Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(47)

“I feel stupid for not knowing that,” I say.

“Why would you feel stupid? I guess I never mentioned it.”

“But I never asked.”

The worst part is when she does the bottom, because I have to hold my eyes open and the pencil goes right onto the edge, and I freaking hate it when things touch my eyes.

“Don’t blink,” says Abby.

“I’m trying not to.”

Her tongue sticks out a little bit between her lips, and she smells sort of like vanilla extract and talcum powder.

“All right. Look at me.”

“Am I done?” I ask.

She pauses, appraising me. “Basically,” she says. But then she attacks me like a ninja with powders and brushes.

“Whoa,” says Brianna, passing through.

“I know,” says Abby. “Simon, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look kind of ridiculously hot.”

Which leads to me almost getting whiplash from turning my head toward the mirror so fast.

“What do you think?” she says, grinning behind me.

“I look weird,” I say.

It’s a little bit surreal. I’m barely used to my face without glasses anyway, and with the eyeliner, the overall impression is: EYES.

“Wait till Cal sees,” Abby says under her breath.

I shake my head. “He’s not . . .”

But I can’t finish the thought. I can’t stop looking at myself.


The first performance of the day goes surprisingly smoothly, though most of the seniors use it as an opportunity to sleep in an extra two hours. But the freshmen are pretty geeked to be missing first and second period, which makes them the most wildly awesome audience ever. The exhaustion from the week falls away, and I’m carried forward by adrenaline, laughter, and applause.

We change out of our costumes, and everyone is really happy and amped up as Ms. Albright gives us notes. And then we’re released for regular lunch with the non-theater civilians. I’m a little bit excited to be going to lunch with my stage makeup still intact. And not just because of my supposed ridiculous hotness. It’s just kind of awesome to be marked as part of the ensemble.

Leah is obsessed with the eye makeup. “Holy f*ck, Simon.”

“Don’t you love it?” says Abby.

I feel this tug of self-consciousness. It doesn’t help that Cute Bram is looking at me.

“I had no idea your eyes were so gray,” Leah says. She turns to Nick, incredulously. “Did you know?”

“I did not,” Nick affirms.

“Like, they’re kind of charcoal around the edges,” she says, “and lighter in the middle, and then almost silver around the pupil. But dark silver.”

“Fifty shades of gray,” says Abby.

“Gross,” Leah says, and she and Abby exchange smiles.

It’s actually kind of a miracle.

We meet back in the auditorium after lunch so Ms. Albright can remind us how awesome we are, and then we head backstage to put our costumes back on for the first scene. It’s a little rushed this time, but I think I kind of like that. The orchestra warms up again, and chatter rises in the auditorium as the sophomores and juniors file into the seats.

This is the one I’m excited about. Because it’s my own class. Because Blue will be out there somewhere. And as pissed as I am at him, I still like the idea of him being in the audience.

I stand with Abby, peeking out at the audience through a crack in the curtains. “Nick’s here,” she says, pointing toward the left side of the auditorium. “And Leah. And Morgan and Anna are right behind them.”

“Shouldn’t we be starting soon?”

“I don’t know,” says Abby.

I turn to peek over my shoulder, where Cal is stationed at a desk in the wings. He wears headphones and a little microphone that curves down in front of his mouth, and at the moment, he’s frowning and nodding. And then he stands up and walks out toward the auditorium.

I look back out into the audience. The houselights are still on, and people are hoisted up onto the backs of their chairs, yelling across the room to each other. A couple of people have crumpled their programs into balls, and are lobbing them toward the ceiling.

“Our audience awaits,” says Abby, grinning into the semidarkness.

And then there’s a hand on my shoulder. It’s Ms. Albright.

“Simon, would you come with me for a minute?”

“Sure,” I say. Abby and I exchange shrugs.

I follow Ms. Albright to the dressing room, where Martin is flopped all over a plastic chair, winding the end of his beard around his finger.

“Go ahead and grab a seat.” She shuts the door behind us. Martin shoots me a look like he’s asking me what the hell this is all about.

I ignore him.

“So, something just happened,” Ms. Albright says, slowly, “and I wanted to talk to you guys about it first. I think you have a right to know.”

Right away, I get this sinking feeling. Ms. Albright stares past us for a second, and then she sort of blinks herself back into the moment. She looks completely exhausted. “Someone altered the cast list out in the atrium,” she says, “and they changed the names of both of your characters to something inappropriate.”

“To what?” asks Martin.