Yes No Maybe So

by Becky Albertalli

  “It’s complicated.” My mother’s eyes are fixed on her teacup now. “I know you want more details. Explanations. I wish I could give you an answer that would satisfy you, but I can’t. We need time to reflect and figure things out. That’s all I can say. When we know what the future holds, you’ll be the first person we tell, okay?”

  It’s not okay. But I’m too tired to argue anymore.

  Jamie picks me up at eleven o’clock sharp. He smiles when I get in the car, and I’m relieved he doesn’t look as upset as he did yesterday.

  “Want to canvass after we’re done putting up the yard signs?” I ask him.

  “Well, first check out how many he wants us to get up around town.” He nods to the backseat.

  I glance back. It’s impossible to even see the cars behind us—the signs are stacked up to the car roof.

  “The trunk is full too.”

  “Gabe . . .”

  “Yep.”

  Turns out putting up yard signs isn’t that bad. It’s hot and definitely muggy, but it feels good to mix it up a little.

  “This is the last stop,” Jamie says, a few hours later. We’ve papered every legal spot in Brookhaven and Sandy Springs, and stuck yard signs at every intersection. “It’s the grassy area across the street from Blackburn Park.”

  Just as in all the other places, Newton’s beat us. Twenty of his signs litter the grass.

  “I want to yank them out and throw them in the dumpster,” I say.

  But we don’t. We angle our signs so they mostly cover his signs. A few people honk and wave as we put them in.

  “All done,” he says as he sticks in the last of the signs.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” I say. “Hot. But not awful.”

  We duck under the awning of the strip mall to get a break from the sun as we head toward the car. Just then, I hear a familiar voice.

  “Maya?”

  It’s Sara. She’s standing halfway in the door of Skeeter’s custard shop. We walked by, and I didn’t even notice it.

  “Sara! Hey!” My voice sounds a little too loud. Which makes no sense. Why am I surprised to see her working, of all things? I nod to Jamie. “This is Sara,” I tell him.

  “Hi.” Jamie extends his hand. “I’m Jamie.”

  Sara glances at his outstretched hand and grins at me before shaking it.

  “Great to meet you, Jamie.”

  The shop is empty. We follow her inside and sit down at a plastic round table.

  “I know Maya’s fasting, but do you want anything?” she asks Jamie. “We have a great Froot Loop custard that . . .”

  “Sara!” I side-eye her. “That’s just mean.”

  “Ha.” She leans over and gives me a hug. “Only kidding. How about the strawberry custard? New flavor. On the house.”

  “No, thanks,” Jamie says.

  The doorbell chimes, and two mothers lugging four kids between them stumble into the shop.

  “Give me a second,” Sara mouths, and heads back behind the counter to help them.

  “You should take Sara up on her offer,” I tell him. “Everything here is delicious. I don’t mind if you eat around me.”

  “Solidarity.” He thumps the table. “We can try it later once you’ve broken your fast.”

  “You’ve come a long way from pushing Goldfish at me.”

  “Yeah.” He blushes. “Sorry about that.”

  I laugh. He looks so cute when he’s embarrassed.

  “Have you been thinking any more about the toast?” I ask him.

  “No.” He winces. “Or maybe, all the time. Every minute of the day? Something like that.”

  “When do you have to give the speech?”

  “In fifteen days, four hours, and twenty minutes. I mean, not that I’m counting or anything.”

  “That’s so far away. You have more than enough time to come up with something.”

  “It’s just that every idea I have is terrible.”

  “You’re overthinking it. I’ve been to a few bat mitzvahs. The speeches aren’t that complicated. Tell Sophie you’re proud of her, thank people for coming, and tell a joke or share a funny story.”

  “But how do I know what’s a funny story and what’s traumatic? What if I share a funny story about Sophie, but it ends up making her mad? And what if I make a joke and nobody laughs—it’s just crickets?”

  “You can always run it by your sister first. And if you make a bad joke, so what? It happens.”

  “It happens to me way too much.”

  I pull out my phone.

  “There are thousands of bat mitzvah and bar mitzvah toasts online.” I show him my search results. “Just look through them for examples or frameworks. Here’s one. It says ‘funny bar mitzvah speech’ and it’s got a ton of views.”

