The Voting Booth

by Brandy Colbert

  “What happened?” she asks. Her voice is soft and curious, not demanding.

  I swallow. It’s been a minute since I’ve talked about this. People found out pretty quickly after we moved to Flores Hills, even though I did my best not to bring it up. But after the first few months, nobody mentioned it. Like I had a Dead Brother stamp on me that other people could see, but nobody wanted to know how it felt to be branded.

  “He was shot. In a drive-by.”

  “Oh,” Marva says. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Duke.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s really not,” she says.

  I’m so used to people having the wrong reaction that I can’t believe it when I hear the right one. I can see the way people’s whole perception of me changes when I tell them the way Julian died. It’s not the same face they use when someone died from cancer. Then there are the others, who don’t look surprised, like the only place they’d expect him to be by that age was dead or in prison.

  “But why does your dad blame himself?”

  “I don’t really know. For letting him get so involved in activism? For daring to have a Black son?” I shrug. “You want to know the fucked-up thing? Julian was working on getting more attention on gun control in low-income areas. That was his big priority, since he said everyone wants to talk about Black-on-Black crime instead of the actual issues behind the crime.”

  “Exactly,” Marva says in a passionate tone that sounds just like my brother. It still freaks me out how much she reminds me of him in some ways. “One of my boyfriend’s friends tried to pull that Black-on-Black crime shit with me once and Alec almost murdered him.”

  “You didn’t get to him first?”

  “Surprisingly, no.” She pauses. “I guess I’m glad Alec stepped up. I would’ve been pissed if he’d just let his friend get away with that.”

  “How is that?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Dating a white guy,” I say, echoing her question about my mom earlier. Which for real seems like it was about a thousand years ago and not just this morning.

  Marva pulls down the car’s sun visor and sits up as straight as possible, but the sun is still shining right in her face. “I don’t think about it a lot. Not all the time. Actually…part of the reason I got with him is because he was so involved in social justice. He stands up for the right thing, even if it’s not the popular thing.”

  “Except when it comes to voting?”

  “Well, nobody’s perfect, right?”

  But I’m not convinced. I think it’s more than him not being perfect. I mean, I’m the last person who knows anything about relationships, but she tenses up every time she mentions him. That doesn’t seem like something that should happen when you’re really into someone.

  “Yeah, but that’s a big deal to you, right? Seems like he should be trying a little harder to keep you happy.”

  She stares out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel and saying nothing.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s not my business.”

  She presses her lips together before she sighs and says, “You’re not wrong.” She clears her throat. “What about you? Haven’t you ever dated girls who weren’t Black?”

  Define dating is what I want to say, but I just shrug. “Not really.”

  “Not really? Either you have or you haven’t.”

  A driver cuts her off just before she’s about to turn onto the street for the church. She swerves and throws them the finger, and I am saved from telling her exactly how inexperienced I am when it comes to girls.

  And how, when I do get close to girls, I seem incapable of not fucking it up.

  Her phone rings then, and she gestures to the console. “Could you grab that? It’s probably my dad. Maybe he has a lead on Selma!”

  I pick up her phone, barely glancing at the screen before I answer.

  But milliseconds before my thumb hits the talk button, I see the name flashing across the screen.

  Alec Buckman

  Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

  I don’t like drama or confrontation. I’ll do anything to avoid it, from making myself seem smaller when I know dudes are trying to mess with me to, well, handling things the way I did with Kendall. Some people might call it cowardly or a dick move, but I’m not looking for trouble.

  So I’m not sure why I don’t just tell her she needs to answer it. Or just send the call to voicemail. Or…anything besides what I do.

  Which is pick up and say hello.

  There’s a long pause on the other end. So long I think he must have hung up. Then a deep voice says, “Uhhh, I’m trying to get ahold of Marva?”

  I look at her and wonder if she’s going to kill me while the car is still moving.

  “What does he want? Is it about Selma? Tell him I’m driving!”

  “She, ah, can’t come to the phone right now. Can I have her call you back?”

  “Who is this?”

  “I think she might be able to explain better. Can she call you in a few?”

  Marva frowns. “Is that my dad?”

  “Sure,” the voice says, tight and low. “Will you tell Marva that Alec called?”

  “I, AH, THINK THAT WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND.” HE slides the phone into the console and sits back in his seat.

  “What?” I squeeze my hands around the steering wheel so I won’t go careening into the church parking lot. “That was Alec? Why did you answer?”

  “You told me to—”

  “Because I thought it was my dad. Jesus, Duke!”

  He sighs. “Sorry. I…”

  But he doesn’t finish, so I have no clue why the hell he would think it was a good idea to answer the phone when my boyfriend was calling. God, I can’t even imagine what Alec is thinking right now. Especially since I never texted him back this morning.

  “Do you mind if I call him after I park? I don’t want him to—”

  “Worry? I get it,” he says easily. “I probably wouldn’t like it if my girl were in the car with a strange dude.”

