Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

“But whatever,” she says. “I can’t—you know. It’s your thing.”


“I mean.” I swallow. “Yeah, it was easier to tell her. But it’s not about trusting her more or you more or anything like that. You don’t even know.” My eyes prickle. “It’s like, yeah. I’ve known you forever, and Nick even longer. You guys know me better than anyone. You know me too well,” I say.

She grips the steering wheel and avoids my eyes.

“I mean, everything. You know everything about me. The wolf T-shirts. The cookie cones. ‘Boom Boom Pow.’”

She cracks a smile.

“And no, I don’t have that kind of a history with Abby. But that’s what made it easier. There’s this huge part of me, and I’m still trying it on. And I don’t know how it fits together. How I fit together. It’s like a new version of me. I just needed someone who could run with that.” I sigh. “But I really wanted to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just, it got to the point where it was hard to bring it up.”

I stare at the steering wheel.

“I mean, I get that,” she says finally. “I do. It’s like the longer you sit with some shit, the harder it is to talk about.”

We’re both silent for a moment.

“Leah?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened with your dad?” My breath hitches.

“My dad?”

I turn my head toward her.

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story.”

“Yeah?”

“Um. Not really. He hooked up with this hottie nineteen-year-old at his work. And then he left.”

“Oh.” I look at her. “Leah, I’m so freaking sorry.”

I spent six years not asking that question.

God, I’m such an asshole.

“Stop blinking like that,” she says.

“Like what?”

“Don’t you dare cry.”

“What? No way.”

Which is the moment I lose it. Full-on, puff-eyed, snot-faucet crying.

“You’re a mess, Spier.”

“I know!” I sort of collapse into her shoulder. Her almond shampoo smell is so perfectly familiar. “I really love you, you know? I’m so sorry about everything. About the Abby thing. All of it.”

“It’s fine.”

“Really. I love you.”

She sniffs.

“Um, did you get something in your eye, Leah?”

“No. Shut up. You did.”

I wipe my eyes and laugh.



34

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 29 at 5:24 PM

SUBJECT: sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it Hey Spier,

I’m assuming you hate me, which would make absolute sense under the circumstances. I don’t even know where to begin with all of this, so I guess I’ll just start by saying I’m sorry. Even though I know that sorry is a completely inadequate word, and maybe I should be doing this in person, but you probably don’t even want to look at me, so I guess it is what it is.

Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about our conversation in the parking lot and what you said about what I took from you. And I really feel like I took something enormous. It’s like I didn’t let myself see it before, but now that I see it, I can’t believe the things I did to you. All of it. The blackmail, and you’re right, it was actually blackmail. And the Tumblr post. I don’t know if you realize, but I took the post down myself before the mods could even deal with it. I know that doesn’t really make it better, but I guess I want you to know that. I just feel sick with guilt about the entire thing, and I’m not even going to ask you to forgive me. I just want you to know how sorry I am.

I don’t even know how to explain it. I’ll try, but it’s probably going to sound stupid, most likely because it is in fact stupid. You should know first that I’m not homophobic and I honestly think gay people are awesome or normal or whatever you prefer. So that’s all good and everything.

Anyway, my brother came out over the summer, right before he went back to Georgetown, and it’s been this huge deal with my whole family. My parents are trying to turn it into this big awesome thing, and so now our house is like this gay utopia. But it’s so totally weird, because Carter’s not even home, and he never actually talks about it even when he is home. My parents and I marched in the Pride Parade this year, and he wasn’t even there, and when I told him about it, he said, “Um, okay, cool,” like maybe it was a bit much. And maybe it was. And that was the weekend before I logged into your email. I guess I was in kind of a weird place.