  The video opens with a guy in a three-piece suit standing in front of a cake table. He’s telling the crowd how proud he is of his brother and his amazing accomplishments. He takes a sip of water, but before he can say anything else his eyes widen, and he starts coughing. Or choking? I can’t tell. He spits water all over the cake and flings his hands toward the audience. The glass flies into the air, knocking out a woman in the front row.

  “Um . . .” I pause the video. “Well, that wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

  Jamie looks green.

  “Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely do better than this guy?”

  “So you think.”

  “Don’t bring water up with you,” I say. “We learned something today.”

  “Sorry about that.” Sara walks over to us. “Lucas is still out after the wrist fracture, and I’m the only one on shift. What are you both up to?”

  “Putting up yard signs,” I tell her.

  “For what? Concert coming to town?”

  She’s joking, right? But she’s looking at me expectantly.

  “Rossum,” I tell her. “The special election coming up in a few weeks?”

  “Oh, that.” She wrinkles her nose.

  “You don’t like him?” Jamie asks.

  “Oh, of course I do. He’s awesome, right?” She glances at me and smiles a little and rolls her eyes.

  I shift in my seat. I can’t blame her sarcasm. I know what she means. Yes, he is another white, cis, straight dude running for office. But—

  “He’s better than Newton,” I tell her.

  “Voting for the best of two bad choices still means you’re stuck with a bad choice.”

  “I get that, but this is different. Newton is evil. He’s why H.B. 28 is on the table in the first place. He masterminded it years ago.”

  “H.B. what?”

  “House Bill 28,” I say slowly. “You know, the racist bill?”

  Sara shakes her head.

  “It’s the one with—”

  But before I can say anything else, the front door chimes. A troop of tweens in cheerleading outfits march inside.

  “To be continued,” Sara says apologetically. “Jamie, it was so nice to meet you. Come back for a custard with Maya once Ramadan is over.”

  “Sara’s nice,” Jamie says.

  “Yeah.” My phone buzzes. A text from Sara.

  I can see why you’re canvassing now. He’s cute.

  I look up at her. She winks at me and slips her phone in her pocket. And then she’s back to work, scooping and handing out tiny spoon-sized custard samples. It’s like I’m gone, even though I’m sitting right here.

  We head out to the car, mapping out our day tomorrow. I think about what Sara texted to me. She doesn’t get it. I mean, yes. Jamie is cute, but if Sara thinks I’m doing all of this just to hang out with a good-looking boy, and not because my community is in imminent danger—how far apart are we drifting?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jamie

  I wake up with yesterday running through my head like a film reel. But it’s not the usual cringe-by-cringe replay. This is a legit sun-soaked montage. I picture Maya with a stack of Rossum signs up to he
r chin. Maya, looking so at home in my passenger seat. Maya’s dimple deepening as she smiled across the table at Skeeter’s.

  Maya, who texted me four times overnight.

  Which isn’t a big deal. And I’m pretty sure a normal person would just read the texts and be done with them. As opposed to staring at the ceiling, trying to put off reading them as long as possible, for no real reason. I guess it’s kind of like how Sophie will go for weeks before reading the last chapter of a book. The longer you put good things off, the longer they’re there waiting for you. And texts from Maya are good things. They are very good things.

  I’m not looking, not looking, not looking—

  I yank my phone from my charger.

  Maya: Oh no!! Really sorry, I need a rain check on canvassing. Already started prepping the biryani for the Eid potluck, and my mom keeps getting emails from clients and forgetting about pots on the stove, it’s a mess

  Okay, so maybe not all texts are good things. But I keep reading.

  She literally gets so many work emails at 5:00 on a Saturday morning, is this what being an adult is going to be like???

  Anyway, I have to stay and keep the house from burning down

  Sorry Jamie! Maybe later this week?

  I smile down at my phone. Kind of wild how seeing my own name written out by Maya can make me forget my disappointment completely. I know it’s just a text. But there’s something about the way it sounds in my head when I read it.

  I write back.

  Happy almost Eid! Are you excited to eat again during the day?

