Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

by Becky Albertalli

  “It was his response to me coming out.”

  “Your dad is amazing.”

  “Amazingly awkward.”

  I love his wry smile. I love watching him relax around me. I mean, I love this. Everything. He leans forward to scratch his ankle, and my heart just twists. The golden brown skin on the nape of his neck.

  Everything.

  I float through the rest of the day, and he’s all I can think about. And then I text him as soon as I get home. Miss you sooooo much!!!

  I mean, it’s a joke. Mostly.

  He texts back immediately. Happy two day anniversary!!!!!!

  Which makes me cackle at the kitchen table.

  “You’re in a good mood,” says my mom, walking in with Bieber.

  I shrug.

  She shoots me this curious half smile. “All right, well, don’t feel like you have to talk about it, but I’m just saying. If you wanted to . . .”

  Freaking psychologists. So much for not being weird and obsessed.

  I hear a car pull into the driveway. “Nora’s home already?” I ask. It’s funny, but I’ve gotten used to her being gone until dinner.

  I look out the window and do a double take. I mean, Nora’s home. But the car. The driver.

  “Is that Leah?” I ask. “Driving Nora?”

  “Appears to be.”

  “Okay, yeah. I have to go out there.”

  “Oh no,” she says. “Too bad you’re grounded.”

  “Mom,” I say.

  She tips her palms up.

  “Come on. Please.” Already, Nora’s opening the car door.

  “I’m open to negotiating,” she says.

  “For what?”

  “One night of parole in exchange for ten minutes of access to your Facebook.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “Five,” I say. “Supervised.”

  “You got it,” she says. “But I want to see the boyfriend.”

  So yeah. At least one of my sisters is about to get murdered.

  But first: Leah. I sprint out the door.

  Nora’s face whips toward me in surprise, but I run straight past her, panting, as I reach the passenger side door. Before Leah can object, I pull it open and climb inside.

  Bram’s car is old, but Leah’s car is a Flintstones relic. I mean, it has a tape deck and crank windows. There’s a line of plush anime characters on the dashboard, and the floor is always littered with papers and empty Coke bottles. And there’s that floral grandmother smell.

  I actually sort of love Leah’s car.

  Leah looks at me in disbelief. I mean, waves of stink-eye roll off of her. “Get the hell out of my car,” she says.

  “I want to talk.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t.”

  I click in my seat belt. “Take me to Waffle House.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Not even a little bit.” I lean back into the seat.

  “So you’re carjacking me.”

  “Oh,” I say, “I guess so.”

  “Fucking unbelievable.” She shakes her head. But a moment later, she starts driving. She stares straight ahead with her mouth in a line, and she doesn’t say a word.

  “I know you’re pissed at me,” I say.

  Nothing.

  “And I’m sorry about Midtown. I really am.”

  Still.

  “Will you just say something?”

  “We’re here.” She puts the car in park. The lot is almost empty. “You can get your fucking waffle or whatever.”

  “You’re coming with me,” I say.

  “Um, yeah, no.”

  “Okay, then don’t. But I’m not going in without you.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Fine,” I say. “We’ll talk here.” I unlatch my seat belt and turn toward her.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “So, what? That’s it? We’re just not going to be friends anymore?”

  She leans back and shuts her eyes. “Aww. Maybe you should go cry about it to Abby.”

  “Okay, seriously?” I say. “What the hell is your problem with her?” I’m not trying to raise my voice, but it comes out booming.

  “I don’t have a problem with her,” Leah says. “I just don’t know why we’re suddenly best friends with her.”

  “Well, because she’s Nick’s girlfriend, for one thing.”

  Leah whips her head toward me like I’ve slapped her.

  “That’s right. Keep making this about Nick,” she says, “and we can all just fucking forget that you’re obsessed with her, too.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m gay!”

  “You’re platonically obsessed with her!” she yells. “It’s cool, though. She’s such a fucking upgrade.”

