Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(22)

“Oh. Thanks,” he says, reaching out to take it. He has long, kind of knobbly fingers. Cute hands. He looks down at the paper, glances back up at me, and blushes slightly. I can tell he feels weird about me seeing his grade.

“No problem. I mean, I’d keep the grade if I could.”

He smiles a little bit and looks back down at his desk. You never really know what he’s thinking. But I have this theory that Bram’s probably really funny inside his own head. I don’t even know why I think that.

But seriously: whatever inside jokes he has with himself, I think I’d like to be in on them.


When I walk into rehearsal that afternoon, Abby is sitting in the front row of the auditorium with her eyes closed and her lips moving. Her script is open on her lap, and she’s got one hand covering some of the lines.

“Hey,” I say.

Her eyes snap open. “How long have you been standing here?”


“Just a second. Are you working on your lines?”

“Yup.” She turns the script upside down, using her leg to hold her place. There’s something odd about her clipped tone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She nods. “A little stressed,” she adds finally. “Did you know we have to be off book by the end of break?”

“By the end of Christmas break,” I say.

“I know.”

“That’s like over a month away. You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” she says. “You don’t have any lines.”

And then she looks up at me with raised eyebrows and a perfectly round mouth, and I can’t help but laugh.

“That was so bitchy of me. I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was super bitchy,” I say. “You’re like a stealth bitch.”

“What did you call her?” asks Martin.

I swear to God, that kid pops up out of nowhere and burrows into every conversation.

“It’s okay, Marty. We’re just messing around,” says Abby.

“Yeah, well, he called you a bitch. I really don’t think that’s okay.”

Oh my God. He’s seriously going to bust in here, totally miss the joke, and then turn around and lecture me about my f*cking language. That’s great, Martin. Just knock me down so you can look good in front of Abby. And, I mean, the whole idea of Martin Addison taking the moral high ground when he’s in the middle of blackmailing me—that’s just so f*cking awesome.

“Martin, really. We were kidding. I called myself a bitch.” She laughs, but it comes out strained. I stare down at my shoes.

“If you say so.” Martin’s face is extra pink, and he’s playing with the skin on his elbow. I mean, seriously, if he’s so dead set on impressing Abby, maybe he should stop being so twitchy and awkward and annoying all the time. Maybe he should stop pulling the goddamn skin around his elbow. Because it’s completely disgusting. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s doing it.

The worst part of it is, I know perfectly well that if Alice heard me using that word, she would call me out, too. Alice is pretty hardcore about when it’s appropriate to use the word “bitch.”

Appropriate: “The bitch gave birth to a litter of adorable puppies.”

Inappropriate: “Abby is a bitch.”

Even if I said she was a stealth bitch. Even if I was joking. It may be crazy Alice logic, but I feel a little weird and awful about it anyway.

I choke out an apology, and my face is burning. Martin’s still standing there. I seriously can’t get away fast enough. I walk up the steps to the stage.

Ms. Albright is sitting next to Taylor on one of the platforms, pointing at something in Taylor’s script. Downstage, the girl who plays Nancy is giving a piggyback ride to the guy who plays Bill Sikes. And offstage left, this sophomore girl named Laura sits on top of a stack of chairs, crying into her sleeve, and I guess Mila Odom is comforting her.

“You don’t even know that,” Mila says. “Seriously, look at me. Look at me.”

Laura looks up at her.

“It’s the freaking Tumblr, okay. Half that shit is made up.”

Laura’s voice is broken and sniffly. “But there’s . . . a little . . . bit of . . . truth . . . to . . . every—”

“That’s seriously bullshit,” says Mila. “You need to just talk to him.” And then she sees me standing there listening and shoots me the stink-eye.

So here’s the thing: Simon means “the one who hears” and Spier means “the one who watches.” Which means I was basically destined to be nosy.

Cal and two of the senior girls are sitting outside the dressing room with their backs to the wall and their legs stretched out in front of them. He looks up at me and smiles. He has a really nice, easy smile. You can tell it’s the kind that looks cute in pictures. I still feel a little unpleasant about the whole Abby and Martin conversation, but I think I may be on my way to feeling better.

“Hey,” I say. The girls sort of smile at me. Sasha and Brianna are both Fagin’s boys like me. It’s funny. I’m literally the only one of Fagin’s boys played by an actual guy. I guess it’s because girls are smaller or look younger or something. I don’t even know. But it’s slightly awesome, because it means I’m the tallest person onstage during those scenes. Which doesn’t happen all that often, to be honest.