Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Does that make sense? Don’t hate me.

Love,

Blue

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com

DATE: Jan 2 at 12:25 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Reborn

I guess I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from with the texting thing. You have to trust me! Yes, I’m nosy, but I’m not going to call you if you’re not comfortable with it. I don’t mean for this to be a big deal. And I don’t want to stop emailing. I just also want to be able to text you like a normal person.

And YES, I want to meet in person. And obviously that would change things—but I think I’m kind of ready for them to change. So maybe this is a big deal. I don’t know. I want to know your friends’ names and what you do after school and all the things you haven’t been telling me. I want to know what your voice sounds like.

Not until you’re ready, though. And I could never hate you. You’re not going to lose me. Just think about it. Okay?

Love,

Jacques

IT’S THE FIRST DAY BACK at school, and I honestly consider spending the entire day in the parking lot. I can’t explain it. I thought I would be fine. But now that I’m here, I can’t seem to get out of the car. I feel a little sick just thinking about it.

Nora says, “I really don’t think anyone is going to remember.”

I shrug.

“It was on there for, what, three days? And that was over a week ago.”

“Four days,” I say.

“I don’t even think people really read the Tumblr.”

We walk in through the atrium together just as the first bell is ringing. People are stampeding and pushing down the stairs. No one seems to pay any particular attention to me—and for all of Nora’s reassurances, I can see that she’s as relieved as I am. I move with the crowd, working my way toward my locker, and I think I’m finally starting to relax. A couple of people wave at me like normal. Garrett from my lunch table nods and says, “What’s up, Spier?”

I toss my backpack into my locker and pull out my books for English and French. No one has slid any homophobic notes into the slats of my locker, which is good. No one’s etched the word “fag” into my locker yet either, which is even better. I’m almost ready to believe that things have gotten a little better at Creekwood. Or that no one saw Martin’s Tumblr post after all.

Martin. God, I don’t even want to think about having to see his stupid evil face. And of course he’s in my first fucking period.

I guess there’s still this quiet pulse of dread when I think about seeing Martin again.

I’m trying to just breathe.

As I’m walking into the language arts wing, this football guy I hardly recognize almost runs directly into me coming down the stairs. I step back to steady myself, but he puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me right in the eye.

“Why, hello there,” he says.

“Hi . . .”

Then he grabs me by the cheeks and pulls my face in like he’s going to kiss me. “Mwah!” He grins, and his face is so close I can feel the heat of his breath. And all around me, people laugh like fucking Elmo.

I yank my body away from him, cheeks burning. “Where are you going, Spier?” someone says. “McGregor wants a turn.” And everyone starts laughing again. I mean, I don’t even know these people. I don’t know why in God’s name this is funny to them.

In English class, Martin won’t look at me.

But all through the day, Leah and Abby are like freaking pit bulls, throwing down the stink-eye in all directions whenever anyone even looks at me funny. I mean, it’s really pretty sweet. And it isn’t a total disaster. Some people sort of whisper and laugh. And a couple of people randomly give me these huge smiles in the hallway, whatever that means. These two lesbian girls I don’t even know come up to me at my locker and hug me and give me their phone numbers. And at least a dozen straight kids make a point of telling me that they support me. One girl even confirms that Jesus still loves me.

It’s a ton of attention. It kind of makes my head spin.

At lunch, the girls take it upon themselves to discuss and evaluate the fifty million guys they apparently think are boyfriend prospects for me. And it’s all perfectly fucking hilarious until Anna makes some joke about Nick being gay. Which causes Nick to drape himself all over Abby. So then Leah’s irreparably pissed off.

“We should find Leah a boyfriend, too!” says Abby, which honestly makes me cringe. I love Abby, and I know she’s just trying to lighten the mood, but Jesus Christ. There are times when she manages to say the exact opposite of the right thing.

“No fucking thank you, Abby,” Leah says, in this sickeningly pleasant tone. Except her eyes are like crackling fireballs of rage. She stands up abruptly, pushing her chair in without a word.

As soon as she leaves, Garrett looks at Bram, and Bram bites his lip. Which I’m pretty sure is straight-dude code for Bram likes Leah.

And I don’t know why, but it pisses me the fuck off.

“If you like her, just ask her out,” I say to Bram, and he immediately starts blushing.

I don’t even know. I’m just so sick of straight people who can’t get their shit together.

Somehow, I manage to survive until rehearsal. It’s the first day without scripts, and we jump right into running some of the big group scenes. There’s an accompanist at rehearsal now, and people are really focused and energized. I guess it’s just dawned on everyone that opening night is in less than a month.

But partway through the pickpocket song, Martin suddenly stops singing.

And then Abby says, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

And everyone is quiet for a minute, looking at each other. Looking everywhere but at me. For a minute, I’m confused, but then I follow Abby’s gaze to the back of the auditorium. And there’s this pair of random dudes in front of the double helixes who look a little familiar. I think they were in my health class last year. One of them is wearing a hoodie and fake glasses and a skirt over his khakis, and they’re both holding giant poster board signs.

The first guy’s sign says, “How u doin’ Simon?”

And the guy in the skirt’s sign says, “WHAT WHAT—IN THA BUTT!”

The guys are grinding and some other people peek through the doorway laughing. This one girl laughs so hard she’s clutching her stomach, and someone says, “Stop, y’all! Oh my God, y’all are so bad.” But she’s laughing, too.

It’s strange—I’m not even blushing. I feel like I’m watching this happen from a million miles away.

Then, suddenly, Taylor freaking Metternich, of all people, runs down the steps at the side of the stage and down the aisle of the auditorium. And Abby is right behind her.

“Aww shit,” says the guy in the skirt, and the other guy giggles. And then they haul ass out of the auditorium, letting the door slam shut.

Taylor and Abby burst through behind them, and there’s this huge commotion of yelling and footsteps. Ms. Albright runs after them and the rest of us just kind of stand there. Except somehow I end up sitting on one of the platforms, smushed in between two senior girls who have their arms around my shoulders.

I catch a glimpse of Martin, and it looks like he’s been crumpled. His hands are covering his face.

A few minutes later, Abby bursts back through the door, followed by Ms. Albright, who has her arm around Taylor. And Taylor is splotchy and flushed, like she’s been crying. I watch as Ms. Albright guides Taylor to the front row, lets her sit next to Cal, and then kneels down in front of them for a minute to talk to them.

Abby walks straight back up the stairs to me, shaking her head.