Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (4 page)

“Okay, Nora's the opposite of a badass.” I shake my head. “I am such a badder ass than Nora.”

“And don't let anyone tell you otherwise,” says Martin, settling back in beside Abby with a beer in hand.

Abby stretches and pulls herself up, resting her hand on my hood. “Come on. People are dancing.”

“Good for people,” says Nick.

“
We
are dancing.” Abby extends both arms toward him.

“Noooooo.” But he puts the guitar down, and lets her pull him up.

“Um, but have you even seen my sweet moves?” asks Martin.

“Let's see them.”

He does this weird, rhythmic pantomime of swimming, followed by this side-to-side shoulder lurch/butt scoot combo.

“Yeah, you're awesome,” Abby says. “Come on.” She tugs his hands, and he springs up, beaming. Then she guides her little harem to this carpeted area near the stereo, where people are drinking and grinding to Kanye. Except Abby kind of goes into her own world when she dances, so Nick and Martin end up bobbing self-consciously and pointedly not looking at each other.

“Oh my God,” says Leah. “It's happening. We're finally witnessing something more painful than Nick's bar mitzvah.”

“Awkwardness achievement unlocked.”

“Should we be filming this?”

“Just savor it.” I hook my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. And Leah's weird about hugs sometimes, but today she buries her face in my shoulder and murmurs something into the fabric of my robes.

“What?” I nudge her.

But she just shakes her head and sighs.

Leah drops us all off at Nick's at midnight, and from there, it's a seven-minute walk to my house. The indoor lights are off everywhere, but the neighborhood is still lit up orange. There are a few smashed pumpkins and lots of toilet paper tangled through branches. Shady Creek may be a magical fairyland of a suburb most of the time, but when the candy runs out on Halloween, the criminal underbelly emerges. At least in my neighborhood.

It's chilly and unnaturally quiet—if Abby weren't with me,
I would have to drown out the silence with music. It feels like we're the last survivors of a zombie apocalypse. Wonder Woman and a gay dementor. It doesn't bode well for the survival of the species.

We turn at the end of Nick's street. I could do this walk with my eyes closed.

“All right, I have something to ask you,” Abby says.

“Oh yeah?”

“So, Martin was talking to me when you were in the bathroom.”

I feel something freeze up inside of me.

“Okay,” I say.

“Yeah, and this is—maybe I'm reading this wrong, but he was talking about homecoming, and he brought it up like three times.”

“Did he ask you to the dance?”

“No. It was like—I guess it seemed like he was maybe trying to?”

Martin freaking Addison. He's like the opposite of suave.

But holy fuck, I'm so relieved he didn't tell her.

“I'm guessing he didn't get anywhere with that.”

Abby bites her lip and smiles. “He's a really nice guy.”

“Yup.”

“But I'm already going with Ty Allen. He asked me two weeks ago.”

“Really? How did I not know that?”

“Sorry—was I supposed to announce it on the Tumblr?”
She grins. “Anyway, I don't know if you might be able to mention that to Martin. You're friends with him, right? I'd just rather not deal with him asking me, if I can avoid it.”

“Um. I'll see what I can do.”

“What about you? Are you still boycotting?” Abby asks.

“Of course.” Leah, Nick, and I are of the mind that homecoming is just achingly lame, and we skip it every year.

“You could ask Leah,” Abby says. She looks at me sidelong, with a weird, probing expression.

I feel a storm of laughter brewing. “You think I like Leah.”

“I don't know,” she says, smiling and shrugging. “You looked so sweet together tonight.”

“Me and Leah?” I ask.
But I'm gay. GAY. Gaaaaaaaayyyyy
. God, I should really just tell her. I can kind of picture her reaction. Eyes widening. Mouth falling open.

Yeah. Maybe not tonight.

“Hey,” I say, not quite looking at her. “Do you think you would ever be into Martin?”

“Martin Addison? Um. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. I don't know. He's a decent guy. I guess.” My voice sounds thin and high. Like Voldemort. I can't believe I'm doing this.

“Aww. It's cute that you guys are friends.”

I don't even know what to say to that.

My mom is waiting for us in the kitchen when we walk in, and it's time to brace myself. The thing about my mom is she's
a child psychologist. And it shows.

“So, tell me about the party, guys!”

