Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

And Leah’s also into slash fanfiction, which got me curious enough to poke around the internet and find some last summer. I couldn’t believe how much there was to choose from: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hooking up in thousands of ways in every broom closet at Hogwarts. I found the ones with decent grammar and stayed up reading all night. It was a weird couple of weeks. That was the summer I taught myself how to do laundry. There are some socks that shouldn’t be washed by your mom.

After dinner, Nora sets up Skype on the desktop computer in the living room. In the camera window, Alice looks a little disheveled, but it’s probably the hair—wood-blond and rumpled. All three of us have ridiculous hair. In the background, Alice’s bed is unmade and covered with pillows, and someone’s purchased a round, shaggy carpet to cover the few feet of floor space. It’s still strange to imagine Alice sharing a dorm room with a random girl from Minneapolis. Like, who would have ever guessed I’d see anything sports-related in Alice’s room? Minnesota Twins, indeed.

“Okay, you’re pixelated. I’m going to—no wait, you’re good. Oh my God, Dad, is that a rose?”

Our dad is holding a red rose and cackling into the webcam. I’m not even kidding. My family is all freaking business when it comes to The Bachelorette.

“Simon, do your Chris Harrison imitation.”

Fact: my Harrison imitation is utter and complete genius. At least, it is under normal circumstances. But I’m not at the top of my game today.

I’m just so preoccupied. And it’s not just Martin saving the emails. It’s the emails themselves. I’ve been feeling a little strange about the girlfriend thing ever since Blue asked about it. I wonder if he thinks I’m really fake. I get the impression that once he realized he was gay, he didn’t date girls, and it was as simple as that.

“So Michael D. claims to have used the fantasy suite for talking,” Alice says. “Do we believe that?”

“Not for a minute, kid,” Dad replies.

“They always say that,” says Nora. She cocks her head, and I just now notice that her ear has five piercings, all the way up and around.

“Right?” says Alice. “Bub, are you going to weigh in?”

“Nora, when did you do that?” I touch my earlobe.

She kind of blushes. “Last weekend?”

“Let me see,” Alice demands. Nora turns her ear toward the webcam. “Whoa.”

“I mean, why?” I ask.

“Because I wanted to.”

“But, like, why so many?”

“Can we talk about the fantasy suite now?” she says. Nora gets squirmy when the focus is on her.

“I mean, it’s the fantasy suite,” I say. “They totally did it. I’m pretty sure the fantasy doesn’t involve talking.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean intercourse.”

“MOM. Jesus Christ.”

I guess it was easy being in relationships where I didn’t really have to think about all the tiny humiliations that come with being attracted to someone. It’s like, I get along well with girls. Kissing them is fine. Dating them was really manageable.

“How about Daniel F.?” Nora asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Seriously, the piercings. I don’t get her.

“Okay, Daniel F.’s the hottest one,” says Alice. My mom and Alice are always using the phrase “eye candy” to talk about these people.

“Are you kidding me?” my dad says. “The gay one?”

“Daniel’s not gay,” Nora objects.

“Kid, he’s a one-man Pride Parade. An eternal flame.”

My whole body tenses. Leah once said that she’d rather have people call her fat directly than have to sit there and listen to them talking shit about some other girl’s weight. I actually think I agree with that. Nothing is worse than the secret humiliation of being insulted by proxy.

“Dad, stop,” says Alice.

And so Dad starts singing that song “Eternal Flame” by the Bangles.

I never know if my dad says that kind of stuff because he means it, or if he’s just trying to push Alice’s buttons. I mean, if that’s the way he feels, I guess it’s good to know. Even if I can’t un-know it.

So, the other issue is the lunch table. It’s been less than a week since the blackmail conversation, but Martin intercepts me on my way back from the lunch line.

“What do you want, Martin?”

He glances at my table. “Room for one more?”

“Um.” I look down. “Not really.”

There’s this weird beat of silence.

“We’ve got eight people already.”

“Didn’t realize the seats were assigned.”

I don’t have a clue what to say to that. People sit where they always sit. I thought that was basically a law of the universe.

You can’t just switch around the lunch tables in October.

And my group is weird, but it works. Nick, Leah, and me. Leah’s two friends, Morgan and Anna, who read manga and wear black eyeliner, and are basically interchangeable. Anna and I actually dated freshman year, and I still think she and Morgan are interchangeable.

Then you have the holy randomness of Nick’s soccer friends: awkward silence Bram and semi-douche Garrett. And Abby. She moved here from DC just before the beginning of the school year, and I guess we were sort of drawn to each other. It was some combination of fate and alphabetical homeroom assignments.