Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

We’re both wearing Chucks, and I can’t decide if my feet look small or if his look huge. Martin probably has six inches on me. Our shadows look ridiculous next to each other.

“Well, I’m not,” I say. I step off the wall and start walking back toward the auditorium. I mean, I’m not trying to piss off Ms. Albright.

Martin catches up to me. “Seriously,” he says, “I’m not going to show anyone the emails, okay? Stop freaking out about it.”

But I think I’ll take that with about a million fucking grains of salt. Because he sure as hell didn’t say he was deleting them.

He looks at me, and I can’t quite read his expression. It’s funny. All the years I’ve been in class with this kid, laughing along with everyone at the random shit he says. All the times I’ve seen him in plays. We even sat next to each other in choir for a year. But really, I barely know him. I guess I don’t know him at all.

Never in my life have I underestimated someone so severely.

“I said I was going to talk to her,” I say finally. “Okay?”

My hands are on the auditorium door.

“Wait,” he says. I look up at him, and he’s holding his phone. “Would it be easier if we exchanged numbers?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I mean . . .” He shrugs.

“Jesus Christ, Martin.” I grab his phone, and my hands are practically vibrating with total fury as I punch my number into his contacts.

“Awesome! And I’ll just call you so you have mine.”

“Whatever.”

Fucking Martin Addison. I’m definitely putting him in my contacts as “Monkey’s Asshole.”

I push through the door, and Ms. Albright herds us on stage. “All right. I need Fagin, Dodger, Oliver, and boys. Act One, Scene Six. Let’s go.”

“Simon!” Abby flings her arms around me, and then pokes me in the cheeks. “Never leave me again.”

“What did I miss?” I kind of force a smile.

“Nothing,” she says under her breath, “but I’m in Taylor hell here.”

“The blondest circle of hell.”

Taylor Metternich. She’s the worst kind of perfect. Like, if perfection had a dark side. I don’t know how else to explain it. I always imagine her sitting in front of a mirror at night, counting strokes as she brushes her hair. And she’s the kind of person who posts on Facebook asking you how you did on the history quiz. Not to be supportive. She wants to know your grade.

“Okay, boys,” says Ms. Albright. Hilarious, because Martin, Cal Price, and I are the only ones onstage who technically qualify. “Bear with me, because we’re going to do some blocking.” She combs her bangs out of her eyes and tucks them behind her ear. Ms. Albright is really young for a teacher, and she has bright red hair. Like, electric red.

“Act One, Scene Six is the pickpocket scene, right?” asks Taylor, because she’s also the kind of person who pretends to ask a question just to show off what she already knows.

“Right,” Ms. Albright says. “Take it away, Cal.”

Cal is the stage manager. He’s a junior like me, and he carries a double-spaced copy of the script clipped into a giant blue binder, exploding with pencil notes. It’s funny that his job is basically to order us around and be stressed out, because he’s the least authoritative person I’ve ever met. He’s a little bit soft-spoken, and he has an actual southern accent. Which is something you almost never hear in Atlanta, really.

He also has those kind of shaggy brown bangs I like, and dark, ocean-colored eyes. I haven’t heard anything about him being gay, but there’s this kind of vibe I get, maybe.

“All right,” says Ms. Albright, “Dodger has just befriended Oliver, and he’s bringing him back to the hideout for the first time to meet Fagin and the boys. So. What’s your objective?”

“To show him who’s boss,” says Emily Goff.

“Maybe to mess with him a little?” says Mila Odom.

“You got it. He’s the new guy, and you’re not going to make it easy for him. He’s a nerd. You want to intimidate him and steal his crap.” That makes a couple of people laugh. Ms. Albright is moderately badass for a teacher.

She and Cal put us into position—Ms. Albright calls it “setting the tableau.” They want me lying down propped up by my elbows on a platform, tossing a little coin bag. When Dodger and Oliver enter, all of us are supposed to jump up and make a grab for Oliver’s satchel. I have the idea to stuff it under my shirt and stagger around the stage with my hand on my lower back like I’m pregnant.

Ms. Albright totally loves it.

Everyone laughs, and honest to God, this is the absolute best kind of moment. The auditorium lights are off except for the ones over the stage, and we’re all bright eyed and giggle-drunk. I fall a little bit in love with everyone. Even Taylor.