Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

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: bluegreen118@gmail.com

TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

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

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.

“Awesome,” she says. And I just kind of shrug. I give precisely zero shits about video games.

I lie on the carpet next to Bieber, who is on his back looking absurd with his lips flapped up over his gums. Nick and Leah end up talking about Doctor Who , and Leah tucks into the video game chair, tugging the frayed hem of her jeans. Her cheeks are sort of pink behind her freckles, and she’s making some point and getting really animated about it. They’re both totally absorbed in the philosophy of time travel. So I let my eyes slide closed. And I think about Blue.

Okay. I have a crush. But it’s not like having a crush on some random musician or actor or Harry freaking Potter. This is the real deal. It has to be. It’s almost debilitating.

I mean, I’m lying here on Nick’s basement carpet, the site of so many Power Rangers transformations and lightsaber battles and spilled cups of juice—and all I want in the entire world is for Blue’s next email to arrive. And Nick and Leah are still talking about the freaking TARDIS. They don’t have a clue. They don’t even know I’m gay.

And I don’t know how to do this. Ever since I told Abby on Friday, I kind of thought it would be easy to tell Leah and Nick. Easier, anyway, now that my mouth is used to saying the words.

It’s not easier. It’s impossible. Because even though it feels like I’ve known Abby forever, I really only met her four months ago. And I guess there hasn’t been time for her to have any set ideas about me yet. But I’ve known Leah since sixth grade, and Nick since we were four. And this gay thing. It feels so big. It’s almost insurmountable. I don’t know how to tell them something like this and still come out of it feeling like Simon. Because if Leah and Nick don’t recognize me, I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

My phone buzzes. Text from Monkey’s Asshole: hey maybe another Waffle House thing soon?

I ignore it.

I hate feeling so distant from Nick and Leah. It’s not like keeping a normal crush a secret, because we never talk about our crushes anyway, and it works out fine. Even Leah’s crush on Nick. I see it, and I’m sure Nick sees it, but there’s this unspoken agreement that we never talk about it.

I don’t know why the gay thing isn’t like that. I don’t know why keeping it from them makes me feel like I’m living a secret life.

My phone starts vibrating, and it’s my dad calling. Which probably means dinner is on the table.

I hate that I feel so relieved.

I really am going to tell Nick and Leah eventually.

I spend the first Saturday of Christmas break at school. Everyone sits in a circle on the stage in pajamas, eating donut holes and drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups. Except I’m next to Abby at the edge of the stage. My feet dangle over the orchestra pit, and her legs are in my lap.

My fingers are sticky with powdered sugar. I feel so far away. I stare at the bricks. Some of the bricks on the back wall of the auditorium are a darker shade, almost brown, and they form this double helix design. It’s just so random. But so weirdly deliberate.

Double helixes are interesting. Deoxyribonucleic acid. I’ll think about that.

Trying not to think about something is like playing freaking Whac-a-Mole. Every time you push one thought down, another one nudges its way to the surface.

I guess there are two moles. One is the fact that I’ve hung out with Nick and Leah after rehearsal three days this week, which means three chances to tell them about the gay thing, and three times wussing out. And then there’s Blue, with his perfect grammar, who has no freaking clue how many times I proofread every email I send to him. Blue, who is so guarded and yet so surprisingly flirtatious sometimes. Who thinks about sex, and thinks about it with me.