Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(24)

Anyway, all things considered, I agree that this was a far more satisfying use of my time than writing English essays. You are very distracting.

—Jacques

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected] DATE: Dec 3 at 5:20 PM

SUBJECT: Re: I should be . . .

Jacques,

About you not knowing I was Jewish—I know I’ve never mentioned it. I’m not even Jewish, technically, because Judaism is matrilineal, and my mom’s Episcopalian. Anyway, I still haven’t decided if I’m really going to go through with it. It wasn’t something I thought I’d be ready to do anytime soon. I don’t know why, but lately, I’ve just felt this urge to put it out there. Maybe I just want to get it over with. What about you? Have you thought about the Coming Out Thing?

It gets complicated when you bring religion into the equation. Technically, Jews and Episcopalians are supposed to be gay-friendly, but it’s hard to really know how that applies to your own parents. Like, you read about these gay kids with really churchy Catholic parents, and the parents end up doing PFLAG and Pride Parades and everything. And then you hear about parents who are totally fine with homosexuality, but can’t handle it when their own kid comes out. You just never know.

I think instead of downloading the Elliott Smith songs you mentioned, I’ll just drop a hint to my dad that I want a couple of his albums for Hotel Hanukkah. I guarantee you that he has about six of my presents picked out, and is desperate for some kind of hint about what else he should be getting me.

So, I know you and I can’t really buy each other gifts in real life, but just know that if I could, I would order you all kinds of band T-shirts online. Even if it meant losing the respect of musicians everywhere (because I’m sure that’s how it works, Jacques). Or we could just go to a live show. I mean, I don’t actually know anything about music, but I’m guessing it would be fun if it was with you. Maybe one day.

I’m glad that you find me distracting. It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.

—Blue





13


IT’S THURSDAY, AND I’M IN history class, and apparently Ms. Dillinger just asked me a question, because everyone is looking at me like I owe them something. So now I’m blushing and trying to bullshit my way through it, and judging by her twisty, teacherly frown, I don’t think it’s going very well.

I mean, when you think about it, it’s a little f*cked up that teachers think they get to dictate what you think about. It’s not enough if you just sit there quietly and let them teach. It’s like they think they have a right to control your mind.

I don’t want to think about the War of 1812. I don’t want to know what the hell was so impressive to a bunch of freaking sailors.

What I want is to sit here and think about Blue. I think I’m starting to get a little obsessed with him. On one hand, he’s so careful all the time about not giving me details about himself—and then he turns around and tells me all kinds of personal stuff, and it’s the kind of stuff that I could totally use to figure out his identity if I really wanted to. And I do want to. But I also don’t. It’s just so totally confusing. He’s confusing.

“Simon!” Abby taps me frantically from behind. “I need a pen.”

I hand one back to her, and she thanks me under her breath. I look around and realize that everyone is writing. Ms. Dillinger has written a website address down on the board. I don’t know what the heck it’s for, but I guess I’ll find out when I get around to looking it up. I copy the address into the margin of my notes, and then outline it in zigzags like a comic book POW!

I’m a little hung up on Blue’s parents being religious. I feel like a freaking moron, honestly, because I’m basically the most blasphemous person in the world. Like, I don’t even know how not to use the Lord’s name in vain. But maybe it’s not a big deal to him. Him being Blue, not the Lord. I mean, Blue’s still emailing me, so I guess he couldn’t have been too offended.

Ms. Dillinger gives us a break, but it’s not the kind of break where you can go anywhere, so I just sit and stare into space. Abby comes over and kneels and rests her chin on my desk. “Hey. Where are you today?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re like a million miles away.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Martin climbing over someone’s chair to join us. Every time. I swear to God.

“What’s up, guys?”

“Haha,” says Abby. “Your shirt is hilarious.” Martin is wearing a T-shirt that says “Talk nerdy to me.”

“Are you guys going to rehearsal today?”

“Oh, it’s optional now?” I ask. And then I do this thing I picked up from Leah, where you kind of cut your eyes to the side and narrow them. It’s more subtle than rolling your eyes. Much more effective.

Martin just looks at me.

“Yeah, we’re going,” Abby says, after a moment.

“Yeah. Spier,” Martin says suddenly, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” His cheeks have gone pink, and a red blotch unfurls around the collar of his T-shirt. “I’ve been thinking. I really want to introduce you to my brother. I think you guys have a lot in common.”

Blood rushes to my face, and I feel that familiar f*cking prickle behind my eyes. He’s threatening me again.