Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(54)

But on Thursday afternoon, in that narrow window between school and rehearsal, I finally see her stepping out of the bathroom near the atrium.

“Leah!” I run over to her and catch her in a hug. “Where have you been?”

She stiffens in my arms.

I step back. “Um, is everything okay?”

She looks at me with jagged eyes. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she says. She tugs her shirt down and then folds her arms up under her chest.

“What?” I look at her. “Leah, what happened?”

“You tell me,” she says. “How was Friday? Did you, Nick, and Abby have fun?”

There’s this beat of silence.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell her. “I mean, I’m sorry.”

“You sound really sorry,” she says.

A couple of freshman girls scamper past us, shrieking and chasing each other and body slamming the door. We pause.

“Well, I am sorry,” I say, once the door shuts behind them. “I mean, if this is about Nick and Abby, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Right, this is all about Nick and Abby. I mean . . .” She laughs, shaking her head. “Whatever.”

“Well, what? Do you actually want to talk about it,” I ask, “or do you just want to be really sarcastic and not tell me what’s going on? Because if you’re just going to laugh at me—seriously—you’re going to have to wait in line.”

“Oh, poor Simon.”

“Okay, you know what? Forget it. I’m going to go to my f*cking dress rehearsal now, and you can find me whenever you’re ready to not be an *.” I turn around and start walking, trying to ignore the lump rising in my throat.

“Awesome,” she says. “Have fun. Say hi to your BFF for me.”

“Leah.” I turn around. “Please. Just stop.”

She shakes her head slightly, and her lips are pulled in, and she’s blinking and blinking. “I mean, it’s cool. But next time you guys decide to all hang out without me,” she says, “text me some pictures or something. Just so I can pretend I still have friends.”

Then there’s this noise like an aborted sob, and she pushes past me, straight through the door. And all through rehearsal, all I can hear is that noise over and over again.





30


I GET HOME, AND ALL I want to do is walk somewhere. Anywhere. But as it stands, I’m not even allowed to walk my freaking dog. And I feel so restless and strange and unhappy.

I hate it when Leah’s mad at me. Hate it. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen a lot, because there’s this hidden emotional subtext with Leah, and I’m always missing it. But this feels different and worse than our normal. She was just so mean about everything.

Also, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Leah cry.

Dinner is grilled cheese and Oreos, because my parents are still working and Nora’s out again. And then I basically spend the evening staring at my ceiling fan. I don’t have it in me to do my homework. No one’s going to expect it from me anyway with the play opening tomorrow. I listen to music, and I’m bored and antsy and, honestly, miserable.

Then, around nine, my parents come in wanting to Talk. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better.

“Can I sit?” asks my mom, sort of hovering over the end of the bed. I shrug, and she sits, and my dad takes my desk chair.

I tuck my hands behind my head and sigh. “Let me guess. Don’t get drunk.”

“I mean, yeah,” my dad says, “don’t get drunk.”

“Got it.”

They look at each other. My dad clears his throat.

“I owe you an apology, kid.”

I look up at him.

“What you said on Friday. About the gay jokes.”

“I was kidding,” I say. “It’s fine.”

“No,” my dad says. “It’s not really fine.”

I shrug.

“Well, I’m just going to put this out there, in case the message got lost somewhere. I love you. A lot. No matter what. And I know it’s got to be awesome having the cool dad.”

“Ahem,” says my mom.

“Excuse me. The cool parents. The hardcore, badass, hipster parents.”

“Oh, it’s awesome,” I say.

“But rein us in if you need to, okay? Rein me in,” he says. He rubs his chin. “I know I didn’t make it easy for you to come out. We’re very proud of you. You’re pretty brave, kid.”

“Thanks,” I say. I pull myself up and lean against the wall, thinking it’s a good time for hair ruffling and sleep tight, kid and don’t stay up too late.

But they don’t move. So I say, “Well, for the record, I knew you were kidding. That’s not the reason I didn’t want to come out.”

My parents look at each other again.

“Can I ask you what the reason was?” says my mom.

“I mean, there wasn’t like a specific reason,” I say. “I just didn’t want to have to talk about it. I knew it would be a big deal. I don’t know.”

“Was it a big deal?” says my mom.

“Well, yeah.”