  “What?”

  “Female best friend four-point-fucking-oh. Now available in the prettiest, perkiest package ever!”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” I say. “You’re pretty.”

  She laughs. “All right.”

  “Seriously, just stop it. I’m so fucking tired of this.” I look at her. “She’s not an upgrade. You’re my best friend.”

  She snorts.

  “Well, you are. Both of you. And Nick. All three of you,” I say. “But I could never replace you. You’re Leah.”

  “Then why did you come out to her first?” she says.

  “Leah,” I say.

  “Just—whatever. I don’t have the right to give a shit.”

  “Stop saying that. You can give all kinds of shits.”

  She’s quiet. And then I’m quiet. And then she says, “It was just so, I don’t know. It was obvious that Nick liked her. None of that’s been a fucking surprise. But when you told her first, it was like, I didn’t even see that coming. I thought you trusted me.”

  “I do,” I say.

  “Well, apparently you trust her more,” she says, “which is awesome, because how long have you known her? Six months? You’ve known me for six years.”

  And I don’t know what to say. There’s a lump in my throat.

  “But whatever,” she says. “I can’t—you know. It’s your thing.”

  “I mean.” I swallow. “Yeah, it was easier to tell her. But it’s not about trusting her more or you more or anything like that. You don’t even know.” My eyes prickle. “It’s like, yeah. I’ve known you forever, and Nick even longer. You guys know me better than anyone. You know me too well,” I say.

  She grips the steering wheel and avoids my eyes.

  “I mean, everything. You know everything about me. The wolf T-shirts. The cookie cones. ‘Boom Boom Pow.’”

  She cracks a smile.

  “And no, I don’t have that kind of a history with Abby. But that’s what made it easier. There’s this huge part of me, and I’m still trying it on. And I don’t know how it fits together. How I fit together. It’s like a new version of me. I just needed someone who could run with that.” I sigh. “But I really wanted to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s just, it got to the point where it was hard to bring it up.”

  I stare at the steering wheel.

  “I mean, I get that,” she says finally. “I do. It’s like the longer you sit with some shit, the harder it is to talk about.”

  We’re both silent for a moment.

  “Leah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What happened with your dad?” My breath hitches.

  “My dad?”

  I turn my head toward her.

  “Well, it’s kind of a funny story.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um. Not really. He hooked up with this hottie nineteen-year-old at his work. And then he left.”

  “Oh.” I look at her. “Leah, I’m so freaking sorry.”

  I spent six years not asking that question.

  God, I’m such an asshole.

  “Stop blinking like that,” she says.

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t you dare
cry.”

  “What? No way.”

  Which is the moment I lose it. Full-on, puff-eyed, snot-faucet crying.

  “You’re a mess, Spier.”

  “I know!” I sort of collapse into her shoulder. Her almond shampoo smell is so perfectly familiar. “I really love you, you know? I’m so sorry about everything. About the Abby thing. All of it.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Really. I love you.”

  She sniffs.

  “Um, did you get something in your eye, Leah?”

  “No. Shut up. You did.”

  I wipe my eyes and laugh.

  34

  FROM: marty.mcfladdison@gmail.com

  TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

  DATE: Jan 29 at 5:24 PM

  SUBJECT: sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it

  Hey Spier,

  I’m assuming you hate me, which would make absolute sense under the circumstances. I don’t even know where to begin with all of this, so I guess I’ll just start by saying I’m sorry. Even though I know that sorry is a completely inadequate word, and maybe I should be doing this in person, but you probably don’t even want to look at me, so I guess it is what it is.

  Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about our conversation in the parking lot and what you said about what I took from you. And I really feel like I took something enormous. It’s like I didn’t let myself see it before, but now that I see it, I can’t believe the things I did to you. All of it. The blackmail, and you’re right, it was actually blackmail. And the Tumblr post. I don’t know if you realize, but I took the post down myself before the mods could even deal with it. I know that doesn’t really make it better, but I guess I want you to know that. I just feel sick with guilt about the entire thing, and I’m not even going to ask you to forgive me. I just want you to know how sorry I am.

