Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

I hear myself inhale. “I’m so sorry.” I hang my head. I mean, I wish I could just disappear.

“Well, you know. It is what it is.” She shrugs. “I’m gonna head out there, okay?”

“Okay.” I nod.

“Maybe someone else could do your makeup tomorrow,” she says.

The play goes fine. I mean, it’s better than fine. Taylor is perfectly earnest, and Martin is perfectly crotchety, and Abby is so lively and funny that it’s almost like our conversation in the dressing room never happened. But after it’s over, she disappears without saying good-bye, and Nick’s gone by the time I get out of costume. And I have no idea if Leah was here at all.

So, yeah. The play’s great. I’m the one who’s miserable.

I meet my parents and Nora in the atrium, and my dad’s carrying this giant bouquet of flowers that looks like something out of Dr. Seuss. Because even without a speaking part, I’m apparently God’s gift to theater. And all the way home, they hum the songs and talk about Taylor’s amazing voice and ask me if I’m friends with the hilarious kid with the beard. A.k.a. Martin. God, what a question.

I reunite with my laptop as soon as we get home. To be honest, I’m more confused than ever.

I guess it’s not a huge surprise that Leah’s pissed about last Friday. I think she’s going a little overboard with it, but I get it. I probably had it coming. But Abby?

It honestly hit me out of nowhere. It’s weird, because of all the things I felt guilty about, it never occurred to me to feel guilty about Abby. But I’m a fucking idiot. Because who you like can’t be forced or persuaded or manipulated. If anyone knows that, it’s me.

I’m a shitty friend. Worse than a shitty friend, because I should be begging for Abby’s forgiveness right now, and I’m not. I’m too busy wondering what exactly Martin told her. Because it doesn’t sound like he mentioned anything other than the blackmail.

Which could mean he doesn’t want to admit that he’s Blue. Or it could mean he’s not Blue at all. And the thought of Blue being someone other than Martin gives me this breathless, hopeful feeling.

Actually hopeful, despite the mess I’ve made. Despite the drama. Despite everything. Because even with all the shit that’s gone down this week, I still care about Blue.

The way I feel about him is like a heartbeat—soft and persistent, underlying everything.

I log into my Jacques email, and when I do, something clicks. And it isn’t Simon logic. It’s objective, indisputable truth: Every email Blue ever sent me is time-stamped.

So many of the emails were sent right after school. So many were sent when I was in rehearsal. Which means Martin was also in rehearsal, with no time to write and no wireless internet.

Blue isn’t Martin. He’s not Cal. He’s just someone.

So, I go all the way back to the beginning, back to August, and I read through everything. His subject lines. Every line of every email.

I have no idea who he is. No freaking clue.

But I think I’m falling for him again.



31

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 25 at 9:27 AM

SUBJECT: Us.

Blue,

I’ve been writing and deleting and rewriting this email all weekend, and I still can’t get it right. But I’m going to do this. So here we go.

I know I haven’t written in a while. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.

So, first I want to say this: I know who you are.

I mean, I still don’t know your name, or what you look like, or all the other stuff. But you have to understand that I really do know you. I know that you’re smart and careful and weird and funny. And you notice things and listen to things, but not in a nosy way. In a real way. You overthink things and remember details and you always, always say the right thing.

And I think I like that we got to know each other from the inside out.

So, it occurred to me that I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about you and rereading your emails and trying to make you laugh. But I’ve been spending very little time spelling things out for you and taking chances and putting my heart on the line.

Obviously, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but what I’m trying to say is that I like you. I more than like you. When I flirt with you, it’s not a joke, and when I say I want to know you, it’s not just because I’m curious. I’m not going to pretend I know how this ends, and I don’t have a freaking clue if it’s possible to fall in love over email. But I would really like to meet you, Blue. I want to try this. And I can’t imagine a scenario where I won’t want to kiss your face off as soon as I see you.

Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.

So, what I’m trying to say is that there’s an extremely badass carnival in the parking lot of Perimeter Mall today, and it’s apparently open until nine.

For what it’s worth, I’ll be there at six thirty. And I hope I see you.

Love,

Simon