Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Even Martin. He smiles at me when he catches my eye, and I really just have to grin back at him. He’s such a freaking asswipe, seriously, but he’s just so gangly and fidgety and ridiculous. It takes some of the passion out of hating him.

So yeah. I’m not going to write a poem in his honor. And I don’t know what he expects me to say to Abby. No clue. But I guess—I’ll think of something.

Rehearsal ends, but Abby and I dangle our feet off the edge of one of the platforms, watching Ms. Albright and Cal make notes in the big blue binder. The south county late bus doesn’t leave for another fifteen minutes, and then it’s another hour until Abby gets home. She and most of the other black kids spend more time commuting to school each day than I do in a week. Atlanta is so weirdly segregated, and no one ever talks about it.

She yawns and leans back flat on the platform with one arm tucked behind her head. She’s wearing tights and one of those short patterned dresses, and her left wrist is loaded with woven friendship bracelets.

Martin sits across the stage, a few feet away, zipping his backpack so slowly it must be deliberate. He seems to be making a point of not looking at us.

Abby’s eyes are closed. She has the kind of mouth that always rests in a faint smile, and she smells a little like French toast. If I were straight. The Abby thing. I do think I get it.

“Hey, Martin,” I say, and my voice sounds strange. He looks up at me. “Are you going to Garrett’s tomorrow?”

“I, uh,” he says. “Like a party?”

“It’s a Halloween party. You should come. I’ll send you the address.”

Just a quick text to Monkey’s Asshole.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. He leans forward and stands, and immediately trips over his shoelace. Then he tries to play it off like some kind of dance move. Abby laughs, and he grins, and I’m not even kidding: he actually takes a bow. I mean, I don’t even know what to say to that. I guess there’s this hazy middle ground between laughing at someone and laughing with someone.

I’m pretty sure that middle ground is Martin.

Abby turns her head to look at me. “Didn’t know you were friends with Marty,” she says.

Which is just about the most hilarious fucking statement ever.



4

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Oct 30 at 9:56 PM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners Blue,

I guess I never tried to pull off something truly scary. My family is really all about the funny costumes. We used to get competitive about whose costume would make my dad laugh the hardest. My sister was a trash can one year. Not Oscar the Grouch. Just a trash can full of trash. And I was pretty much a one-trick pony. The boy-in-a-dress concept never got old (until it did, I guess—I was in fourth grade and had this amazing flapper costume, but then I looked in the mirror and felt this electric shock of mortification).

Now, I’ll say I aim for the sweet spot of simplicity and badassery. I can’t believe you’re not dressing up. Don’t you realize you’re throwing away the perfect opportunity to be someone else for an evening?

Disappointedly yours,

—Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Oct 31 at 8:11 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners Jacques,

Sorry to disappoint. I’m not opposed to dressing up, and you make a compelling case for it. I completely see the appeal of being someone else for the evening (or in general). Actually, I was a bit of a one-trick pony myself when I was little. I was always a superhero. I guess I liked to imagine myself having this complicated secret identity. Maybe I still do. Maybe that’s the whole point of these emails.

Anyway, I’m not dressing up this year, because I’m not going out. My mom has some kind of work party, so I’m stuck at home on chocolate duty. I’m sure you understand that there’s nothing sadder than a sixteen-year-old boy home alone on Halloween answering the door in full costume.

Your family sounds interesting. How did you talk your parents into buying you dresses? I bet you were an awesome flapper. Did your parents try to ruin all your costumes by making them weather appropriate? I remember throwing this ridiculous tantrum one year because THE GREEN LANTERN DOES NOT WEAR A TURTLENECK. Though, in retrospect, he actually kind of does. Sorry, Mom!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy your day off from being Jacques. And I hope everyone likes your ninja costume (that has to be it, right? The perfect mix of simple and badass?).

—Blue

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Oct 31 at 8:25 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners A ninja? Suck a good guess, but no dice.

—Jacques

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Oct 31 at 8:26 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners Aaaah—autocorrect fail. DICK a good guess.

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] DATE: Oct 31 at 8:28 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners GAHHHHH!!!!!

SUCH a good guess. SUCH. Jesus Christ. This is why I never write you from my phone.

Anyway, I’m going to go die of embarrassment now.

—J