Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(44)

Love,

Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 5 at 10:01 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Snow!

I don’t think you’re weird. It sounds like you’ve had a shitty day, and I wish there was a way for me to make it better. Have you tried eating your feelings? I hear Oreos can be therapeutic. Also, I’m not really one to talk here, but you really shouldn’t feel guilty for getting angry—especially if I’m right about what’s making you angry.

Okay. I have to tell you something, and I think it may be something upsetting. I actually don’t think my timing could be worse, but I can’t think of any way around it, so here goes: Jacques, I’m almost positive I know who you are.

Love,

Blue

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 6 at 7:12 PM

SUBJECT: Really?

Wow. Okay. Not upsetting. But this is kind of a big moment, right?

Actually, I think I know who you are, too. So, just for fun, I’m guessing: 1. You share a first name with a former US president.

2. And a comic book character.

3. You like to draw.

4. You have blue eyes.

5. And you once pushed me down a dark hallway in a rolling chair.

Love,

Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 6 at 9:43 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

1. Actually, yes.

2. Kind of an obscure character, but yes.

3. Not really.

4. No.

5. Definitely not.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m the person you think I am.

—Blue

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 6 at 11:18 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

Well, I was doing great there until the end.

So yeah. Wow. I guess I was dead wrong. I’m sorry, Blue. I hope that doesn’t make things weird between us.

Anyway, maybe you’ll guess wrong about me, too? And then we would be even? Though I’m guessing you saw the thing on the Tumblr. God, I feel like such an idiot.

Love,

Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Jan 7 at 7:23 AM

SUBJECT: Re: Really?

On the Tumblr—you mean creeksecrets? I honestly don’t think I’ve looked at it since August. What was on there? Anyway, you don’t have to feel like an idiot. It’s fine. But I really don’t think I’m wrong.

Jacques a dit. Right?

—Blue





25


SO, YEAH. I’VE BEEN CARELESS. I guess I left a trail of clues, and I shouldn’t be surprised that Blue put them together. Maybe I kind of wanted him to.

Jacques a dit is “Simon Says” in French, by the way. And it’s obviously not as clever as I thought it was.

But I really f*cked it all up with the Cal thing. I mean, honest to God, I’m a freaking moron. I seriously don’t know what I was thinking. Blue-green eyes and a gut feeling that Blue was Cal? It’s classic Simon logic. No surprise that I was horribly, epically wrong.

I spend about twenty minutes staring at Blue’s email on my laptop that morning before writing back. And then I sit there refreshing the browser over and over again until Nora bangs on my door. We get to school five minutes early anyway. So I spend five more minutes sitting in my parked car staring at my email again on my phone.

I mean, he didn’t see the Tumblr post. So that’s something. That’s a huge something, actually.

I walk in just as the bell is ringing, and I’m in a serious daze. It’s lucky that my hands seem to know my locker combination, because my brain has checked out. People talk to me, and I nod along, but absolutely nothing penetrates. I think a couple of pickup truck guys change my name to Semen Queer. I don’t know. I don’t even think I care.

All I can think about is Blue. I guess a part of me is hoping for something today. Some kind of reveal. I can’t believe Blue wouldn’t tell me, now that he knows who I am. Which means I’m looking for it everywhere. Leah passes me a note in French class, and my heart starts pounding, thinking it could be a message from him. Meet me by your locker. I’m ready. Something like that. But it turns out to be an impressively realistic, manga-style drawing of our French teacher performing fellatio on a baguette. Speaking of things that remind me of Blue.

And when someone taps me on the shoulder in history class, my heart is a pinball. But it’s just Abby. “Shh, listen to this.”

I listen, and it’s Taylor explaining to Martin that she wasn’t necessarily trying to get a gap between her thighs, but it’s just her metabolism, and she didn’t even realize that some girls try to get the gap on purpose. Martin nods and scratches his head and looks bored.

“She can’t help her metabolism, Simon,” Abby says.

“Apparently not.” Taylor may be an undercover, bully-fighting ninja, but she’s still kind of awful.

And then Abby nudges me again later to pick up a pen she dropped, and it’s pinballs all over again. I can’t even help it. There’s just this thread of anticipation that I can’t seem to quell.

So when the school day ends and nothing extraordinary has happened, it’s a tiny heartbreak. It’s like eleven o’clock on the night of your birthday, when you realize no one’s throwing you a surprise party after all.