“SO, LET’S TALK LOVE ACTUALLY,” Bram says, leaning toward me. Garrett’s finally out of earshot, scoping out the dessert counter. Which is actually the only counter, because we’re at Henri’s, and Henri’s is a bakery. Sorry, but cupcakes are a dinner food—fight me.
I glance back to make sure Garrett’s fully absorbed in pastries and iced doughnuts before turning back to Bram. “Okay, so, Simon may kill me for telling you this.”
“Of course. He’s very secretive,” Bram says, and we grin at each other. Simon Spier may be the least secretive person on the planet.
“Anyway, I didn’t know about this until last year, but apparently—” I pause to bite into my cupcake. “Apparently, our very own Simon Spier has written a single work of Love Actually fanfiction.”
Bram’s eyes light up. “Okay.”
“And I have reason to believe it’s on fanfiction.net.”
“Are you serious?” He presses his fist to his mouth.
“But he won’t tell us his pen name.”
“I bet we can figure it out.” Bram’s already pulling his phone out. “Fanfiction dot org?”
“Dot net.”
“Okay.” He’s quiet for a moment, scrolling.
“I think there are like a hundred stories in the whole fandom. Abby and I were able to narrow it down to fifteen possibilities.”
“Oh, so you’ve already been working on this.”
“I tried for weeks, Bram. Weeks.”
Junior year, right after Abby moved here.
We were all spending the night at Morgan’s, and her mom had exiled the boys to the guest room after an illuminating game of Truth or Dare. Morgan and Anna fell asleep pretty quickly, but Abby scooted all her blankets next to mine on the floor—on our stomachs, side by side. “Leah, we have to find it,” she whispered. She was still a little tipsy from Truth or Dare, and I was somehow tipsy by association. I had the full list of Love Actually stories pulled up on my phone.
“Do we start at the top?”
“Or we could start with the Keira Knightley self-insert sex erotica,” said Abby.
I giggled. “Sex erotica?”
“Yes.”
“As opposed to sex-free erotica?”
“I mean, I’d read that, too,” she said. “Okay, this one.”
And so we started. Right away, we could rule out a few grammatical shitstorms, along with anything that seemed too technically knowledgeable about sex. “There’s no way,” I’d insisted. “I guarantee you—I would literally bet you a million dollars that Simon Spier has never heard of the perineum.”
“I concur,” Abby said, tapping the back arrow. I’ve always thought that was such an intimate thing to do: touching the screen of another person’s phone. She opened the next story. It was weird. Once we knew Simon had written one of them, it started to feel like he could have written any of them. Or all of them. Under ninety different pen names. Maybe all those times he said he was checking his email, he was actually writing sex erotica.
Then she shifted slightly under her blankets, and her whole body pressed against mine. My right side to her left. And I forgot how to speak.
“It’s this one,” Bram says, jolting me back to the present. He slides his phone toward me on the table.
“No, you did not just find Simon Spier’s secret fanfiction in five minutes.”
“I did.” He smiles. “I’m a hundred percent sure.”
I read it aloud. “‘All I Want for Christmas Is You,’ by youwontbutyoumight. How do you know this is him?”
“Well, first of all, the pen name.”
“I don’t get it.”
Bram leans forward on his elbows. “You won’t, but you might. It’s an Elliott Smith lyric. That’s the first giveaway.”
I tilt Bram’s phone closer, reading the summary. “‘Sam/Joaquin (semi-original character).’ Okay . . .”
“Read the rest of the summary.”
“‘Original male character based closely on Joanna. Just a fluffy m/m retelling of the school concert scene. Smiley face.’” I look up at Bram, grinning. “Oh my God. Simon was such a sweet baby gay, writing the gayest fanfiction. I love it.”
Bram smiles. “It’s perfect.”
“How did Abby and I miss this?”
“Did you even know he was gay, back then?”
“No. Okay, wow. That was even before the whole Martin thing. I guess we weren’t looking for the gayest fic in the bunch.”
“This isn’t even the gayest,” Bram says.
“Ladies and gentledudes, I’m back,” Garrett announces, and we both look up with a start. Garrett slides into his seat, setting a cardboard cake box on the table in front of us. “Check it out.”
Bram nudges the box open, revealing an extravagantly decorated buttercream cake with polka dots and rosette flowers. And a message, carefully piped onto the center:
“You bought Simon and Nick a cake?” Bram asks slowly.
“Fuck yeah. I love those dudes.”
“Well done, Garrett,” I say.
“Thank you, Burke. I appreciate that.”
“So, no congratulations or anything. Just, like . . . their names.”