Here we go.
It was awesome, Mom. Good thing Garrett had so much booze
. I mean, really.

Abby is better at this than I am—she launches into a really detailed description of everyone's costumes, while my mom brings over this epic plate of snacks from the counter. My parents are usually in bed by ten, and I can tell my mom is exhausted. But I knew she'd be awake when we got home. She seriously lives for opportunities to be a
hey guys I'm cool
kind of mom.

“And Nick played guitar,” Abby says.

“Nick's very talented,” says my mom.

“Oh, I know,” Abby replies. “Girls were like swooning over him.”

“That's why I keep telling Simon to learn guitar. His sister used to play.”

“I'm going to bed,” I say. “Abby, are you good?” My mom has Abby staying in Alice's room, which is hilarious, considering Nick has been spending the night on my bedroom floor for about ten years.

It isn't until I'm in my room that I can finally relax. Bieber is already passed out at the foot of my bed in a nest of jeans and hoodies. My dementor robes end up in a heap on the floor. I did aim for the hamper. I'm kind of comically unathletic.

I lie on top of my bed without getting in it. I hate messing
up the sheets before I absolutely have to. I know this is weird, but I make my bed every single day, even though the rest of my room is a hellscape of paper and laundry and books and clutter. Sometimes I feel like my bed is a lifeboat.

I put in my earbuds. Nora and I share a wall, so I'm not supposed to listen to anything through the speakers after she goes to bed.

I need something familiar. Elliott Smith.

I'm wide awake and still kind of electrified from the party. I think it was good. I don't have a lot to compare it to. It's a little bit crazy to think that I had a beer. I know it's astonishingly lame to even think that about a single beer. Garrett and all the soccer guys probably think it's crazy to stop at one. But they're not me.

I don't think I'll tell my parents about it. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get in trouble if I did. I don't know. I need to spend some time in my head with this new Simon. My parents have a way of ruining things like this. They get so curious. It's like they have this idea of me, and whenever I step outside of that, it blows their minds. There's something so embarrassing about that in a way I can't even describe.

I mean, telling my parents was easily the weirdest, most horrible thing about having a girlfriend. All three times. It was honestly worse than any of the breakups. I'll never forget the day I told them about my eighth-grade girlfriend. Rachel Thomas. Oh my God. First, they wanted to see her yearbook
picture. My dad actually brought the yearbook into the kitchen where the light is better, and he was perfectly silent for a full minute. And then:

“That girl has some eyebrows.”

I mean, I hadn't noticed until he said it, but after that, it was kind of all I could think about.

My mom was the one who got obsessed with the idea that I had a girlfriend even though I had never had one before. I don't know why that came as such a freaking surprise to her, since I'm pretty sure most people start out never having had one. But yeah. And she wanted to know everything: how Rachel and I got together, and what my feelings were, and whether we needed her to drive us anywhere. She was just so bizarrely interested in all of it. It didn't help that my sisters never talk about boys or dating, so it was like a huge spotlight on me.

Honestly, the weirdest part is how they made it feel like this big coming out moment. Which can't be normal. As far as I know, coming out isn't something that straight kids generally worry about.

That's the thing people wouldn't understand. This coming out thing. It's not even about me being gay, because I know deep down that my family would be fine with it. We're not religious. My parents are Democrats. My dad likes to joke around, and it would definitely be awkward, but I guess I'm lucky. I know they're not going to disown me. And I'm sure some people in school would give me hell, but my friends would be fine.
Leah loves gay guys, so she'd probably be freaking thrilled.

But I'm tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways. I get a girlfriend. I have a beer. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: Nov 1 at 11:12 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners

Jacques,

I hope your Halloween was excellent, and that your simplicity and badassery hit the mark. Things were really quiet around here. We only had about six trick-or-treaters. Of course, that means I am contractually obligated to eat the leftover Reese's cups.

I can't believe it's already almost homecoming. I'm excited about it. Make no mistake, football is still my
least favorite sport, but I actually really like going to the homecoming game. I guess it's something about the lights and the drumbeats and the scent of the air. Fall air always smells like possibility. Or maybe I just like ogling the cheerleaders. You know me.

Are you doing anything interesting this weekend? We're supposed to have suck nice weather. Excuse me, dick nice weather. ☺

—Blue

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: Nov 1 at 5:30 PM

SUBJECT: Reese's are better than sex

Very funny, Blue. VERY FUNNY.