  I’m pretty sure Alec is leaning more toward pissed than worried. And I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  Except I can’t find a space. The parking lot of the church is enormous, and it’s completely full now. Ugh. I drive around one more time, hoping to catch someone as they’re leaving. But no one’s coming out, and as I slowly drive past the entrance, I see the line is trailing out the door and all the way around the colossal stone building.

  “Damn, this is wild,” Duke says, craning his neck to look at the line.

  I pull out of the lot and cruise down the local side streets, but they’re packed, too. I finally squeeze into a spot a couple of blocks away and get out, clutching my phone.

  We don’t talk as we walk to the church. Duke’s got his drumsticks out again, drumming on his thighs in the absence of another surface. He is totally lost in his rhythm, and I can’t stop looking at my phone, thinking of Alec. When we get to the church, I tell Duke I’ll catch up to him. He goes to stand in line while I find a quiet spot around the side.

  I pull up Alec’s number in my list of favorites and lean against the building.

  The phone rings three times before he picks up. I hold my breath, waiting for his voice.

  “You got my message?” He doesn’t sound mean, exactly, but definitely not happy.

  He sounds…cold.

  “I know this is going to seem ridiculous, but hear me out.” I quickly explain my whole day, starting with showing up at the polling place and ending with two minutes ago. “This is probably the weirdest day I’ve ever had, and it’s still not over.”

  Alec takes a deep breath, and I brace myself for the white-hot anger I’m sure is bubbling under the surface. Except—that’s not what happens at all.

  “Okay,” he says, and then I hear someone calling his name. It sounds crowded, like he’s walking around between classes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Heading to Government,” he says.


  I practically laugh at the irony. But if his tone before was cold, it’s cool now. Which is somehow even worse. Cold means he’s trying to be unkind. Cool means indifference.

  “Well, did you hear what I said? Selma is missing. She’s been gone since before lunch. What if she never comes home?”

  “She’ll come home, Marva.”

  I hesitate. Something is off about this. About him. It’s like I’m talking to a stranger. One who doesn’t care much about what happens to me or my cat. And who doesn’t care about me hanging out with some guy all day instead of texting him back.

  “Do…Do you want to come help me look for her when you get out of school? I should be all finished helping Duke by then.”

  I said his name again on purpose, just to remind Alec that he should be upset. And I get…nothing.

  “Text me when you’re done,” he says. “I’ll try to meet up with you.”

  That one little word sets me off like a bomb.

  “You’ll try?” I have to stop myself from shouting. “Alec, I’m your girlfriend. You know how important Selma is to me. She’s like family. And what else are you doing? It’s not like you need to get somewhere to vote.”

  A long, thick silence blooms between us.

  “Marva, I’ve already told you this is my choice.” His voice is so eerily calm it enrages me further, though I didn’t think that was possible. “You may not have been listening or believed me, but what I said stands. I’m not changing my mind. And you’re not going to change me, so maybe you should just give up now.”

  My head jerks back. “Give up? On you voting? Or…?”

  I can’t say it. Because the thought that Alec means I should give up on us makes my stomach cramp. Sure, things have been a little tense lately, and we haven’t seemed to be on the same page like we usually are. But isn’t that what happens when you’ve been in a relationship for a while? Don’t you have to readjust? Go through rough patches to get to the good ones?

  And we’re Marva Sheridan and Alec Buckman: the couple at Salinas Prep. As soon as I became friends with Alec, everything turned around for me at school. I didn’t act any differently than I had before, but I guess because I was Alec-approved, everyone felt comfortable actually getting to know me. Once we started dating, it was like people couldn’t get enough of us.

  “Maybe we should talk later,” he says in that same cool voice.

  “Yes, please. I mean, if you think you can make some time for me?” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.

  “I’ll hit you up after last period, okay?”

  My throat is aching. And I don’t know if I’m holding back tears because of Selma or Alec or how fucking frustrating it’s been just trying to get one person’s ballot in. Or if it’s the worry I haven’t been able to chase away for months now, despite my best efforts: What if this election doesn’t go the way I and millions of other people want it—no, need it—to go?

  It could be all three.

  A text from him comes through not thirty seconds after we hang up. I swipe to open it. Maybe it’s an apology, one he couldn’t manage to say over the phone. Which I don’t love, but it’s better than nothing.

  It’s not an apology.

  You should put up a missing poster for Selma on her page

  ALEC AND I HAD BEEN FRIENDS FOR A LITTLE over six months when he asked me to come up to his grandparents’ house.

  It was late June, a couple of weeks after school had let out. We were at his house, eating a snack that Deena, the Buckmans’ housekeeper, had made. He stood up to get us drinks.

  “Hey, uh, do you want to go up to my grandparents’ for the Fourth?” He was burning a path from the kitchen island to the professional-grade fridge, tossing the words over his shoulder.

  He seemed nervous. And I wasn’t sure I’d seen that before, but it was kind of cute. He was normally a ball of confidence wrapped up in disarming good looks, so it was kind of refreshing to see him flustered.

  “Your grandparents?”

  “Yeah, they live on a ranch north of here, and we go up every Fourth. I usually bring a friend, and this year I want it to be you.”