  I don’t even know how to explain it. I’ll try, but it’s probably going to sound stupid, most likely because it is in fact stupid. You should know first that I’m not homophobic and I honestly think gay people are awesome or normal or whatever you prefer. So that’s all good and everything.

  Anyway, my brother came out over the summer, right before he went back to Georgetown, and it’s been this huge deal with my whole family. My parents are trying to turn it into this big awesome thing, and so now our house is like this gay utopia. But it’s so totally weird, because Carter’s not even home, and he never actually talks about it even when he is home. My parents and I marched in the Pride Parade this year, and he wasn’t even there, and when I told him about it, he said, “Um, okay, cool,” like maybe it was a bit much. And maybe it was. And that was the weekend before I logged into your email. I guess I was in kind of a weird place.

  But I’m probably just making excuses, because maybe it was all about me having a crush on a girl and feeling desperate. And me being jealous of how a girl like Abby could move here and choose to befriend you out of everyone, and you have so many friends already, and I don’t think you even get what a big deal that is. I don’t mean to call you out or insult you or anything. I’m just saying that it seems like it’s so easy for you, and you should know you’re actually really lucky.

  So I don’t even know if that makes any sense at all, and you probably stopped reading this ages ago, but I’m just putting all of it out there. And for what it’s worth, I’m so incredibly, impossibly sorry. Anyway, word on the street is that you are now deliriously happy in gay love with one Abraham Greenfeld, and I want you to know that I’m way beyond happy for you. You deserve it completely. You’re an awesome dude, Spier, and it was cool getting to know you. If I could do it again, I would have blackmailed you into being my friend and left it at that.

  Extremely sincerely,

  Marty Addison

  35

  THE TALENT SHOW STARTS AT seven, and Nick and I arrive just as they’re dimming the lights. Bram and Garrett are supposed to be sitting in the back toward the middle, with two seats saved. My eyes find him immediately. He’s twisted all the way around in his chair, watching the door, and he smiles when he sees me.

  We squeeze through the row, and I sit beside Bram, with Nick and Garrett on either side of us. “Is that a program?” Nick asks, leaning over me.

  “Yup. Want it?” Garrett asks, passing down an already-worn cylinder of paper.

  Nick scans through the list of acts, and I know he’s looking for Abby.

  “Bet she comes on first or last,” I say.

  He smiles. “Second to last.” And then the houselights shut off.

  The audience chatter tapers off as the stage lights come up, and Student Council Maddie steps up to the microphone. I lean closer to Bram. And because it’s so dark, I slide a hand onto his knee. I feel him shift quietly as he laces his fingers through mine. He lifts them and presses his lips to the edge of my palm.

  He pauses, holding them there. And there’s this fluttery yank below my navel.

  Then he lets our intertwined hands fall back onto his lap. And if this is what it’s like having a boyfriend, I don’t know why in God’s name I waited so long.

  Onstage, it’s one girl after another. All in short dresses. All singing songs by Adele.

  And then it’s Abby’s turn, and she emerges from the wings, dragging a skinny black music stand to the edge of the stage. My eyes cut to Nick, but he doesn’t see me. He’s staring raptly forward, with straight posture and a smile edging his lips. A blond sophomore girl steps out with a violin and sheet music. Then she tucks the violin beneath her chin, and looks at Abby. Who nods at her and inhales, visibly. And the violinist starts to play.

  It’s a strange, almost mournful version of “Time After Time.” Abby’s movements convey every note. I’ve never watched anyone dance solo before, beyond the awkward showboating that happens when people circle up at bar mitzvahs. At first, I have no point of reference. In a group, you can look for synchronicity. But Abby controls her own motion; and yet, every movement and gesture feels rich and deliberate and true.