“Yeah, but look at the R,” Garrett says, glancing back and forth between Bram and me. “That’s badass, right? Totally my idea.”
“It’s very badass,” I assure him.
Bram just raises his eyebrows and smiles.
Add this to the list of things I’m never doing again: sitting in the front row of a play.
Eye contact. So much eye contact.
Simon once said that when the stage lights are on, the audience looks like a giant dark blob. But maybe the front row is the exception, because I swear Taylor just spent forty-five minutes gazing directly into my face.
But the show was amazing, even with Martin Addison back in commission. Or maybe it’s because Martin was back in commission, as much as it kills me to admit that. I hate when assholes have talent. I want to live in a world where good people rule at everything and shitty people suck at everything. In short: I want Martin Addison’s voice to crack like an earthquake.
After curtain call, we linger in the lobby, waiting for the actors to come out. Garrett sidles up to me, holding the cake box, his blond hair winging out from under a baseball cap. “So, Eisner can really sing, huh?”
I feel strangely shy. “Yeah.”
There are hordes of parents out here, holding flowers. I spot Simon’s family near the dramaturgy display, doubled up on bouquets. “Alice is here?” I say to Bram.
He nods. “It’s her spring break.”
Alice Spier is exactly who I want to be when I’m in college. She is nerd-cute perfection—effortlessly smart, hipster glasses, and zero tolerance for Simon and Nora’s bullshit. I may have had a low-key crush on her in sixth grade, until I fell hard for her adorable dumbass little brother.
“So, Burke.” Garrett nudges me. “I’m guessing you need a ride home.”
“Oh. I guess.”
“Cool.” He nods. “I’ve got you covered.”
I feel awkward all of a sudden—heavy-limbed and tongue-tied. “Thanks,” I manage. Yesterday it was Garrett’s sweatshirt. Today he’s giving me a ride home. It’s like the universe is trying to make him my boyfriend, which is messed up. Even if a tiny weird part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss him. It probably wouldn’t be awful. Technically, he’s cute. He has very blue eyes. And everyone thinks athletes are hot. Is Garrett hot?
He could be.
Though the idea of objective hotness fucks me up a little. The idea that certain arrangements of facial features are automatically superior. It’s like someone woke up one day with a boner for big-eyed, soft-lipped, tight-bodied cheekbone people, and we all just decided to go along with that.
The doors to the back hallway swing open, and the cast and crew start to trickle into the lobby. But Garrett rests his hand on my arm.
“Okay, what does the average University of Georgia student get on the SAT?” Garrett asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Drool.”
“Haha.”
He pokes my arm. “You’re smiling.”
I snort and look away, my eyes drifting toward the Spiers. Nick’s parents are there, too—Abby’s mom is chatting with them while her dad and brother check their phones. And even though I’ve never met Abby’s dad, there’s no question: he’s a middle-aged male version of Abby, eyelashes and all. Which is super disorienting. I turn quickly away, and my eyes fall on Mom.
Mom, as in my mom, dressed in work clothes and looking slightly out of place. I had no idea she was coming. I guess she snuck in through the back. She’s standing a few feet away from the other adults. To be honest, she’s always been weird around my friends’ parents. Maybe because she’s the youngest, by over a decade. I think she’s paranoid that they secretly disapprove of her.
She shoots me an awkward wave, and I start walking toward her—but I’m intercepted by Alice Spier.
“Leah! I love your boots.”
I look down and shrug, smiling. “How long are you in town?” I ask.
“Not much longer. I’m actually driving up, so I’m leaving tomorrow and picking up my boyfriend in New Jersey.” She checks her watch. “Okay, Simon, where are you?”
“He just texted me. They’re coming out now,” Bram says.
Moments later, Simon, Nick, and Abby slip in through the side door, out of costume but still in makeup. For once, Nick and Abby aren’t holding hands. Actually, Abby’s holding Simon’s hand, with Nick trailing behind them. People keep stopping him to talk, and every single time, he looks sheepish and uncomfortable. Nick Eisner is truly an awkward cinnamon roll of a leading man.
Simon spots the cake box immediately. “Is this cake? You got me a cake?” Garrett nods and starts to pop the box open, but Simon’s beaming too hard at Bram to notice.
“Actually,” Bram starts to say, but Simon kisses him on the cheek before he can get the word out.
“Dude, it’s from me. Where’s my kiss?” Garrett says.
I look at him. “Wow.”
“Okay, Burke.” He grins and digs for his keys. “You ready to roll?”
I point out my mom, and Garrett’s entire face falls.
“I guess you don’t need a ride anymore.”
