Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

She looks at me. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“No?” I say. Sometimes I forget what’s a Spier family invention and what’s real.

And then, out of nowhere and without any change in intonation, she says, “So, they took that post down.”

“I know,” I say, and there’s a nervous flutter in my gut. I haven’t talked about the Tumblr post yet with Nick or Leah, though I know they’ve seen it.

“We don’t have to talk about it, though,” says Leah.

“It’s fine.” I glance up at the couch. Abby is leaning back against the cushions with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips. Her head is tilted toward Nick.

“Do you know who wrote it?” Leah says.

“Yes.”

She looks at me expectantly.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say.

We’re both quiet for a moment. Nick stops playing, but he hums and taps out a rhythm on the body of the guitar. Leah twists her hair up for a minute and then lets it fall back down, where it hangs past her boobs. I look at her without meeting her eye.

“I know what you’re not asking me,” I say finally.

She shrugs, smiling slightly.

“I am gay. That part’s true.”

“Okay,” she says.

I realize that Nick has stopped humming.

“But I’m not turning this into a big thing tonight, okay? I don’t know. Do you guys want ice cream?” I pull myself up.

“Did you just tell us you’re gay?” asks Nick.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he says. Abby swats him. “What?”

“That’s all you’re going to say? ‘Okay’?”

“He said not to make a big deal out of it,” Nick says. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Say something supportive. I don’t know. Or awkwardly hold his hand like I did. Anything.”

Nick and I look at each other.

“I’m not holding your hand,” I tell him, smiling a little.

“All right”—he nods—“but know that I would.”

“Aww, that’s better,” says Abby.

Leah has been quiet, but she turns to Abby suddenly. “Simon already told you?”

“He, um, yes,” says Abby, cutting her eyes to me quickly.

“Oh,” says Leah.

And there’s this silence.

“Well, I’m getting ice cream,” I say, moving toward the stairs, and Bieber collides with my legs in his eagerness to follow.

Hours later, the ice cream’s been eaten and the Peach has dropped and my neighbors have finally used up their fireworks. I stare at the ceiling. We have a popcorn ceiling in our basement, and in the darkness, its texture makes shadowy pictures and faces. Everyone brought sleeping bags, but instead of using them, we set up a nest of blankets and sheets and pillows on top of the carpet.

Abby, next to me, is asleep, and I can hear Nick snoring a few feet away. Leah’s eyes are closed, but she’s breathing like she’s awake. I guess it would be wrong of me to nudge her to find out. But then, all of a sudden, she rolls onto her side and sighs, and her eyes snap open.

“Hey,” I whisper, rolling my body toward her.

“Hey.”

“Are you mad?”

“About what?” she asks.

“About me telling Abby first.”

She’s quiet for several seconds, and then: “I don’t have a right to be mad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is your thing, Simon.”

“But you’re entitled to your emotions,” I say. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from having a psychologist for a mother . . .

“This isn’t about me, though.” She rolls onto her back, folding one arm behind her head.

I don’t know what to say to that. We’re both quiet for a minute.

“Don’t be mad,” I say finally.

“Did you think I would have some kind of shitty reaction, or that I wouldn’t be okay with it?”

“Of course not. God, Leah, no. Not at all. You’re like the most—I mean, you’re the one who introduced me to Harry and Draco. Yeah, that wasn’t even a concern.”

“Okay, well.” Her other hand rests on her stomach over the blankets, and I watch it rise and fall with each breath. “So, who else did you tell?”

“My family,” I say. “I mean, Nora saw the Tumblr, so then I had to.”

“Right, but I mean, who else other than Abby?”

“No one,” I say. But then I close my eyes and think about Blue.

“Then how did it end up on the Tumblr?” she asks.

“Oh, right.” I grimace. “Long story,” I say, opening my eyes again.

She angles her head toward me, but doesn’t reply. I can feel her watching me.

“I think I’m about to fall asleep,” I say.

But I’m not. And I don’t. Not for hours and hours.

FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com

TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

DATE: Jan 1 at 1:19 PM

SUBJECT: Re: auld lang syne

Jacques,

Poor zombie. Hope you’re already sleeping again as I type this. The good news is that there are still four days left of vacation, which should clearly be devoted exclusively to sleeping and writing to me.

I missed you last night. The party thing was fine. It was at my stepmother’s grandmother’s house, and she’s about ninety years old, so we were back home in front of the TV by nine. Oh, and Mr. Sexual Awakening was there. His wife is extremely pregnant. She and my stepmom were comparing ultrasound photos of their fetuses at dinner. Our Little Fetus looks like your basic cute little alien with a big head and tiny limbs. You can actually see his or her nose, so that was kind of cool. But, unfortunately, Mr. Sexual Awakening’s wife had a 3D ultrasound picture. All I can say, Jacques, is that there are some things you can’t un-see.

Any plans until school starts again?

Love,

Blue

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com

DATE: Jan 1 at 5:31 PM

SUBJECT: Re: auld lang syne

Zombie is right. I’m a freaking mess. We just got back from Target, and I actually fell asleep in the car on the way home. Which, thankfully, my mom was the one driving. But you have to understand that Target is like five minutes away from my house. How weird is that? So now I feel kind of strange and groggy and disoriented, and I think my parents are going to want to do dinner tonight As a Family.

Ugh.

Sorry to hear about the trauma of the 3D ultrasound, from which you so kindly tried to spare me the details. Unfortunately, I’m a freaking idiot with very little self-control when it comes to Google Images. So now it’s forever seared into my memory as well. Oh, the miracle of life. You may also want to look up “reborn dolls.” Seriously, go do it.

Nothing much going on here this weekend, other than the fact that every freaking thing in the universe reminds me of you. Target is full of you. Did you know they make these big massive Sharpies called Super Sharpies? And then there’s superglue, obviously. It’s like an office supply Justice League. I seriously came this close to buying them, just so I could text you pictures of their crime-fighting selves. I would have made capes for them and everything. Except SOMEONE still doesn’t want to exchange numbers.

Love,

Jacques

FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com

TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

DATE: Jan 2 at 10:13 AM

SUBJECT: Reborn

I think you’ve rendered me speechless. I just read the Wikipedia article, and I’m looking through pictures now. I kind of can’t stop looking at them. You might have found the creepiest thing on the entire internet, Jacques.

And I seriously laughed out loud at your crime-fighting office supply Justice League. I wish I could have seen them. But about the texting thing—all I can say is that I’m really sorry. The idea of exchanging phone numbers just terrifies me. It does. It’s just the idea that you could call me and hear my voice mail message and KNOW. I don’t know what to say, Jacques. I’m just not ready for you to know who I am. I know it’s stupid, and honestly, at this point, I spend about half my waking hours imagining us meeting in person for the first time. But I can’t think of a way for that to happen without everything changing. I think I’m scared to lose you.