Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(53)

“We’ve discussed it, and—presumably this is a first offense?” I nod into my arms. “Then your mom and I have agreed that you’ll be grounded for two weeks starting tomorrow.”

I whip my head up. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I can’t?”

“It’s the play next weekend.”

“Oh, we’re well aware,” says my dad. “And you can go to school and rehearsals and all of your performances, but you’ll come straight home afterward. And your laptop is moving into the living room for a week.”

“And I’ll take your phone right now,” says my mom, putting out her hand. All business.

“That’s so effed up,” I say, because that’s what you say, but I mean, honestly? I don’t even f*cking care.





29


IT’S MLK WEEKEND, SO WE don’t get back to school until Tuesday. When I get there, Abby’s waiting in front of my locker. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you all weekend. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

“I was really worried about you. When your mom came out . . . your mom is actually kind of terrifying. I thought she was going to give me a Breathalyzer.”

Oh God. “Sorry,” I say. “They’re really intense about driving.” Abby steps aside, so I can twist in my locker combination.

“No, it was fine,” she says. “I just felt bad leaving you. And then when I didn’t hear back from you all weekend . . .”

I click the latch open. “They took my phone away. And my computer. And I’m grounded for two weeks.” I dig around for my French notebook. “So yeah.”

Abby’s face falls. “But what about the play?”

“No, that’s fine. They’re not messing with that.” I push my locker closed, and the latch clicks dully.

“Well, good,” she says. “But I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” Nick asks, falling into step with us on the way to English.

“Simon’s grounded,” she says.

“It’s not your fault at all,” I say. “I’m the one who got drunk and paraded it in front of my parents.”

“Not your best move,” says Nick. I look at him. Something’s different, and I can’t quite pin it down.

Then I realize: it’s the hands. They’re holding hands. My head snaps up to look at them, and they both smile self-consciously. Nick shrugs.

“Well well well,” I say. “I guess you guys didn’t miss me too much Friday night, after all.”

“Not really,” says Nick. Abby buries her face in his shoulder.


I pry the story out of Abby during small group conversation practice in French class.

“So how did it go down? Tell me everything. C’était un surprise,” I add as Madame Blanc makes her way up my row.

“C’était une surprise, Simon. Au féminin.” You have to love French teachers. They make such a big freaking deal about gender, but they always pronounce my name like Simone.

“Um, nous étions . . .” Abby smiles up at Madame Blanc, and then waits for her to move out of earshot. “Yeah, so we dropped you off, and I was kind of upset, because your mom seemed really mad, and I didn’t want her to think I would drink and drive.”

“She wouldn’t have let you drive home if she thought that.”

“Yeah, well,” Abby says, “I don’t know. Anyway, we left, but we ended up just parking in Nick’s driveway for a while, just in case you were able to talk your parents into letting you come back out.”

“Yeah, sorry. No dice.”

“Oh, I know,” she says. “I just felt weird leaving without you. We texted you, and then we waited for a little while.”

“Sorry,” I say again.

“No, it was fine,” Abby says, and then she breaks into a huge grin. “C’était magnifique.”


Lunch is actually amazing, because Morgan and Bram both had birthdays over the long weekend, and Leah’s very strict about everyone getting their own giant sheet cake. Which means two cakes, both chocolate.

Except I don’t know who brought the cakes today, because Leah never shows up for lunch at all. And now that I think about it, she wasn’t in English or French.

I reach into my back pocket automatically, but then I remember my phone is in custody. So, I lean over toward Anna, who’s wearing two party hats and eating a pile of straight-up icing. “Hey, where’s Leah?”

“Um,” says Anna, not meeting my eyes. “She’s here.”

“She’s at school?”

Anna shrugs.

I try not to worry about it, but I don’t see her all day, and then I don’t see her the next day either. Except Anna says she’s here. And her car’s in the parking lot, which makes it so much weirder. And her car’s still in the parking lot at seven, when we finally get out of rehearsal. I’m not sure what’s going on.

I just want to make contact. Maybe there are missed texts from her on my phone that I don’t even know about.

Or maybe not. I don’t know. It just sucks.