Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(17)

“And y’all have to chant,” Maddie says, looking deadly serious. “They’re judging us on spirit.”

“Gah jernyrs,” I mutter to Nick, who snorts. There’s only so much you can do with a piece of straw clamped between your teeth.

Maddie looks panicked. “Oh my God, everyone, okay. Change of plans. No straw. Everyone take out the straw. Okay, good. Be loud, y’all. Remember to smile.”

The float starts moving around the parking lot, where it falls into place behind some kind of rock ’n’ roll monstrosity the sophomores have put together. We follow behind it, taking our cue from Maddie, who calls out cheers and randomly yells, “Woo hoo,” when things get too quiet. The parade actually leaves the school grounds, where it loops around for a block before coming onto the track circling the football field. The lights shine down on us, and people cheer, and I can’t believe Nick and I ended up in the middle of this. It’s so Johnny high school. I feel like I’m supposed to make some comment to underscore the ridiculousness of it all, but honestly? It’s sort of nice not to have to be cynical for a change.

I guess it feels like I’m a part of something.

Abby and the other cheerleaders rush off to the bathroom as soon as the parade ends to get into their uniforms, and Nick and I look up at the bleachers. The faces blur together, and it’s hard to find anyone we recognize. It’s a little overwhelming.

“Soccer team’s up there,” Nick says finally, pointing up to the left and a few rows down from the top. I follow him up the concrete stairs, and then we end up having to squeeze past people to get over to them. God. Just when you think you’ve discovered every kind of awkwardness there is. And then comes the issue of finding a place to actually sit. Garrett pushes in closer to Bram to make room, but I’m still basically sitting on Nick’s lap, and that sure as hell isn’t going to work. I stand up again immediately, feeling twitchy and self-conscious.

“Okay,” I say, “I’m going to go sit with drama club people.” I spot Taylor’s bright blond, super-brushed hair a couple rows ahead of us next to the stairs, and she’s sitting with Emily Goff and a couple of the others. A couple of the others including Cal Price. My heart beats faster. I knew Cal would be here.

I squeeze through my row and back down the stairs, feeling like every eye in the stadium is on me. Then I reach under the banister to tap Cal on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Simon?” he says. I like that he calls me Simon. A lot of the guys call me Spier, and I don’t mind that, but I don’t know. Honestly, I think I would like whatever Cal Price called me.

“Hey,” I say. “Can I join you guys?”

“Definitely.” He scoots over a few feet. “Plenty of room.” And there is—I won’t have to sit on his lap, anyway. It’s actually kind of unfortunate.

I spend a full minute trying to think of something to say. My brain feels foggy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a game,” Cal says, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

And seriously, I can’t even. Because Cal’s bangs. Cal’s eyes. The fact that he apparently notices me enough to know I’m not at football games.

“This is my first time,” I say. Because I just have to say the most virginy thing ever.

“That’s cool.” And he’s so calm. He’s not even facing me, because he can talk and watch the game at the same time. “I like coming when I can. I try to make it to homecoming at least.”


I try to think of a way to ask the thing I can’t ask him. Maybe if I mentioned something about the smell of the air, just to see how he would react. But if I said that and Cal really is Blue, he’d know immediately that Jacques is me. And I don’t think I’m ready for that.

I’m so freaking, ridiculously, absurdly curious, though.

“Hey.” Suddenly, someone slides in next to me on the bleacher. It’s Martin. I scoot down automatically to make room.

“Adderall,” some guy behind us grunts, messing up Martin’s hair. Martin grins up at him. Then he smooths his hair back down, or tries to, and chews his lip for a minute.

“What’s up, Spier?”

“Nothing,” I say, and my heart sinks. He turns his body toward mine, and he’s clearly in the mood for a conversation. So much for talking to Cal. So much for the air smelling like possibility.

“Hey, so, this Abby thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I asked her to the dance,” he says, super quietly, “and she shot me down.”

“Okay, um. Sorry. That sucks.”

“Did you know she already had a date?”

“Um, yeah, I think I did know that. Sorry,” I say again. I probably should have gotten around to speaking to Martin about that.

“Could you give me a heads-up next time,” he asks, “so I don’t embarrass myself?” He looks so miserable. I feel weirdly guilty. Even though he’s blackmailing me, I feel guilty. So that’s a little f*cked up.

“I don’t think they’re like boyfriend-girlfriend,” I say.

“Whatever,” he says. I look at him. I don’t know if he’s giving up on Abby, or what. And if he does give up on her—what happens to the emails? Maybe he gets to hold them over my head forever.