is going to count.”
“Wow.” She pulls back. “That’s what you want to know? No congrats? No questions about my move? Thanks for being happy for me.”
“Why do you need me to be happy for you?” I spit out. “You have Jenna, don’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were together.” My voice cracks. “Yesterday. I saw the picture.”
“Seriously? Is that what you’re upset about? She was driving through on her way up to Athens. We went to the coffee shop next door on my break.”
“When’s the last time you asked me to meet up with you during a break?”
“I’m sorry, but aren’t you too busy ‘canvassing’?” She raises her fingers into air quotes.
“What are you trying to say?” My eyes narrow.
“You know exactly what I’m saying.” She crosses her arms. “Don’t act like you’ve been sitting around sobbing about me. You’ve been plenty distracted.”
I get that she didn’t understand what H.B. 28 was about. And it’s fine that she didn’t want to go knocking on doors—even I didn’t want to until my mom pushed me into it. But to belittle everything we’ve been doing?
“Maybe some of us want to try to effect change around here. Maybe some of us care about things beyond ourselves. This election is important.”
“If you think I’m wasting gas money to drive down here to vote for that smiling potato, you should take up stand-up comedy, because that’s fucking hilarious.”
“It’s not funny!” I stare at her. “This election has huge stakes. How can you not get that?”
“I go to rallies and marches. I do my part, but I’m not participating in a corrupt system and pretending I deserve a cookie for it.”
“How can you say that?” The men at the bar glance over at us. I know I’m talking way too loudly. But I don’t care. “They’re going to ban hijab!” Sara looks surprised and I feel a tiny bit of satisfaction. “You didn’t know. Why would you? You’re too focused on yourself—and fucking trash cans—to notice what else is going on. You didn’t text me to say Happy Eid or anything.” I blink back tears. “I posted a photo on Instagram, since I know you live on there, but you didn’t even like it. You’re too busy with Jenna to notice anything or anyone else.”
“I’m sorry I forgot about Eid, but I can’t help it if I follow a thousand people on Instagram and you follow ten, Maya!” Sara exhales. “Do you know how impossible it is to be your friend? To be your only fucking friend? God forbid I have more than one person I’m close to. Most people do. Do you understand how much pressure it puts on me that you lean on me for all your emotional support?”
“Believe me, the message is loud and clear that I can’t lean on you at all.” Tears stream down my face now. “When my parents split this summer—I had no one to talk to. No one. You were always too busy.”
“What . . .” Sara’s eyes widen. She pauses as she digests this information. Then she shakes her head. “If you needed to talk about something, anything, all you had to do was tell me it was urgent, and I’d have made the time for you. But no.” She glares at me. “You had to be all precious about it, and now you’re acting like a martyr, like I chose not to be there for you when I didn’t even know.”
“There was no time to tell you! You’re always working.”
“Gee, I’m sorry, Maya. I’m sorry my dad isn’t a doctor who can fund my entire college education. I’m sorry I have to get scholarships and loans and even then have to save up so I can eat more than ramen noodles during college. Forgive me for trying to make a living for myself.”
There is a long ugly silence. She leans against the seat and glances out the window. “Friday can’t come soon enough,” she mutters. “I can’t wait to have friends who aren’t such damn high schoolers.”
I jump out of the booth, gulping down sobs. It’s hard to breathe. I can barely see through my tears. I rush outside and lean against the side of the brick restaurant wall. Sara hasn’t followed. Not that she would.
That’s something old Sara would do.
I pull out my phone and try to keep my hands from trembling. Acting like a martyr? The words feel like needles cutting into me.
I have to get out of here.
But I’m not going home. I