Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(25)

“That’s so cute,” Abby says. She looks back and forth from Martin to me.

“Oh, it’s adorable,” I say. I stare Martin down, but he turns away quickly, looking miserable. Seriously? That * deserves to feel miserable.

“Yeah, well.” Martin shuffles his feet, still staring at this random point over my shoulder. “I’m just going to . . .”

I’m just going to talk about your sexual orientation now like it’s my business, Simon. I’m just going to tell the whole goddamned school right here, right now, because I’m an *, and that’s just how it’s going to go down.

“Hey, wait,” I say. “This is random, but I was just thinking. Do you guys want to go to Waffle House tomorrow, after school? I could quiz you on your lines.”

I hate myself. I hate myself.

“I mean, if you can’t—”

“Oh my gosh. Seriously, Simon? That would be awesome. Tomorrow after school, right? I actually think I can get my mom’s car.” Abby smiles and pokes me in the cheek.

“Yeah, thanks, Simon,” Martin says quietly. “That would be great.”

“Great,” I say.

I’m officially doing it. I’m letting Martin Addison blackmail me. I don’t even know how I feel. Disgusted with myself. Relieved.

“You’re seriously amazing, Simon,” says Abby.

I’m not. At all.


And now it’s Friday night, and I’m on my second plate of hash browns, and Martin won’t stop asking Abby questions. I think it’s his way of flirting.

“Do you like waffles?”

“I do like waffles,” she says. “That’s why I got them.”

“Oh,” he says, and there’s a lot of wild, unnecessary nodding. He’s basically a Muppet.

They’re sitting next to each other, and I’m across from them, and we’ve managed to get the booth back near the bathrooms where no one really bothers you. It’s not all that crowded for a Friday night. There’s a pissed-off-looking middle-aged couple in the booth behind us, two hipster guys at the counter, and a couple of girls in private school uniforms eating toast.

“Aren’t you from DC?”

“Yes.”

“That’s cool. What part?”

“Takoma Park,” she says. “You know DC?”


“I mean, not really. My brother’s a sophomore at Georgetown,” Martin says.

Martin and his freaking brother.

“Are you okay, Simon?” asks Abby. “Drink some water!”

Can’t stop coughing. And now Martin’s offering me his water. Pushing it toward me. Martin can freaking bite me. Seriously. Like he’s so calm and collected.

He turns back to Abby. “So, you live with your mom?”

She nods.

“What about your dad?” he says.

“He’s still in DC.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Abby says, with a short laugh. “If my dad lived in Atlanta, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you guys right now.”

“Oh, is he really strict?” asks Martin.

“Yup,” she says. Her eyes cut toward me. “So, do you think we should start Act Two?”

Martin stretches and yawns in this weird vertical maneuver, and I watch as he attempts to position his arm next to Abby’s on the table. Abby pulls her arm away immediately and scratches her shoulder.

I mean, it’s pretty terrible to watch. Terrible and fascinating.

We run through the scene. Speaking of disasters. I don’t have a speaking part, so I shouldn’t judge. And I know they’re trying. But we’re having to stop at every freaking line, and it’s getting a little ridiculous.

“He got took away,” Abby says, covering her script with one hand.

I nod at her. “Got took away in a . . .”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “In a . . . coach?”

“You got it.” She opens her eyes, and I see her lips moving silently. Coach. Coach. Coach.

Martin stares into space, grinding his knuckle into his cheek. He has extremely prominent knuckles. Martin has prominent everything: huge eyes, long nose, full lips. Looking at him is exhausting.

“Martin.”

“Sorry. My line?”

“Dodger just said he got took away in a coach.”

“A coach? What coach? Where coach?”

Almost. Never perfect. Always almost. We start the scene over again. And I think: it’s Friday night. In theory, I could be out getting drunk. I could be at a concert.

I could be at a concert with Blue.

But instead, it’s Oliver getting taken away in a coach. Again and again and again.

“I’m never going to learn this,” Abby says.

“Don’t we have until the end of Christmas break?” Martin asks.

“Yeah, well. Taylor has everything memorized already.”

Abby and Martin both have huge parts in the play, but Taylor is the lead. As in, the play is Oliver! and Taylor plays Oliver.

“But Taylor has a photographic memory,” Martin says, “allegedly.”

Abby smiles a little bit.

“And a very fast metabolism,” I add.