I tap over to Maya’s profile, almost without realizing I’m doing it. But it doesn’t load her usual feed.
It loads a picture of a lock in a circle. This Account is Private.
I can’t catch my breath. It’s like someone scraped me out from the inside.
This Account is Private.
“She.” I blink. “I think she blocked me.”
I sink back against Hannah’s desk, legs suddenly weak.
Gabe’s expression softens. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, bro. That’s rough.”
He reaches out to pat my shoulder, but I flinch away from him, voice choked. “Oh, now you’re sorry?”
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have done it. Look, man. I’m trying to pull out an impossible win. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. This is my first rodeo. I’m just stumbling around in the dark here.”
I stare dumbly at my phone.
Gabe keeps talking. “Want to know the truth? I’m really fucking scared. This—all of this—could be for nothing. It rains? Boom. Low turnout.”
I shake my head dazedly. “The weather’s supposed to be—”
“That’s just an example! I mean, you can do everything, every single thing right. Knock on every door. Organize the fuck out of everything and everyone. Stay on top of every media opportunity.” He scrapes his hands through his hair. “And it could all go to shit tomorrow for literally no reason.”
I look at him. “Then why do you do it?”
“Well, what’s the alternative?” Gabe laughs, but it’s strained and panicked. “Hand these fuckers the election? Believe it or not, cuz, I care about this shit. You think they’re paying me well for this? You think I have a fancy job lined up in DC if this goes well? Look, 2016 fucking wrecked me. Turned my world upside down. And I’m just another white Jew. Not even close to the worst off.” He exhales. “I can’t fix this mess, but I want to fix a part of it. And this election? Jamie, it’s so fucking small. You know, in the grand scheme of things. We win this? Nobody cares. It will be in the news cycle for a day or two, maybe, and that’s literally just because of the Fifi story—”
“And me and Maya,” I say.
“At least you put us on the map.” He sighs defeatedly. “Even if we win tomorrow, it’s the puniest, most nothing victory. But it’s my whole life right now. And it all comes down to the numbers—”
“No it doesn’t,” I say, and Gabe snorts. “It doesn’t! It’s not about the numbers. It’s not even about the end result. Not entirely.”
Gabe smiles sadly. “Oh, to have your shiny-eyed optimism—”
“I mean, the numbers are important. Really important. But that’s now.” I clutch the edge of Hannah’s desk. “Yeah, in this moment, the numbers are everything. But when you step back from it, it’s just another point on the timeline. History’s a long game. It’s the longest long game.”
“That’s bullshit,” Gabe says. “Frankly, I don’t give a shit if the world rights itself in a thousand years. That’s not good enough.”
“But I’m not talking about the world righting itself. I’m talking about us righting the world.”
Gabe looks unmoved, but I keep going.
And it’s the weirdest thing. I feel so messy and heartsick and completely off-kilter. But my mouth is saying exactly what I want it to say.
“It’s not about waiting for the good parts of history. We’re the ones who have to make them happen. We have to draw the timeline ourselves.”
“Yeah, well. Right now, that just feels like a fuckton of pointless work.”
“But the work itself is the point. You keep doing it, because otherwise, how do you keep from feeling helpless? It’s like those sharks that keep swimming or they die,” I say. “It’s about the act of resisting. Waking up every day and deciding not to give up.”
I peer down at my phone screen. Maya’s locked profile, with its tiny circular profile picture. The soft brown of her skin. Her hair. Her smile, in miniature.
This girl who hates change, but wants to change the world. This girl who never holds back when it matters.
I didn’t even know I could miss someone like this after two days.
“Hey.” I glance up at Gabe. “You know, even if we lose, your work matters. All of this. It all counts.”
“Yeah, well—”
“It matters,” I say again. “Not that I think we’re going to lose. No way. But I’m just saying.”
Gabe snorts, but he’s smiling. “You’re pretty inspiring, Big J. You’re going to be quite the politician one day.”
I smile back. “I know.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Maya
I’m driving my car to the polling station. It still feels weird. Not standing in my driveway waiting for a friend or a ride. This is my car. I made a list last night of all the places I want to apply to for a job, now that I can actually hold one down. Barnes & Noble and Starbucks are both high on my “want” list.
Target would’ve been there too, but I’m not sure how Kevin would feel about hooking me up with a job, after what went down between us. And, well. There’s the matter of Jamie too. Taking a job at his favorite place feels like a nonstarter.
My throat constricts, thinking of him. We spent nearly a month knocking on doors, handing out flyers, putting up signs. Now it’s election day. And we aren’t even speaking.
I park at the polling station, and pause to look at the Instagram photo I posted this morning. A selfie of me with a Rossum button, encouraging all fifteen of my followers to get out the vote. I glance at the other pictures from this summer. The Eid brunch, a selfie with Boomer from last week. I look like I’m having the best summer ever. Insta-Maya and real Maya don’t even live on the same planet.
I click over to Sara’s feed. I’d thought she’d have texted me after the post went viral. But she’s not following the election stuff, so it probably didn’t even fly by her radar. It’s strange how something can be someone’s entire universe, but not even register as a blip for someone else.
Her most recent photos make me smile. You’d honestly think she works for the University of Georgia’s marketing team. There are filtered photos of the campus, a selfie with a Georgia bulldog in full red-and-white gear. I pause at one from four days ago. She’s posing with my favorite author on the planet—Angie Freaking Thomas. They’re both smiling and Sara’s holding up her latest book. I look down at the caption: Standing room only for the one and only Angie Freaking Thomas.
I laugh a little at that. Even in our estrangement, we manage to think the same thoughts. I hesitate before texting her.
Hope college is great. I hate how things ended with us. I miss you.
There are no three ellipses bubbling back to me. And that’s okay. I love Sara, and even if I don’t get back what I had, it was a beautiful friendship while it was mine. I don’t regret telling her how I feel.
I feel a little silly about it now, but I’d built up election day so big in my mind, I almost expected bells to toll and confetti to spray on my head when I stepped into the polling precinct. But the Briarwood recreational gymnasium is definitely anticlimactic this late afternoon. For one thing, it’s completely silent. Electronic voting booths line one end of the wall, and folding tables are set up on the other side of the room, with registration volunteers drumming their fingers. Some are reclined so far back in their seats, I swear they might be asleep. A police officer sits by the front door. Hannah is also here. She hands me my poll observer vest, and I sign in on the log. One woman in a business suit is punching in her vote, but otherwise, no one else is here.