jewelry. I know a dozen’s not a particularly huge number of volunteers in the grand scheme of things, but quarters are so tight, people are crowded all the way to the stack of cardboard boxes and yard signs lining the back wall. Everyone’s holding the manila envelopes Alison distributed when we walked in, but nothing’s really happened yet, even though we’re a few minutes past the start time.
I glance back toward the door. Still no Maya.
Though I guess I shouldn’t judge her for being late when Gabe isn’t even here yet. And sorry, but if Gabe doesn’t show up, I’m bailing.
But right then, Gabe emerges from the side-entrance door, wearing a blindingly bright white T-shirt with Rossum’s logo across the chest. He climbs onto a kick stool and cups his hands around his mouth, like he’s doing crowd control. “Welcome, one and all, to volunteer orientation,” Gabe announces. “Now holler at me if you’re ready to have a Rossumly awesome time. State District Forty is about to get hella canvassed, and I am so here for it.” He pounds a fist in the air.
It’s like watching your oldest, cringiest teacher try to win over the class with slang they googled during their planning period. And I’m pretty sure Gabe being only twenty-three makes it worse.
After a few minutes of Gabe booming a bunch of vaguely campaign-related words, Maya slinks in through the back. I wave tentatively, and she walks over. “I grabbed you an extra packet,” I whisper.
“Thanks. And FYI, there are at least two car alarms going off in the parking lot right now.”
“Gabe’s greatest talent.” I attempt a casual smile.
Maya’s smile back is ninety percent grimace.
“Now I know this all may be a little out of your comfort zone,” Gabe is saying. “So let’s take a minute to emotionally prepare. Repeat after me. We’re awesome.”
“We’re awesome,” I mumble, with the rest of the volunteers. Maya looks skeptical.
“Rossum is awesome,” Gabe says.
“Rossum is awesome.”
“And we’re about to kick some canv . . . ass!” Gabe claps. “Sweet. You guys can partner up, and then we’ll turn it over to Hannah, who’s going to walk us through the Door to Door app.”
“Go, Hannah!” cheers the woman with dimples.
Hannah winks. “Thanks, Mom.”
As soon as Gabe descends from his stool, he makes a beeline for Maya and me. “’Sup, Big J!” He fist-bumps me. “Glad you could make it.” He turns to Maya. “I’ve been trying to talk this guy into canvassing all summer. Should have known all I needed to do was bring in a few cute girls. Am I right?”
“Gabe, stop.” I feel my cheeks burn. Maya looks unamused.
Gabe pats my shoulder. “I see our social media queen just got here.” He juts his chin toward the back of the room. I glance back to find Grandma in the doorway, wearing a printed blouse, blazer, and her signature red glasses. She smiles at me and points to Gabe, curling her finger back to beckon him over. “Duty calls,” Gabe says.
“Wow,” Maya mutters as soon as he leaves. “How did Rossum find this guy?”
“Oh. Uh, Rossum went to Hebrew school with Gabe’s sister Rachel, so I guess—”
“Nepotism. Great,” she says. “Also, why are the campaign headquarters in a bookstore?”
“Well, they have a real office space in Dunwoody, so this is just a satellite location. Kind of an extra home base. Fawkes and Horntail usually does book clubs and stuff back here, but they’re renting it to the campaign for a dollar per month.”
“A dollar?”
“They really want Rossum to win.”
Maya’s expression softens a little. “Well, clearly, you’re Gabe’s favorite volunteer.” She lowers her voice, imitating him: “I’ve been trying to talk this guy into canvassing all summer.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m not really his favorite. I’m more like . . . his cousin.”
Maya’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She pauses. “Ohhhh.”
I shrug, and glance back at Gabe—who’s currently getting a smudge rubbed off his face by Grandma.
“Sorry,” Maya says sheepishly.
I turn back to her. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Well, I’m sorry I was late.”
“You didn’t really miss much.”
“We just knock on doors, right? Give them a flyer? Say ‘Vote for Rossum, he’s awesome’?”
“Well, there’s a script, but Gabe said it’s good if we use our own words. And then they want us to try to get people to commit to voting, and we mark down their response—definite yes, definite no, maybe—”
“So it’s like those notes you pass in third grade.”
I smile. “Will you go out with Jordan Rossum on July ninth? Circle yes, no, maybe