“I guess not.”
He lingers, holding his car keys, and he doesn’t say a word for what feels like an hour. I sense my mom watching us with interest.
“So . . . ,” I say finally.
“Right. Hey.” He clears his throat. “So, I was wondering. Do you want to come to the game tomorrow?”
“The game?” I glance at him.
“Have you ever seen us play?”
I nod. It’s funny—soccer’s the one Creekwood sport I’ve actually watched. I even used to enjoy it, back in sophomore year, when I had a crush on Nick. And it wasn’t just about staring at his ass. It was weird. I started caring about the game, to the point that Simon used to call me an undercover jock.
“It’s against North Creek,” Garrett adds. “It should be a pretty sweet game.”
“Oh. Um.” I glance back over my shoulder. I really don’t want to talk to Garrett in front of my mom right now.
He’s still talking. “I’m sure you’re busy, though. That’s totally cool. You’re probably going to the Saturday matinee of the play, right? Seriously, no worries.”
“No, I’ll come,” I say quickly.
He looks startled. “To the game?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Okay. Sweet.” He grins, and my stomach twists weakly.
“So, what was that about?” Mom asks, voice lilting, as we walk to the car. Even in the darkness, I can see that she’s smiling.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Are we sure?”
“Mom. Stop.” I sink into the passenger seat, turning quickly toward the window.
For a moment, we’re both quiet. The parking lot is clogged with traffic and pedestrians, and Mom drums her hands on the steering wheel. “That was such an awesome play.”
I grin. “It was the blizz.”
“I still can’t believe Nick’s voice. And you know who’s adorable?”
“Who?”
“Abby Suso.”
I almost choke.
“That girl is pure charisma,” Mom barrels on. “And she just seems like a total sweetheart. Like, I’d honestly love to see you with someone like her.”
“Mom.”
“You don’t think she’s cute?”
“She’s Nick’s girlfriend.”
“I know that. I’m just saying. Hypothetically.”
“I’m not talking about this.”
Mom raises her eyebrows.
“Oh, hey.” Her tone is suddenly cautious. “Question for you.”
“Okay.”
“So, Wells’s birthday is tomorrow.”
“Is that the question?”
“No.” Mom laughs. “Okay. So, I was thinking the three of us could grab brunch together? He has a golf thing in the afternoon, so maybe late morning.”
I gape at her. Birthday brunch. With Mom’s boyfriend. I don’t know, maybe this is normal for some families, but Mom never makes me get brunch with the boyfriends. And yet, here she is, just casually presenting it as if it’s just another fun family Saturday. With Wells, of all people.
“Um. I’m going to Bram and Garrett’s soccer game, so . . .” I shrug. “Sorry.”
I stare out the window, eyes tracing the curve of the sidewalk. There’s hardly anyone on the road tonight. You wouldn’t think that would make a car feel smaller, but it does. And even though we aren’t looking at each other, I feel Mom’s eyes on me.
“I wish you’d give him a shot.”
“Who, Garrett?” I ask, my voice jumping half an octave.
“Wells.”
My face burns. “Oh.”
I glance at Mom, who’s sitting rigidly straight, chewing on her lip. She looks vaguely distraught. I don’t entirely know what to make of it.
She sighs. “Okay, what if—”
“I’m not getting brunch with your boyfriend.”
“Leah, don’t be like this.”
“Don’t be like what?” I narrow my eyes. “How are we at the family brunch stage? You’ve been dating him for, what, three months?”
“Six months.”
“Okay, you’ve literally been dating him for a shorter time than Simon and Bram. I know people who had longer relationships than that in middle school. Simon and Anna dated longer than that.”
Mom shakes her head slowly. “You know, you’d never talk to one of your friends the way you talk to me. Can you imagine if you went up to Simon and said stuff like this about Bram?”
“Okay, that’s—”
“You wouldn’t. You would never do that. So why do you think it’s okay to talk like that to me?”
I roll my eyes so hard my eyebrows hurt. “Oh, okay, now you’re going to make this about Simon and Bram?”
“You’re the one who brought them up!”
“Yeah, well.” I throw my hands up. “Simon and Bram are actually legit. They are literally so in love. How could you even compare that to Wells?”
“You know what? Just stop talking,” she snaps.
For a minute, it throws me. My mom’s normally so mellow. I sputter, “Yeah, well—”
“No. Just stop. Okay? I don’t want to hear it.”
For a minute, it’s silent. Then Mom turns on NPR and pulls onto Roswell Road. I lean back against the headrest and tilt my head toward the window. Then I squeeze my eyes shut.