but it still affects me—and my mom wears hijab and she—”
“Oh, I see. Well, you’ll be thrilled to know that this bill is for her safety as well. These guidelines let our neighbors know women like your mom have nothing to hide. Our research shows that greater transparency leads to fewer religiously motivated attacks.”
Maya inhales so sharply, I can almost feel it.
“You’re blaming hate crimes on the victim!” I say, flushing. “Your logic implies that wearing a hijab—a religious garment—means you’re hiding something. Are you serious right now?”
“Yessir, Congressman Holden and I are serious about protecting our constituents.”
Maya’s eyes flash. “What do you think my mom is hiding under her hijab?”
“I hear you,” Ms. Dickers says, smiling gently at Maya. “And it breaks my heart that a few bad apples make it necessary for us to take certain steps—”
There’s an abrupt knock—which turns out to be the preppy guy staffer. “Pardon,” he says. “Ms. Dickers, your eleven fifteen is here.”
“Already?” She smiles widely at me first, and then at Maya. “Well, time just flies, doesn’t it? Thank y’all so much for taking the time to stop by and share your concerns.”
Maya shakes her head. “But—”
“Blaine will walk you out to the waiting room. You two have a wonderful day, now!” She waggles her fingers, and then steps past Yacht Club Blaine, who lingers in the doorway, barely sparing us a glance. When I meet Maya’s eyes, she looks as bewildered as I feel. Thirty seconds ago, we were in the middle of a meeting. Now we’re being escorted out by a guy who looks like he was born inside a Brooks Brothers.
“How’d it go?” Kristin asks cheerfully, but we barely acknowledge her. I just stumble out to the hallway behind Maya, my heart in overdrive. Maya turns to me, looking like she’s this close to bursting, but she doesn’t say a word until we’re in the elevator.
Then she explodes. “What a monster. A few bad apples. She actually went there.” She combs her hands through her hair, almost aggressively. “And the way she was just smiling the whole time, totally calm. So evil!”
“Yeah.” I blink. “I felt like I was losing my mind—”
“Right! The gaslighting. And they just create their own totally warped reality. The bandanna thing. What?” Her hands fly to her temples. “She’s seriously trying to sell this like it has nothing to do with their raging Islamophobia!”
“And then the victim-blaming—”
“Oh my God, don’t get me started. She’s an awful person. Like, these are terrible people.” The doors open, and Maya practically jumps out of the elevator, like she can’t leave this place soon enough. “I mean, that sucked.” She meets my eyes. “But you. Jamie, wow.”
I blush. “What?”
“I was like, whoaaaa, Jamie. Call her out. You were amazing.”
“Amazing?” I gape at her.
“Okay, so explain the supermajority thing. If Rossum wins, there’s no supermajority? And they need that to pass this bill? What even is a supermajority?”
“It’s when one party has two-thirds or more of the seats,” I say. “Republicans have had that in the Georgia House for forever, and now Rossum’s our last hope to block it in the senate.”
Amazing. I was amazing. Is she serious?
“And they need a supermajority to pass H.B. 28?” Maya asks.
“Yes, because Governor Doyle says he’ll veto it—”
Maya’s face whips toward me. “Wait, really? He’s a Republican.”
“I think he basically doesn’t want to piss off the film industry, you know? He mostly cares about the optics. But yeah, the thing with the supermajority is that a Republican supermajority in both houses can—”
“Override a veto,” Maya says. “Got it.” She stares glumly out toward the parking lot. “We really need Rossum to win, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We do.”
There’s nothing sadder than coming back down to earth after you shoot your shot and fail. Even the backtrack through the parking lot makes me ache. We’ve barely spent an hour here, so we’re walking by the same parked cars we passed on our way in. But the whole world feels like it’s gone gray since then. We came in so hopeful. It’s strange to even realize that, because at the time, I mostly felt terrified. But I think some tiny part of me thought this meeting could make a real difference. Maybe we’d say the perfect thing. Maybe hearing it from us in person would make Dickers see things differently. And then she’d convince Holden to strike the bill, and he’d issue a public apology, and then we’d end up on Upworthy or one of