  And even though her last text is time-stamped 5:30 a.m., she replies immediately.

  Maya: YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

  Already planning the menu.

  Jamie: For the potluck?

  Maya: No, for my life!! Okay, thoughts for my first post-Eid donut meal, are we thinking Dunkin or Krispy Kreme?

  Jamie: Is this a serious question??

  Maya: Hahahaha good point, Krispy Kreme it is

  OMG AND THE 7 LAYER CHOCOLATE CAKE AT CAFE INTERMEZZO

  I have a NEED

  Jamie: Ooh, sounds really good!

  Maya: You haven’t tried it?! Jamie. You are missing out.

  Jamie: Apparently!

  Maya: Okay it’s like beyond chocolatey, and HUGE. Like remember when the kid from Matilda had to eat the whole cake and we’re supposed to feel bad for him but you and I were so confused, like why is he struggling with this? He is living the dream!

  Jamie: Bruce Bogtrotter!!! Lucky jerk

  Maya: This cake is like THAT. Super dense, not spongy, and that icing omfg

  Okay I need to stop talking about this, I’m getting hungry!

  I smile even harder, typing Bruce Bogtrotter’s name into the GIF menu bar. But before I can press search, my bedroom door swings open.

  “Jamie! It’s an emergency.” Sophie practically skids across my floor, flanked by her friends Maddie and Andrea.

  My heart drops. “Wait—is everything—”

  Sophie cuts me off. “Okay, so Tessa and Paige are meeting at Perimeter Mall at eleven thirty, and Grandma’s out somewhere with Gabe, and I don’t want to ask Mom, because she’ll rope me into her mason jar washi tape thing.”

  I just stare at Sophie, heart still pounding. “That’s your emergency?”

  All three of the girls nod cheerfully.

  “You need me to come with you to the mall?”

  “What?” Sophie wrinkles her nose. “No, we need a ride.”

  Maddie and Andrea giggle, and my cheeks go warm. Awesome. Sophie barges into my room uninvited, pretty much implying someone died, and somehow she’s acting like it’s sad pathetic Jamie trying to bust in on their mall trip. Which, frankly, sounds like actual torture, and not something I’d ever willingly do. But of course I’m now being laughed at by tweens, which is definitely making me flash back to middle school. And flash forward to the inevitable trauma of the bat mitzvah toast. Double the fun.

  “So can you drive us?” Sophie asks.

  I glance down at my slept-in T-shirt and mesh gym shorts. “Right this second?”

  “Well, we have to be there at eleven thirty,” Sophie says matter-of-factly, “because Tessa likes this guy Daniel who works at Sbarro on Saturdays, and his shift starts at eleven, but we can’t show up right at the beginning of his shift, or it will be really obvious. But everything gets really busy with the lunch crowd at noon, so it really has to be eleven thirty!”

  “And all of you need to be there to help Tessa flirt with this guy.” I look from Sophie to Maddie to Andrea.

  “Exactly,” says Sophie.

  “How old is this guy anyway?”

  “Fifteen,” says Andrea.

  I raise my eyebrows. “And Tessa’s twelve?”

  “She’s thirteen,” says Sophie, “and Daniel thinks she’s fourteen, so—”

  “That doesn’t make it better!”

  Sophie frowns. “Don’t be judgmental.”

  I grimace. “If I were to drive you—if—what time would you need to be picked up?”

  “Oh my God, Jamie, you’re the best!” Sophie bounces on the balls of her feet. “Maybe two? But you have to stay at the mall while we’re there. You know I’m not allowed to hang out there alone.”

  I gape at her. “Okay, you just said—”

  “So we really have to leave in five minutes,” Sophie says, shrugging. “You better get dressed fast.”

  Five minutes into our eight-minute car ride, and I officially know how I’ll die.

  It will be death by bat mitzvah toast. The first recorded case of someone’s heart actually combusting from mortification. And I do mean recorded, because we all know Sophie’s friends are going to film it. You’re welcome, choking YouTube kid—future me is going to make you look like John F. Kennedy.

  Because groups of middle school girls? Are as terrifying as I remembered. More terrifying, even. And they ask so many questions.