  I can’t help but look at Nick as he watches. He smiles quietly into his fist the entire time.

  Abby and her violinist finish to surprised, appreciative applause, and then the curtains close partially while the stage is set for the final act. They pull out a drum set, so I guess it’s some kind of band. Maddie takes the mic and makes a bunch of announcements about various ways you can give the student council money. There are a few experimental twangs and booms from behind the curtain as the instruments are plugged in and tested.

  “Who is this?” I ask Nick.

  He checks his program. “They’re called Emoji.”

  “Cute.”

  The curtain opens on five girls with instruments, and the first thing I notice is the colors. They’re all wearing different patterned fabrics, and the colors are so bright that it’s weirdly punk rock. And then the drummer kicks in with a fast twitchy beat.

  Which is when I notice that the drummer is Leah.

  I’m actually speechless. Her hair hangs past her shoulders, and her hands move impossibly quickly. And then she’s joined by the other instruments—Morgan on the keyboard and Anna on the bass. Taylor on vocals.

  And my sister Nora on lead guitar, looking so relaxed and confident that I almost don’t recognize her. I mean, I’m gobsmacked. I didn’t even know she was playing guitar again.

  Bram looks at me and laughs. “Simon, your face.”

  They cover Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” and I’m not even kidding. It’s absolutely electric. Girls are getting up and dancing in the aisles. And then they transition straight into the Cure’s “Just Like Heaven.” Taylor’s voice is sweet and high and effortless, and it’s somehow perfect. But I’m still so stunned. I can barely process it.

  Bram was right: people really are like houses with vast rooms and tiny windows. And maybe it’s a good thing, the way we never stop surprising each other.

  “Nora’s not bad, right?” says Nick, leaning toward me.

&nbs
p; “You knew about this?”

  “I’ve been working with her for months. But she told me not to tell you.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “Because she knew you’d make it a big deal,” he said.

  I mean, that’s my family. Everything’s a freaking secret, because everything’s a big deal. Everything is like coming out.

  “My parents are going to go nuts about missing this.”

  “Nah, I got them here,” Nick says, pointing across the aisle, where I can see the backs of their heads a couple of rows up. They’re leaning toward each other with their heads together. And then I notice the messy knot of dark blond hair sitting next to my mom. It’s funny, but it almost looks like it could be Alice.

  Nora smiles her tiny smile, and her hair is loose and wavy, and there’s actually kind of a lump in my throat.

  “You look so proud,” whispers Bram.

  “Yeah, it’s weird,” I say.

  Then Nora’s hand stills against the body of the guitar, and Taylor stops singing, and everyone stops playing, except Leah, who gets this pissed-off, determined look on her face. And then she launches into the most freaking awesome, badass drum solo I’ve ever heard. Her eyes are focused and her cheeks are flushed, and she really looks so pretty. She’d never believe me if I told her.

  I turn to look at Bram, but he’s turned the other direction, facing Garrett, and I can see from his cheeks that he’s grinning. And Garrett shakes his head and smiles, and says, “I don’t want to hear it, Greenfeld.”

  The song ends, and people yell and cheer as the houselights come on. There’s a swell of movement out the back to the atrium, and we let it pass us. Abby comes out and finds us directly. And then a guy with brown hair and a short red beard slides into the empty row in front of us and smiles at me.

  “You’re clearly Simon,” he says.

  I nod, confused. He looks familiar, too, actually, but I can’t quite place him.

  “Hi. I’m Theo.”

  “Theo, like . . . Alice’s Theo?”

  “Something like that,” he says, grinning.

  “Is she here? What are you doing here?” My eyes flick automatically to where my parents had been sitting, but their row is already empty. “It’s nice to meet you,” I add.

  “Likewise,” he says. “So, Alice is in the lobby, but she sent me in with a message for you and, uh, Bram.”