AND OF COURSE, I’M A hot mess for the rest of the day. I’m so far gone, it’s not even funny. My head is just mush. Actual mush. And it would be one thing if it only happened in Abby’s physical presence, but it’s way beyond that. It’s everything I do and everywhere I go. People try to talk to me, and I don’t even hear them.
Simon intercepts me on my way to the buses. “Come on. I’m driving you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not a question. Let’s go.” He hooks his arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the parking lot. Then he walks me the whole way there, like I’m a frail, stumbling great-grandmother.
“You’re ridiculous,” I inform him.
He opens the passenger door for me.
“Are you going to click my seat belt for me, too?” I add.
“Very funny.”
“So, where’s Nora?” I ask when he finally slides into the driver’s seat.
“Funny you should ask.”
“Funny how?”
“Well, by funny,” he explains, “I mean not at all funny.”
“Ah.”
He backs slowly out of his parking spot, lips pressed together.
“Is everything okay?” I say after a moment.
“What? Oh yeah. I’m just.” He shakes his head. “Did you know she’s going to prom?”
“Nora?”
Simon nods.
“Oh. With Cal?”
He stops at a light, turning to me incredulously. “You knew about it?”
“No, but they were pretty flirty during the play.”
“No they weren’t! I would have noticed. I always notice this stuff.” I snort out loud, and he narrows his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmph.”
“So, are they dating?” I ask.
He sighs. “I don’t know.”
“Want me to ask her? I’ll ask. I don’t care.”
“It’s just weird, right?” he says, nodding earnestly. “He liked me.”
“And you have a boyfriend. Which, speaking of—have you talked to Bram yet?”
“No. But I will. And, Leah, God. You know I’m not jealous, right? I’m just saying—it’s weird.”
“I don’t think it’s weird at all. You and Nora look a lot alike.”
Simon smacks the steering wheel. “That’s why it’s weird.”
“The dude has a type.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I think you just don’t like the idea of your little sister hooking up with someone.”
“THEY’RE NOT HOOKING UP.”
I shake my head, smiling.
“But she keeps staying after school with him for yearbook, and now he’s giving her a ride home like every day.”
“Aka, they’re hooking up.”
Simon huffs. “No they’re not.”
He turns onto Roswell Road, and for the next five minutes, we drive in silence. I don’t say a single word until he pulls into my driveway.
“Seriously, are you okay?” I ask finally.
“What? Yeah.”
“You need to talk to Bram.”
“I know.”
“Like now. Today.”
He nods, slowly, jaw clenched. “This is stupid. I should just turn in my deposit for NYU, right?”
“Simon, I can’t make this decision for you.” I shake my head. Then I grab his hand and tug it. “All right. Come on.”
“You want me to come in?” His brow furrows.
“Yup.”
“Um. Yeah.” Simon nods quickly. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve actually been inside your house in years.”
“I’m aware,” I say, feeling stupidly self-conscious. It’s not a secret that I’m not rich. And Simon’s not going to judge me for having a small house, or clutter, or crappy secondhand IKEA furniture. But I’m just weird about having people over. It’s like I can’t help but be acutely aware of the stains on the carpet and my mismatched bedding. Or even just the fact that my whole room is the size of Simon’s closet.
We walk in through the garage, and he follows me down the hall. “I can’t even remember what your room looks like,” he says.
“It’s really small. Just warning you.”
Then I open the door and step into my room. Simon lingers in the doorway. “This is amazing,” he says softly.
I look at him to see if he’s kidding.
“Did you draw all of these?” He walks toward the wall, peering closely at one of my sketches.
“Some of them. Some are from the internet.”
My walls are covered with art—pencil sketches and carefully inked character portraits and chibis and yaoi. If I fall in love with something on DeviantArt, I print it. Or sometimes Morgan and Anna print them and give them to me. And I guess lately, more and more of them are mine. My Harry and Draco sketches, Haruka and Michiru, my original characters. And the picture I drew of Abby and me at Morgan’s house. I hope to God Simon doesn’t notice that.
“This room is so you,” he says, smiling.
“I guess.”
He flops backward onto my bed. That’s the thing about Simon. He feels totally at home wherever he goes. I stretch out beside him, and we both stare at my ceiling fan.
Then Simon covers his face and sighs.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
“I know you’re worried.”
He sniffs and turns his head to look at me. There’s a tear streaking down his cheek, sliding out from under his glasses. He wipes it away with the heel of his hand. “I just don’t like good-byes.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to leave him or you or Abby or any of you guys.” His voice catches. “I don’t know anyone in Philly. I don’t know how people do this.”
I feel my throat start to tighten.
“I think I’m even going to miss Taylor.”
“Okay, now you’ve lost me.”
He laughs and sniffs again. “Come on. You know you’ll miss her. How are we going to know if her metabolism is still rocking?”
“Probably from her daily Instagram updates.”
“Okay, that’s true.”
“And that’s a conservative estimate.”
“I know.” He scoots toward me, so close our heads are touching. Then he sighs quietly into my ear, ruffling my hair with his breath. I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more. We just lie there like that, watching the fan move in circles.
I should tell him.
Right now. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment in history that was more perfect for coming out.
But I don’t.
It’s the weirdest thing. I’m lying in a room with my gay best friend, who’s 100 percent likely to be completely fucking cool about this. Literally risk-free.
But it’s like the words won’t come.