Anyway, I'm sorry you got stuck at home last night for only six trick-or-treaters. What a waste. Next year, couldn't you just stick the bowl on the porch with a note telling the kids to take two? Granted, the kids in my neighborhood would have taken candy by the fistful while cackling with villainous laughter, and they probably would have peed on the note for good measure. But maybe the kids in your neighborhood are more civilized.

But seriously, leftover Reese's? Is it possible to send chocolate over email these days? PLEASE SAY IT IS.

My Halloween wasn't bad. I won't say too much about it, but I ended up going to this guy's party. I don't think it was really my scene, but it was definitely interesting. I guess it was nice to step out of my comfort zone (wait—I didn't just ruin my chance of convincing you I'm a hardcore party ninja, right?).

So, I keep thinking about the idea of secret identities. Do you ever feel locked into yourself? I'm not sure if I'm making sense here. I guess what I mean is that sometimes it seems like everyone knows who I am except me.

Okay, I'm glad you mentioned homecoming, because I totally forgot that Spirit Week is this week. Monday is Decades Day, right? I guess I should check online so I can avoid making an ass of myself. Honestly, I can't believe they schedule Spirit Week right after Halloween. Creekwood really blows its load on costume days all at once. How do you think you'll dress up for Monday? I know you're not going to answer that.

And I totally figured you'd be ogling the cheerleaders on Friday, because you're all about the ladies. Me too, Blue. Me too.

—Jacques

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: Nov 2 at 1:43 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Reese's are better than sex

Reese's are better than sex? Admittedly, I wouldn't know, but I have to hope you're wrong about that one. Maybe you should stop having heterosexual sex, Jacques. I'm just saying.

The kids in your neighborhood sound really charming. Urine isn't a huge issue here, so maybe next year, I'll take your advice. It will probably be moot, anyway, because my mom almost never goes out. She just can't keep up with your party ninja ways, Jacques. ☺

I completely understand what you mean about feeling locked into yourself. For me, I don't even think it has anything to do with other people thinking they know me. It's more that I want to leap in and say certain things and do certain things, but I always seem to hold myself back. I think a big part of me is afraid. Even thinking about it makes me nauseated. Did I mention I get nauseated easily?

Of course, that's the exact reason I don't want to say anything about Spirit Week and costumes. I don't want you to put two and two together and figure out who I am. Whatever it is we're doing here, I don't think
it works if we know each other's real identities. I have to admit that it makes me nervous to think of you as someone actually connected with my life, rather than a mostly anonymous person on the internet. Obviously, some of the things I've told you about myself are things I've never talked about with anyone. I don't know, Jacques—there's something about you that makes me want to open up, and that's slightly terrifying for me.

I hope this isn't too awkward. I know you were kidding when you asked what costume I was going to wear, but I wanted to put this out there—just in case it wasn't entirely a joke? I have to admit I'm curious about you sometimes, too.

—Blue

P.S. I'm attaching a Reese's cup to this email. I hope this is what you had in mind.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: Nov 3 at 6:37 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Reese's are better than sex

Blue,

I think I made you uncomfortable, and I'm really, really sorry. I'm kind of a nosy person. It's always been a
problem. I'm so sorry, Blue. I know I sound like a broken record. I don't know if I've mentioned this outright, but our emails are really important to me. I would never forgive myself if I fucked this up. Effed this up. Sorry, I don't even know if you cuss.

So, I might have given you the wrong idea with this subject line. I have to admit that I don't TECHNICALLY know whether Reese's are better than sex. Reese's are really freaking incredible, don't get me wrong. And I'm guessing they're better than hetero sex, a.k.a. “intercourse” (per my mom).

Non-hetero sex, though? I imagine it may be a little better than Reese's. Is it weird that I can't talk about this without blushing?

Anyway, speaking of Reese's, thank you so much for the photo. That was exactly what I had in mind. Instead of actually eating one, I just wanted to IMAGINE how salty and chocolaty and awesome it would be to eat one. It's great, because I really wanted to torture myself, but I didn't feel like making the effort to Google Reese's cups myself.

I would raid our own supply of leftover chocolate, but it didn't even come close to surviving the weekend.

—Jacques

Partying harder than Blue's mom since 2014
.