Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

“You can come in,” I say. “My parents won’t care. Alice is home.”

“Yeah?” he says, glancing back at my house. “I don’t know. I’m just going to . . .” He turns to me, and there’s this look on his face. I’ve known Nick since we were four years old. I’ve never seen this expression before.

“Look.” He puts his hand on my arm. I look down at his hand. I can’t help it. Nick never touches me. “Have a good Christmas, Simon. Really.”

And then he takes back his hand, and waves, and trudges up the road after Leah.

Spier family tradition dictates that Christmas Eve dinner is French toast, per my grandma’s technique: thick slices of challah aged one day for maximum egg absorption, cooked in tons of butter in pans partially covered by pot lids. When my grandma makes them, she constantly moves the lids around and flips the bread over and fusses with all of it (she’s kind of a hardcore grandma). It never comes out quite as custardy when my dad makes it, but it’s pretty freaking good anyway.

We eat it at the actual dining table on our parents’ wedding china, and my mom brings out the manger scene centerpiece that rotates like a fan when you light a candle beneath it. It’s really hypnotic. Alice dims the lights, and my mom puts out cloth napkins, and everything feels really fancy.

But it’s weird. It doesn’t really feel like Christmas Eve. There’s this spark missing, and I don’t know what it is.

I’ve felt like this all week, and I don’t understand it. I don’t know why everything feels so different this year. Maybe it’s because Alice has been gone. Or maybe it’s because I’m spending every minute pining for some boy who doesn’t want to meet me in person. Or who’s “not ready” to meet me in person. But he’s also a boy who signs his emails with “love.” I don’t know. I don’t know.

In this moment, all I want is for things to feel like Christmas again. I want it to feel how it used to feel.

After dinner, my parents put on Love Actually and settle in on the love seat with Bieber wedged between them. Alice disappears again to talk on the phone. Nora and I sit for a while on our opposite ends of the couch, and I stare into the lights of the tree. If I squint my eyes, everything looks sort of bright and hazy, and I can almost catch the feeling I remember. But it’s pointless. So I go into my own room and fling myself back on the bed and listen to my music on shuffle.

Three songs later, there’s a knock on my door.

“Simon?” It’s Nora.

“What?” Ugh.

“I’m coming in.”

I prop myself halfway up against the pillows and give her a mild stink-eye. But she walks in anyway, and pushes my backpack off my desk chair. And then she sits, with her legs tucked up and her arms around her knees. “Hey,” she says.

“What do you want?” I say.

She looks at me through her glasses—she’s already taken her contact lenses out. Her hair is pulled back messily, and she’s changed into a Wesleyan T-shirt, and it’s really remarkable how much she’s starting to look like Alice.

“I need to show you something,” she says. She swivels the chair back toward my desk and starts opening my laptop.

“Are you kidding me?” I jump up. Seriously. She seriously thinks I’m about to give her open access to my laptop.

“Fine. Whatever. You do it.” She unplugs it and rolls the chair closer to the bed, handing the laptop over to me.

“So, what am I looking at?”

She sucks her lips in and looks at me again. “Pull up the Tumblr.”

“Like . . . creeksecrets?”

She nods.

I have it bookmarked. “It’s loading,” I say. “Okay. I’ve got it. What’s up?”

“Can I sit with you?” she asks.

I look up at her. “On the bed?’’

“Yeah.”

“Um, okay.”

She climbs up next to me, and looks at the screen. “Scroll down.”

I scroll. And then I stop.

Nora turns to face me.

Oh my fucking God.

“You okay?” she asks softly. “I’m sorry, Si. I just thought you’d want to know about it. I’m assuming you didn’t write it.”

I shake my head slowly. “No, I didn’t,” I say.

December 24, 10:15 A.M .

SIMON SPIER’S OPEN INVITATION TO ALL DUDES

Dear all dudes of Creekwood ,

With this missive, I hereby declare that I am supremely gay and open for business. Interested parties may contact me directly to discuss arrangements for anal buttsex. Or blue-jobs. But don’t give me blue balls. Ladies need not apply. That is all .

“I already reported it,” said Nora. “They’ll take it down.”

“People have already seen it, though.”

“I don’t know.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Who would post something like that?”

“Someone who doesn’t know that ‘anal buttsex’ is redundant.”

“That’s so effed up,” she says.

I mean, I know who posted it. And I guess I should be grateful he didn’t post one of his freaking screenshots. But honest to God: that sly fucking reference to Blue makes him the biggest, most cavernous gaping asshole who ever lived.

God, what if Blue sees it?

I slam the laptop closed and shove it onto the chair. Then I lean my head back, and Nora scoots back against the headboard. The minutes tick past.

“I mean, it’s true,” I say finally. I don’t look at her. We both stare at the ceiling. “I am gay.”

“I figured,” she says.

Now I look at her. “Really?”

“From your reaction. I don’t know.” She blinks. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Wait for them to take it down. What can I do?”

“But are you going to tell people?”

“I think Nick and Leah already read it,” I say slowly.

Nora shrugs. “You could deny it.”

“Okay, I’m not going to deny it. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“All right, well, I didn’t know. You haven’t said anything up until now.”

Oh my God. Seriously?

I sit up. “Yeah, you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry! Geez, Simon. I’m just trying to . . .” She looks at me. “I mean, it’s obviously not something to be ashamed of. You know that, right? And I think most people are going to be cool about it.”

“I don’t know what people think about it.”

She pauses. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad? And Alice?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” Nora says. She hands it to me.

I’ve got five texts from Abby.

Simon, are u ok?

Call me when you can, ok?

Ok. I don’t know how to say this, but u should check the tumblr. I love u .

Please know I didn’t tell anyone. I would never tell anyone. I love u, ok?

Call me?

And then it’s Christmas. I used to wake up at four every year in a total frenzy of greed. It didn’t matter how thorough I had been about poking for clues—and make no mistake, I was thorough. But Santa was a ninja. He always managed to surprise me.

So, it looks like I got one hell of a Christmas surprise this year. And good fucking tidings to you, too, Martin.

At seven thirty, I walk downstairs, and everything inside me twists and clenches. The lights are still off, but the morning sun is bright through the living room windows, and the tree is fully lit. Five overstuffed stockings lean up against the couch cushions, too heavy for the mantel. The only one awake is Bieber. I bring him out for a quick pee and give him his breakfast, and then we lie together on the couch and wait.

I know Blue is at church right now with his mom and uncle and cousins, and they all went last night, too. He’s basically putting in more church time over these past two days than I have in my entire life.