“I didn’t mean to lash out,” I say. “But I promise, there’s nothing to think about. Jamie and me . . . there’s nothing happening.”
And it’s probably for the best.
We’re quiet for a few seconds, and then my father clears his throat.
“There’s also one more reason for the family meeting,” he says.
My mother smiles at this. Both of them stand up.
“What is it?” I ask them.
“Come along and see.” My father nods to the front door. We slip on our sandals and walk onto the driveway.
There’s my dad’s Toyota Highlander. Next to it is a Jetta.
“Whose car is that?” I ask.
“Yours,” my mother says.
“What?” I glance at them and back at the car. “Are you serious right now? You’re not pranking me? That is my car?”
“It’s been waiting in my apartment garage for a week now.” My dad smiles. “Thought we’d surprise you with it after the election, but today felt like a good time.”
“Hopefully you like it,” my mother says.
“It’s certified pre-owned. And it’s only got twelve thousand miles,” my dad says. He continues to rattle off the features as I walk over and trace a hand over the metal exterior. I peek inside. Black seats. Car mats. A pink bow on the steering wheel.
“Thank you so much,” I whisper. I pull them both into a group hug.
My father hands me the keys. He’s getting in the passenger seat. We’re going to take it for a spin.
I turn on the engine. I’m happy about this, but sadness seeps in too—because part of happiness is sharing things with the people you care about most.
And the one person I want to share this with more than anyone else is Jamie.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jamie
Gabe has been avoiding me since Saturday, and I guess I’ve let him. But I can’t put this off any longer.
I park and walk in through the Fawkes and Horntail side entrance, stomach churning.
Hardly anyone’s here—I guess everyone’s at the Dunwoody office. It’s just Hannah and Alison, yawning at their desks under the fluorescent lights of the annex. But a moment later, Gabe rolls his chair into view, iced coffee in hand. He pauses a few feet from Hannah’s desk, laptop resting on his crossed legs.
I feel like puking. I’m not even kidding. My breakfast may not make it out of here with me.
Of course, Gabe grins when he sees me, like everything’s totally normal. “Big J! You here for poll observer training?”
I glare down at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Uh. Whoa.”
“I’m not kidding. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Gabe sets his laptop on the floor and takes a sip of his drink. “If this is about the picture—”
“Of course it’s about the picture!”
Hannah and Alison exchange glances, eyebrows halfway to the ceiling. “We’re gonna just . . .” Hannah’s already halfway to the annex door; moments later, Alison clicks it shut behind them.
“Dude,” Gabe says. “Chill. I took it down.”
“Yeah, from Rossum’s site.” I step toward him. “Great. What about BuzzFeed, Upworthy, Hypable—”
“Mashable now too.” Gabe pokes his finger up cheerfully. “And Bustle and the HuffPo. You guys are more popular than Fifi! Who knew?”
“You knew! This was completely calculated!”
Gabe leans back, calmly gripping his cup. “Did I think it could potentially drive a little traffic to the campaign at a critical time? Sure. But did I know it would go viral—”
“You’ve been obsessed with going viral! All summer! Don’t act like this wasn’t your endgame.”
“Look. Does it help the campaign? Yeah. More enthusiasm means more people actually showing up to vote. That’s how this works.”
The look on Gabe’s face right now. The way his lips tug casually upward. Like me losing my temper is just a funny little Monday morning distraction.
“I swear to God—”
“Look, Big J, don’t hate the player—”
“Are you even hearing yourself? You used us. You put a really private moment up on the internet without our consent.” My fists clench as I stare at him. “And thanks to you, Maya’s not speaking to me.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault she overreacted—”
“She didn’t overreact!” My entire body floods with heat. “Maya’s not allowed to date, and you put up a picture that basically looks like we’re making out. In public! You think that’s how Maya wanted her parents to find out about us? From BuzzFeed?”
Us. One tiny syllable. The word feels like an open wound.
There’s no us anymore for Maya’s parents to find out about.
“Dude, how they find out isn’t the dealbreaker here,” Gabe says. “If they’re freaking out, they would have freaked out