Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Peter’s friends are loud and funny, and I laugh so hard I’m hiccupping, but I can’t even remember what I’m laughing about. And Peter’s arm is tight around my shoulders, and at one point out of nowhere, he leans over to kiss me on the cheek. It’s this strange other universe. It’s like having a boyfriend. And somehow I start telling them about Martin and the emails and how he actually freaking blackmailed me, and it’s actually kind of a hilarious story, now that I think about it. And everyone is full-on belly laughing, and the one girl at the table says, “Oh my God, Peter, oh my God. He’s adorable.” And it feels amazing.

But then Peter leans toward me and his lips are close to my ear and he says, “Are you in high school?”

“I’m a junior,” I say.

“In high school,” he repeats. His arm is still around me. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” I whisper, feeling sheepish.

He looks at me and shakes his head. “Oh, honey,” he says, smiling sadly. “No. No.”

“No?” I ask.

“Who did you come here with? Where are your friends, cute Simon?”

I point out Nick and Abby.

“Ah,” he says.

He helps me up and holds my hand, and the room keeps lurching, but I end up in a chair somehow. Next to Abby and across from Nick, in front of an untouched cheeseburger. Cold, but totally plain and perfect with nothing green and lots of fries. “Good-bye, cute Simon,” says Peter, hugging me, and then kissing me on the forehead. “Go be seventeen.”

And then he stumbles away, and Abby and Nick look like they don’t know whether to laugh or panic. Oh my God. I love them. I mean, I seriously love them. But I feel sort of wavy inside.

“How much did you have?” asks Nick.

I try to count it on my fingers.

“Forget it. I don’t want to know. Just eat something.”

“I love it here,” I say.

“I can see that,” says Abby, shoving a French fry into my mouth.

“But did you see his teeth?” I ask. “He had like the whitest freaking teeth I’ve ever seen. I bet he uses those things. The Crest things.”

“Whitestrips,” says Abby. She’s got her arm around my waist and Nick’s got his arm around my other waist. I mean my same waist. And my arms are around their shoulders, because I love them SO FREAKING MUCH.

“Definitely Whitestrips.” I sigh. “He’s in college.”

“So we’ve heard,” Abby says.

It’s a perfect night. Everything is perfect. It’s not even cold out anymore. It’s a Friday night, and we’re not at the Waffle House, and we’re not playing Assassin’s Creed in Nick’s basement, and we’re not pining for Blue. We are out and we are alive, and everyone in the universe is out here right now.

“Hi,” I say, to somebody. I smile at everyone we pass.

“Simon. Good lord,” says Abby.

“All right,” says Nick. “You’re taking shotgun, Spier.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t think Abby needs your vomit in her mom’s upholstery.”

“I’m not gonna vom,” I say, but as soon as the words come out, there’s this ominous twist in my gut.

So, I take the front and crack the window, and the cold air feels sharp and refreshing on my face. I shut my eyes and lean my head back. And then my eyes snap open. “Wait, where are we going?” I ask.

Abby pauses to let some car pull ahead of her. “To my house,” she says. “College Park.”

“But I forgot my shirt,” I say. “Can we stop at my house?”

“Total opposite direction,” says Abby.

“Fuck,” I say. Fuck fuck fuck .

“I can lend you an extra shirt,” says Abby. “I’m sure we have some of my brother’s stuff down here.”

“Also, you’re wearing a shirt,” says Nick.

“Noooo. No. It’s not to wear,” I say.

“Then what’s it for?” asks Abby.

“I can’t wear it,” I explain. “That would be weird. I have to have it under my pillow.”

“Because that’s not weird,” says Nick.

“It’s an Elliott Smith shirt. Did you know he stabbed himself when we were five? That’s why I never made it to his shows.” I close my eyes. “Do you believe in an afterlife? Nick, do Jewish people believe in heaven?”

“All right,” says Nick. He and Abby exchange some kind of look in the rearview mirror, and then Abby moves over to the right lane. She takes the turn for the highway, and when she merges on, I realize we’re going north. Back to Shady Creek. Back to get my shirt.

“Abby, did I mention you are the absolute best person in the entire universe? Oh my God. I love you so much. I love you more than Nick loves you.” Abby laughs, and Nick starts coughing, and I feel a little nervous because now I can’t remember if it’s a secret that Nick loves Abby. I should probably keep talking. “Abby, what if you became my sister? I need new sisters.”

“What’s wrong with your old sisters?” she says.

“They’re terrible,” I say. “Nora’s never home anymore, and now Alice has a boyfriend.”

“How is that terrible?” asks Abby.

“Alice has a boyfriend?” asks Nick.

“But they’re supposed to be Alice and Nora. They’re not supposed to be different,” I explain.

“They’re not allowed to change?” Abby laughs. “But you’re changing. You’re different than you were five months ago.”

“I’m not different!”

“Simon. I just watched you pick up a random guy in a gay bar. You’re wearing eyeliner. And you’re completely wasted.”

“I’m not wasted.”

Abby and Nick look at each other again in the mirror and bust up laughing.

“And he wasn’t a random guy.”

“He wasn’t?” says Abby.

“He was a random college guy,” I remind her.

“Ah,” she says.

Abby pulls into my driveway and puts the car in park, and I hug her and say, “Thank you thank you thank you.” She ruffles my hair.

“Okay. One second,” I say. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The driveway is a little lurchy, but not so bad. It takes me a minute to figure out my key. The lights in the entryway are off, but the TV is on, and I guess I thought my parents would be asleep by now, but they’re tucked onto the couch wearing pajama pants with Bieber wedged between them.

“What are you doing home, kid?” asks my dad.

“I have to get a T-shirt,” I say, but I think that might not sound right, so I try again. “I’m wearing a shirt, but I have to get a shirt to bring to Abby’s house, because it’s a certain shirt and it’s not a big deal, but I need it.”

“Okay . . . ,” my mom says, and her eyes cut to my dad.

“Are you watching The Wire ?” I ask. It’s paused now. “Oh my God. This is what you do when I’m not home. You watch scripted TV.” And now I can’t stop laughing.

“Simon,” says my dad, looking confused and stern and amused all at once. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

“I’m gay,” I say, and I giggle. Giggles keep escaping around the edges.

“Okay, sit down,” he says, and I’m about to make a joke, but he keeps looking at me, so I sit on the arm of the love seat. “You’re drunk.” He looks a little stunned. I shrug.

“Who drove?” he asks.

“Abby.”

“Did she drink?”

“Dad, come on. No.” He tips his palms up. “No! God.”

“Em, do you want to . . .”

“Yup,” my mom says, shifting Bieber off her legs. And then she gets off the couch and goes out through the entryway, and I hear the front door open and shut.

“She’s going out there to talk to Abby?” I say. “Seriously? You guys don’t even trust me?”

“Well, I don’t know why we should, Simon. You show up at ten thirty, obviously drunk, and you don’t seem to think that’s a problem, so—”