Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Wow, so between Ms. Every Time Including Oral and Mr. Let’s Read About Freaking Casanova, your parents are seriously invested in your sex life. Parents need to stop being so freaking awkward. I will say, though, you shouldn’t even be thinking about sex unless it’s with someone really, really awesome. Someone who is such a badass that the insane kids in his neighborhood don’t even THINK about peeing on his porch. Someone who has a little bit of a problem with fragmented sentences and accidental self-disclosures. Yup.

So, you inspired me, Blue. I had my own Coming Out Thing last night. Not to my parents. But I told one of my best friends, even though I wasn’t planning to, and it was awkward and weird and really kind of nice. I feel mostly relieved and a little embarrassed, because I feel like I made it into a bigger deal than it needed to be. It’s funny, though. A part of me feels like I jumped over some kind of border, and now I’m on the other side realizing I can’t cross back. I think it’s a good feeling, or at least an exciting feeling. But I’m not sure. Am I making any sense at all?

But all of this about the walls coming down? I think you’re giving me way too much credit. You’re the hero tonight, Blue. You brought your own wall down. Maybe mine, too.

—Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Dec 14 at 12:12 PM

SUBJECT: Re: out and about Jacques, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so proud of you, too. This is really momentous, isn’t it? I’m guessing this is the kind of thing we remember for the rest of our lives.

I know exactly what you mean about crossing the border. I think this is the kind of process that moves in one direction. Once you come out, you can’t really go back in. It’s a little bit terrifying, isn’t it? I know we’re so lucky we’re coming out now and not twenty years ago, but it’s still really a leap of faith. It’s easier than I thought it would be, but at the same time, it’s so much harder.

Don’t worry, Jacques. I only ever think about sex with people who hide from their eighth-grade girlfriends in bathrooms on Valentine’s Day, and eat tons of Oreos, and listen to weirdly depressing and wonderful music, but never wear band T-shirts.

I guess I have a very specific type.

(I’m not kidding.)

—Blue



17

I HAVE TO MEET HIM.

I don’t think I can keep this up. I don’t care if it ruins everything. I’m this close to making out with my laptop screen.

Blue Blue Blue Blue Blue Blue Blue.

Seriously, I feel like I’m about to combust.

I spend the entire school day with my stomach in knots, and it’s completely pointless, because it’s not attached to anything real. Because, really, it’s just words on a screen. I don’t even know his freaking name.

I think I’m a little bit in love with him.

All through rehearsal, I stare at Cal Price, hoping he’ll fuck it up somehow and give me some sort of clue. Something. Anything. He pulls out a book, and my eyes go straight to the author’s name on the cover. Because maybe the book is by freaking Casanova, and I only know one person who owns a book by freaking Casanova.

But it’s Fahrenheit 451. Probably something for English class.

I mean, how does a person look when his walls are coming down?

Really, a lot of people are having trouble focusing today, because everyone’s obsessed with this sophomore who snuck into the chem lab and got his junk stuck in a beaker. I don’t even know. Apparently it was on the Tumblr. But I guess Ms. Albright is sick of hearing about it, so she lets us out early.

Which means it’s actually still light out when I pull into the driveway. Bieber pretty much explodes with joy when he sees me. It looks like I’m the first one home. I sort of want to know where Nora is. The fact that she’s out is highly freaking unusual, to be honest.

I’m feeling so restless. I don’t even want a snack. Not even Oreos. I can’t just sit around. I text Nick to see what he’s up to, even though I know he’s playing video games in the basement, because that’s what he always does in the afternoons until soccer season starts. He says Leah is on her way over. So I hook Bieber onto his leash and lock the door behind us.

Leah is pulling into the driveway when we get there. She slides her window down and calls to Bieber, who naturally breaks away from me to jump up against her car. “Hello, sweet one,” she says. His paws rest on the frame of her car door, and he gives her a single polite lick.

“Are you just getting off rehearsal?” she asks as we walk around the path to Nick’s basement door.

“Yeah.” I turn the doorknob and push the door open. “Bieber. NO. Come on.”

Like he’s never seen a squirrel before. Good freaking lord.

“Geez. So, what, it’s two hours a day, three days a week?”

“Four days a week now,” I say. “Every day but Friday. And we have an all-day rehearsal this Saturday.”

“Wow,” she says.

Nick shuts off the TV when we enter.

“Assassin’s Creed?” asks Leah, nodding toward the blank screen.

“Yup,” says Nick.