“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