Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

And then Abby nudges me again later to pick up a pen she dropped, and it’s pinballs all over again. I can’t even help it. There’s just this thread of anticipation that I can’t seem to quell.

So when the school day ends and nothing extraordinary has happened, it’s a tiny heartbreak. It’s like eleven o’clock on the night of your birthday, when you realize no one’s throwing you a surprise party after all.

On Thursday after rehearsal, Cal very casually mentions that he’s bisexual. And that maybe we should hang out sometime. It catches me off guard. All I can do is sort of gape at him. Sweet, slow-moving Cal, with his hipster bangs and his ocean eyes.

But the thing is, he’s not Blue.

Blue, who’s barely been returning my emails.

Amazingly, I forget all about Cal until the next day in English class. Mr. Wise is out of the room when I walk in, and the nerds are restless. A couple of people are arguing about Shakespeare, and then someone stands on a chair and basically bellows Hamlet’s soliloquy into this other dude’s ear. The couch is especially crowded for some reason. Nick is perched on Abby’s lap.

She leans her head out from behind Nick’s torso and calls me over. She’s beaming. “Simon, I was just telling Nick about what happened in rehearsal yesterday.”

“Yes,” says Nick. “Who, pray tell, is this Calvin fellow?”

I shake my head, blushing. “No one. He’s from drama club.”

“He’s no one?” Nick tilts his head. “Are you sure? Because this one tells me—”

“Shut up!” says Abby, clamping a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, Simon. I’m just so excited for you. It wasn’t a secret, right?”

“No, but it’s not—it wasn’t anything.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Abby says, with this smug little smile.

I don’t know how to explain to her that, for all intents and purposes, I’m already taken. By someone who evidently shares a first name with a president and an obscure cartoon character, and doesn’t like to draw, and doesn’t have blue eyes, and has not yet pushed me in a rolling chair.

Someone who seemed to like me better before he knew who I was.



26

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 9 at 8:23 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

I mean, I get it. Just because I was careless doesn’t mean it’s fair to push you into revealing yourself before you’re ready. And believe me, I’m the freaking expert on that. But now you know my superhero identity and I don’t know yours—and that’s weird, right?

I don’t know what else to say. Anonymity served a purpose for us, and I get that. But now I want to know you for real.

Love, Simon

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 10 at 2:12 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

Well, Blue is kind of my superhero identity, so you’re really talking about my civilian identity. But that’s obviously miles away from the point. It’s just that I don’t know what else to say. I’m truly sorry, Simon.

Anyway, it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you.

—Blue

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 10 at 3:45 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

Working out the way I wanted them to? What the heck are you talking about?

???

—Simon

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 12 at 12:18 AM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

Seriously, I don’t know what in God’s holy name you’re talking about, because pretty much nothing seems to be working out the way I want it to.

Okay—I get that you don’t want to text. And you don’t want to meet in person. Fine. But I hate that everything’s different now, even in our emails. I mean, yes, it’s an awkward situation. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really do understand if you don’t find me attractive or whatever. I’ll get over it. But you’re kind of my best friend in a lot of ways, and I really want to keep you.

Can we just pretend none of this ever happened and go back to normal?

—Simon



27

WHICH ISN’T TO SAY I’M going to stop thinking about it.

I spend all of Sunday in my room switching between the Smiths and Kid Cudi at top volume, and I don’t even care if that’s too random for my parents. Their minds can stay blown for all I care. I try to get Bieber to sit with me on my bed, but he keeps pacing, so I put him out in the hallway. But then he whines to come back in.

“Nora, get Bieber,” I yell over the music, but she doesn’t answer. So I text it to her.

She texts back: Do it yourself. I’m not home.

Where are you? I really hate this new thing where Nora’s never home.

But she doesn’t text back. And I’m feeling too heavy and listless to get up and ask my mom.