softly. “I’ve felt that all night.”
“I think I’m just nervous.” She bites her lip. “Sorry I was kind of incoherent in the coat closet. I’m not good at this. But I really . . . oh God, Gabe is looking at us. He’s, like, grinning.”
“I’m legit going to throttle him.”
“It’s not even just him. Everyone’s watching us.”
I nod. “At least now I get why Sophie was so dead set on a teen room.”
Mom sidles up to us as the main course is served, planting a hand on my shoulder. “How are you guys holding up?” she asks.
“Great!” Maya says.
“Jamie, you were wonderful. I loved the toast—”
“Wait. Really?”
“Yes, really!” Mom laughs. “Look, you made the political stuff relevant. You were adorable up there. I’m just so proud of you. Both of you.” She turns to Maya. “You guys have been working so hard this summer. I’d be shocked if you didn’t get that car, Maya. Such a good idea. What a cool reward to work toward.”
My brain skids to a stop. A car?
Maya looks frozen. She stares at her plate.
“And I guess it’s safe to say canvassing turned out to be more fun than you expected. Win-win.” Mom smiles, patting our shoulders, before moving on to greet Felipe.
Maya looks at me. “Jamie.”
“So . . . your parents said they’d give you a car if you went canvassing with me.” Her face falls. “Which is fine,” I say quickly. “I get it. A car is a car—”
“No! Jamie. That’s not why I canvassed. Okay, it kind of was at first, but—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I want to.” She grabs my hand under the table, lacing our fingers together. “I mean, yeah, I wasn’t really all in at first. It was something my mom roped me into doing. But then it started feeling more and more important, you know? With the racist guy and H.B. 28 and all the Koopa Troopas—”
“Yeah.”
“I promise it wasn’t just about the car.” She squeezes my hand. “I started to feel like we were making a difference . . . and I like spending time with you. Obviously.”
“So do I. I mean. Obviously.”
“This is really hard,” she says softly.
“What is?”
“Being in a room full of people. Not sneaking away to the coat closet again.”
“Oh.” I exhale. “No kidding.”
Sophie’s friends disappear to the teen room after dinner, but it feels like only moments before they’re herded back in for the hora. Hands joined, feet moving forward-step, back-step, around and around in circles. I keep my hand locked with Maya’s, feeling dizzy with joy. Like I’m threaded with something ancient, something larger than life. I feel so Jewish. I don’t think anything’s made me feel this wholly, utterly Jewish since Fifi. But this is the opposite of Fifi. The precise polar opposite.
The circles stall in place, and everyone steps back, clapping—everyone but a few of Mom’s burliest family friends. The DJ brings out a chair, and Sophie clutches the bottom and shrieks when she’s lifted. Then she comes down, and it’s Mom’s turn. Then it’s mine. At my own bar mitzvah, all I could think about was how many people were down below. How many people were watching me. But now I only see Maya.
I run back to her as soon as my feet hit the ground. We hook elbows and dance in the center of the circle. “Jamie, I swear,” she says, breathless from the movement. “Everyone’s looking at us.”
“Because we’re—”
“Not because we’re in the middle. Jamie. Look.”
I peer around the circle as I dance, and my heart thumps hard in my chest. Maya’s right. Sophie’s friends are openly staring. And giggling. And holding up their phones. Maddie’s glaring at Maya, looking close to tears all over again.
“Super weird, right?” Maya says. “It’s not in my head.”
“Definitely not.”
Everyone switches partners, so I leap toward Sophie. “Why, hello,” she says, linking our arms.
I cut straight to the point. “Why are your friends staring at us?”
I half expect her to deny it. Or say I’m imagining it. But she just shrugs and says plainly, “It’s probably the picture.”
My whole body goes cold. “The picture?”
We switch directions, still dancing, “Hava Nagila” still playing. I barely hear it.
“The one Maddie took of you and Maya kissing,” Sophie says. “Gabe put it on Grandma’s Instagram. And the Rossum account. I think it went kind of viral.”
I stop short.
Kissing? But we didn’t—we didn’t kiss. Believe me, kissing Maya is pretty much all I’ve thought about for weeks. I would fucking know if it happened.