Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(11)

“There you are,” says Abby. Nick is back, holding on to this acoustic guitar like a lifeline. He settles onto the floor to tune it, his back against the side of the couch. A couple of people glance over at him without breaking their conversations. It’s weird, because pretty much everyone looks familiar, but it’s all soccer people and other miscellaneous jocks. Which is fine, obviously. It’s just that I don’t really know them. It’s pretty clear that I won’t be seeing Cal Price in this crowd, and I don’t know where the heck Martin is.

I sit, and Leah slides down the wall next to me, leaning against it with her legs tucked awkwardly to the side. She’s wearing a skirt with her costume, and I can tell she’s trying to keep her thighs from showing. Which is so ridiculous and so Leah. I scoot close to her, and she smiles a little bit without looking at me. Abby settles in cross-legged facing us, and it’s really kind of nice. We basically have our own corner of the room.

I feel kind of happy and hazy now, and beer doesn’t taste so bad after the first few sips. Garrett or someone must have turned the stereo off, and a couple of people have come over to listen to Nick. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but Nick has the most raspy-perfect singing voice in the world. Of course, he has this weird, dad-like obsession with classic rock, but I guess that’s not always a bad thing. Because right now he’s singing Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here,” and I’m thinking about Blue. And I’m thinking about Cal Price.

Here’s the thing. I have this feeling in my gut that Blue is Cal Price. I just do. I think it’s the eyes. He has ocean eyes: just waves and waves of blue-green. And sometimes when I look at Cal, I feel like we understand each other, and he gets it, and it’s perfect and unspoken.

“Simon, how much did you drink?” asks Leah. I’m twisting the ends of her hair. Leah’s hair is so pretty, and it smells exactly like French toast. Except that’s Abby. Leah smells like almonds.

“One beer.” One most excellent, most delicious beer.

“One beer. I can’t even begin to express how ridiculous you are.” But she’s almost smiling.

“Leah, did you know you have a really Irish face?”

She looks at me. “What?”

“You guys know what I mean. Like an Irish face. Are you Irish?”

“Um, not as far as I know.”

Abby laughs.

“My ancestors are Scottish,” someone says. I look up, and it’s Martin Addison wearing bunny ears.

“Yeah, exactly,” I say as Martin sits beside Abby, close but not too close. “Okay, and it’s so weird, right, because we have all these ancestors from all over the world, and here we are in Garrett’s living room, and Martin’s ancestors are from Scotland, and I’m sorry, but Leah’s are totally from Ireland.”

“If you say so.”

“And Nick’s are from Israel.”

“Israel?” says Nick, fingers still sliding all over the frets of the guitar. “They’re from Russia.”

So I guess you learn something new every day, because I really thought Jewish people came from Israel.

“Okay, well, I’m English and German, and Abby’s, you know . . .” Oh God, I don’t know anything about Africa, and I don’t know if that makes me racist.

“West African. I think.”

“Exactly. I mean, it’s just the randomness of it. How did we all end up here?”

“Slavery, in my case,” Abby says.

And f*cking f*ck. I need to shut up. I needed to shut up about five minutes ago.

The stereo kicks back in again.

“Hey, I think I’m going to grab a drink,” Martin says, jumping up again in that spastic Martin way. “Can I get you all anything?”

“Thanks, but I’m driving,” says Leah. But she wouldn’t be drinking even if she wasn’t driving. I know that. Because there’s this invisible line, and on one side are people like Garrett and Abby and Nick and every musician ever. People who go to parties and drink and don’t get wasted off of one beer. People who have had sex and don’t think it’s a huge deal.

On the other side of the line are people like Leah and me.

But the one thing that makes it weirdly better is knowing that Blue is one of us. I’m reading a little between the lines here, but I actually don’t think Blue has ever kissed anyone. It’s funny—I don’t even know if it counts that I have.

I’ve never kissed a guy. That’s something I think about all the time.

“Spier?” asks Martin.

“Sorry, what?”

“Anything to drink?”

“Oh, thanks. I’m good.” Leah makes this little noise like a snort.

“I’m done, too. Thanks, though.” Abby kicks her foot against my foot. “At home, I’d just take the Metro and sneak in through our back door, so it didn’t matter.” When Abby says “home,” she’s still talking about DC. “But I figure Simon’s parents don’t need to see me drunk.”

“I don’t think they would care.”

Abby pushes her bangs to the side and looks up at me. “I think you’d be surprised.”

“They let my sister pierce her ear a million times.”

“Wow. Nora’s such a badass,” says Leah.