  “Jamie, did you go to Riverview?” Maddie asks as I pull onto Ashford Dunwoody.

  “Yeah—”

  “Did you have Ms. Williams?”

  “Or Ms. Finnigan?” chimes Andrea.

  “I don’t . . . think so.”

  “Okay, so what’s better?” Maddie leans forward. “Eighth grade or ninth grade?”

  “Neither,” I say, and Maddie and Andrea both burst out laughing.

  “You’re so funny, Jamie.”

  “Sophie, you’re so lucky,” says Andrea. “My sister never even talks to me. She’s obsessed with her phone.”

  “Jamie’s so nice,” Maddie adds, like I’m not sitting directly in front of her.

  “I know.” Sophie smiles smugly at me from the passenger seat. “I trained him well.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” asks Maddie.

  “Um—”

  “Oh my God,” Andrea says. “I found out who Vanessa hooked up with!”

  “Seriously? Who?” Sophie’s seat belt strains as she whirls around to face them. And just like that, I’m blissfully forgotten, in favor of a very detailed discussion of Vanessa’s hookup with someone’s hot cousin. I just tune it out, easing Alfie through the parking deck.

  The second I park, all three girls leap from the car like it’s on fire. By the time I turn off the engine, they’re halfway to the mall entrance.

  I lean back against my seat, just happy to be alone.

  Until it occurs to me that I’m now stuck at the mall for two and a half hours. One hundred and fifty minutes. Is it weird that I could easily make that much time pass in Target, but I don’t even know how to kill half an hour here? The closest movie theater isn’t really walking distance, and even GameStop’s kind of meh when you’re not there to spend a gift card. Honestly, everything’s meh compared to the day I thought I’d be having—canvassing with Maya, maybe hitting up the patio section afterward . . .

  I tap into my text chain with Maya, realizing with a start that I never pressed send on that Bruce Bogtrotter GIF this
morning. So I send it now. I mean, Bruce Bogtrotter is always relevant.

  Eid goals. How’s the potluck prep going?

  No reply, no ellipses. I shove my phone in my pocket so I won’t obsess over it.

  But then a second later, I pull it out again, and tap into my group text with the guys. Not that there’s any chance Drew and Felipe are going to drop what they’re doing to race to the mall. I should have texted them before I left. But I guess there’s no harm in putting feelers out.

  Stuck at Perimeter with Sophie, anyone want to join me?

  Just as I’m about to pocket my phone again, Felipe writes back.

  Felipe: lol We’re already here! We’re bothering Nolan, he’s working

  Jamie: wow, everyone’s hanging out, guess my invitation got lost in the mail

  Felipe: Uh hello, what happened to mr sorry I can’t hang I’m canvassing today

  Drew: With maaaaya

  Felipe:

  Drew: sorry not sorry dude

  Felipe: Come hang, we’re just @ Disney store

  The mall is always super hectic on Saturdays, packed with stroller-pushing parents and clusters of Sophie-clone tweens. When I step through the Mickey-shaped Disney Store entrance, there’s Nolan at the checkout counter, ringing up a set of giant plastic Elsa and Anna dolls for a father and daughter.

  Nolan smiles and waves when he sees me. I’ve always liked Nolan, even before he and Felipe started dating. He’s preppy-looking, but not in a frat bro way like that intern from Dickers’s office. Nolan’s really polite too, so parents always love him. Even Drew’s über-Republican parents claim to love Nolan, just like they love Felipe. I can’t ever wrap my head around that. How can you love your son’s gay friends, but dick them over every time you vote?

  There’s still a line at Nolan’s counter, so I don’t want to bother him, but he points his chin toward Drew and Felipe at the back of the store. Turns out, they’re camped out near the stuffed animal display, arguing over whether Anastasia counts as a Disney princess.

  I jump right in. “She does now! Because of the Disney-Fox merger.”

  “Nope. Doesn’t count. Disney princess is like a specific thing.” Felipe cranes his neck, peering over my shoulder. “Hold that thought. I’m gonna go check on Nolan.”

  Drew waves him off with a Pumbaa doll’s stiff front leg. Then he turns back to me, shrugging. “So Maya ditched you.”