Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Which makes me cackle at the kitchen table.

“You’re in a good mood,” says my mom, walking in with Bieber.

I shrug.

She shoots me this curious half smile. “All right, well, don’t feel like you have to talk about it, but I’m just saying. If you wanted to . . .”

Freaking psychologists. So much for not being weird and obsessed.

I hear a car pull into the driveway. “Nora’s home already?” I ask. It’s funny, but I’ve gotten used to her being gone until dinner.

I look out the window and do a double take. I mean, Nora’s home. But the car. The driver.

“Is that Leah?” I ask. “Driving Nora?”

“Appears to be.”

“Okay, yeah. I have to go out there.”

“Oh no,” she says. “Too bad you’re grounded.”

“Mom,” I say.

She tips her palms up.

“Come on. Please.” Already, Nora’s opening the car door.

“I’m open to negotiating,” she says.

“For what?”

“One night of parole in exchange for ten minutes of access to your Facebook.”

Jesus Christ.

“Five,” I say. “Supervised.”

“You got it,” she says. “But I want to see the boyfriend.”

So yeah. At least one of my sisters is about to get murdered.

But first: Leah. I sprint out the door.

Nora’s face whips toward me in surprise, but I run straight past her, panting, as I reach the passenger side door. Before Leah can object, I pull it open and climb inside.

Bram’s car is old, but Leah’s car is a Flintstones relic. I mean, it has a tape deck and crank windows. There’s a line of plush anime characters on the dashboard, and the floor is always littered with papers and empty Coke bottles. And there’s that floral grandmother smell.

I actually sort of love Leah’s car.

Leah looks at me in disbelief. I mean, waves of stink-eye roll off of her. “Get the hell out of my car,” she says.

“I want to talk.”

“Okay, well, I don’t.”

I click in my seat belt. “Take me to Waffle House.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Not even a little bit.” I lean back into the seat.

“So you’re carjacking me.”

“Oh,” I say, “I guess so.”

“Fucking unbelievable.” She shakes her head. But a moment later, she starts driving. She stares straight ahead with her mouth in a line, and she doesn’t say a word.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” I say.

Nothing.

“And I’m sorry about Midtown. I really am.”

Still.

“Will you just say something?”

“We’re here.” She puts the car in park. The lot is almost empty. “You can get your fucking waffle or whatever.”

“You’re coming with me,” I say.

“Um, yeah, no.”

“Okay, then don’t. But I’m not going in without you.”

“Not my problem.”

“Fine,” I say. “We’ll talk here.” I unlatch my seat belt and turn toward her.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“So, what? That’s it? We’re just not going to be friends anymore?”

She leans back and shuts her eyes. “Aww. Maybe you should go cry about it to Abby.”

“Okay, seriously?” I say. “What the hell is your problem with her?” I’m not trying to raise my voice, but it comes out booming.

“I don’t have a problem with her,” Leah says. “I just don’t know why we’re suddenly best friends with her.”

“Well, because she’s Nick’s girlfriend, for one thing.”

Leah whips her head toward me like I’ve slapped her.

“That’s right. Keep making this about Nick,” she says, “and we can all just fucking forget that you’re obsessed with her, too.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m gay!”

“You’re platonically obsessed with her!” she yells. “It’s cool, though. She’s such a fucking upgrade.”

“What?”

“Female best friend four-point-fucking-oh. Now available in the prettiest, perkiest package ever!”

“Oh, for the love of God,” I say. “You’re pretty.”

She laughs. “All right.”

“Seriously, just stop it. I’m so fucking tired of this.” I look at her. “She’s not an upgrade. You’re my best friend.”

She snorts.

“Well, you are. Both of you. And Nick. All three of you,” I say. “But I could never replace you. You’re Leah.”

“Then why did you come out to her first?” she says.

“Leah,” I say.

“Just—whatever. I don’t have the right to give a shit.”

“Stop saying that. You can give all kinds of shits.”

She’s quiet. And then I’m quiet. And then she says, “It was just so, I don’t know. It was obvious that Nick liked her. None of that’s been a fucking surprise. But when you told her first, it was like, I didn’t even see that coming. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” I say.

“Well, apparently you trust her more,” she says, “which is awesome, because how long have you known her? Six months? You’ve known me for six years.”

And I don’t know what to say. There’s a lump in my throat.