  I sat up straight on my stool, resting my hands on the cool marble countertop of the island. “Really?”

  I don’t know why I was so surprised. By then, Alec and I were spending a lot of time together. So much that people were starting to look at us strangely, as if they thought there was something more. I had to admit, once I’d gotten to know Alec, it had been easy to see why everyone couldn’t stop talking about him. And I’d never needed much convincing on the attractive part.

  But I really enjoyed his friendship. I loved talking to him in more detail about the causes we both followed online. He was passionate about lots of the same stuff I cared about: working toward a single-payer healthcare system, making sure immigrants are treated with empathy and humanity, putting an end to school shootings. Our conversations were so full of fire and good energy that I always left Alec feeling like I could change the world.

  I knew Alec’s parents by then, and they’d always been cool to me. But I have to say, I was a little skeptical about spending so much time with his grandparents—and on their turf. I’d encountered more than my fair share of my classmates’ grandparents in vintage Chanel and Louis Vuitton who would smile in my face and question what I was doing at a place like Salinas Prep behind my back. Then there were the people who practically bragged about how racist their relatives were, nervous-laughing about how contentious holidays got when they brought up their differing politics.

  Basically, I wasn’t too excited about meeting the family of anyone who went to Salinas Prep, even Alec’s. But I couldn’t say that, because he was sweet to invite me. And he’d chosen me out of all his friends.

  “Yes, really,” he said, smiling. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.…I mean, you have so many friends, I just didn’t think…”

  “Yeah, and you’re one of my best,” he said, walking over to stand in front of me. “Come to the ranch. You’ll love it.”

  I stared into his soft gray eyes, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that celebrating July Fourth wasn’t a priority for me. My parents and I had just celebrated Juneteenth with some of their friends—something I hadn’t even mentioned to Alec because I had a strong feeling he didn’t know what it was, and sometimes I got tired of explaining my Blackness.

  “Yes,” I said with a wide smile. “I mean, I have to check with my parents, but I’d love to. Thank you.”

  “Nana and Papa will be so stoked to meet you.”

  Wait. Did that mean he’d told his grandparents about me? But I shut down that tingling feeling right away. He probably told his grandparents about all his friends, and I was the newest.

  By the time the trip rolled around a couple of weeks later, I was the nervous one. Mom sat on my bed while I packed, petting Selma and watching me.

  “They’re going to love you,” she said.

  “What if they don’t? What if it’s really awkward?”

  “I can’t imagine anyone not loving you, but if they don’t, that’s on them.” Mom said it so simply. So matter-of-fact, as if no other possibility could exist.

  But I’d never had an easy time making friends, and I didn’t see why this would be any different. Then again, I’d always been more comfortable around people older than me—like, my parents’ age and up—so maybe being around Alec’s grandparents wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  They lived in a town called Pearl Creek, and it was gorgeous. Quaint and filled with tiny specialized shops and historic buildings.

  His grandparents lived on a sprawling lot that seemed to go on forever, with several smaller buildings set back from the main house on the rolling green hills. I instantly felt calmer the second we stepped out of the car. The air was clean and the land was quiet, and it felt as if we’d driven into some unknown paradise just hours from my home.

  “We’ve heard so many wonderful things a
bout you, Marva.” Alec’s grandmother embraced me as soon as I stepped foot on her porch. She smelled like lemons and rosemary, and when she pulled away, she looked right in my eyes and said, “But my grandson failed to tell me just how beautiful you are.”

  I glanced at Alec. He didn’t object, and his face was turning the brightest shade of pink. I held back a giggle.

  His grandfather was just as warm, hugging me as if we’d known each other for years. “We’re so happy you could make it, Marva. Alec tells us you’re one of his best friends.”

  It didn’t take me long to become smitten with them. Alec’s nana and papa, who insisted I call them by their first names of Gertie and Frank, were two of the kindest people I’d ever met. They seemed genuinely interested in everything about me and asked a lot of questions—but not so many that it felt like they were being intrusive.

  We got there late in the evening, so after a light meal of soup and salad, Gertie showed me to my room, all the way down the hall from Alec’s. It had its own bathroom. And it was cozy, with fresh flowers in a vase on the table, soft linens on the bed, and a rocking chair in the corner.

  “That used to be my grandmother’s,” Gertie said after she noticed me admiring it. “Somehow she got it all the way over here from Romania in the early twentieth century.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Well, sleep tight, and let us know if you need anything, Marva. It’s really wonderful having you here.” She smiled before closing the door behind her.

  The sweet smell of lavender wafting through the open window lulled me to sleep, and I woke up feeling more rested than I had all year. We headed down to the creek after breakfast, where we spent most of the day, then made a stop through town for a late lunch and to pick up any last things they’d forgotten for the Fourth the next day.

  We all pitched in for dinner, which was shrimp salad, grilled haloumi with vegetables, prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches, and the best lemonade I’ve ever had. This was the most time I’d ever spent with Alec’s parents, and though they’d always been nice to me, they seemed even more relaxed up in Pearl Creek.