and call it a mistake.”
Mom just looks at me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I really am.”
“It’s whatever.” I rub the last bit of chocolate off my wrist, flicking little specks of it onto my bedsheet. I’m too tired to care.
“It’s not whatever,” Mom says. “Listen. I’ve got to run out and grab those centerpieces back from the event planner, but I’ll be around all afternoon. Let’s do something special. You, me, and Sophie.” She leans forward, pressing her hands to my cheeks. “We’re going to get through this. I promise. And Jamie?”
I look up half-heartedly.
“You should be really proud of yourself,” she says. “For everything. For your speech. For your advocacy work. And for having the guts to tell Maya how you feel. That was incredibly brave.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“I mean it. Jamie, I know you have this idea of yourself as this awkward kid who never knows what to say, who screws everything up—”
“Negative self-talk. I know.”
Mom smiles wryly. “I won’t get on your case about it. But can I ask you one question?”