Free Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli Page B

langue that I suck at completement. LE FUCK.
    So didn’t there used to be a reality show where people had to date each other in pitch-darkness? We should do that. We should find a room somewhere that’s totally dark and then we could hang out and it would be totally anonymous. That way we wouldn’t ruin anything. What do you think?
    â€”Jacques
    FROM: [email protected]
    TO: [email protected]
    DATE: Nov 18 at 7:15 AM
    SUBJECT: Re: Why why why?
    Zombie Jacques,
    I don’t know what to say. On one hand, I’m sorry you’re pretty much guaranteed a shitty day today, and I really hope you were able to squeeze in at least an houror two of sleep. On the other hand, you’re pretty cute when you’re exhausted. And, by the way, you were very coherent and grammatical for four in the morning.
    Hang in there today with the quizzes, though, and just power through. Bonne chance, Jacques. I’m rooting for you.
    I have absolutely never heard of that show. I guess I don’t know all that much about reality TV. It’s an interesting concept, but how would we keep from recognizing each other’s voices?
    â€”Blue
    FROM: [email protected]
    TO: [email protected]
    DATE: Nov 18 at 7:32 PM
    SUBJECT: Re: Why why why?
    So, I’m a little scared to read what I wrote to you last night. I’m glad I was cute and grammatical. I think you’re cute and grammatical, too. Anyway, I don’t know what the hell that was all about. Too much sugar yesterday, I guess. Sorry sorry sorry.
    Yeah. I’m still so totally brain-dead. I don’t even want to think about how I did on my quizzes.
    Don’t know much about reality TV? You mean yourparents don’t make you watch it? Because mine do. And I bet you think I’m kidding.
    You bring up a good point about our voices. I guess we would have to use some kind of robotic megaphone to warp them so they sound like Darth Vader. Or we could just do other things instead of talking. I mean. I’m just saying.
    â€”Your Zombie Jacques

11
    IT’S THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING , and Alice is home, and we’re on the back porch after dinner. It’s actually warm enough for hoodies and pajama pants and leftover ice cream cake and Scattergories.
    â€œAll right. Famous duos and trios?”
    â€œAbbott and Costello,” says my mom.
    Nora and I both say “Adam and Eve.” It’s a little surprising, considering we’re probably the only family in the South without a Bible.
    â€œThe Axis powers,” says my dad, and you can tell he’s so proud of that one.
    â€œAlice and the Chipmunks,” says Alice, casually, and all of us just lose it. I don’t know. The Chipmunks are kind of our thing. We had the voices perfected and the theme songchoreographed, and we used to do these performances on the ledge in front of the fireplace. It seriously went on for years. Our lucky parents. Though, they’re the ones who named us Alice, Simon, and Eleanor, which means they were basically asking for it.
    Alice rubs Bieber’s back with her feet, and her socks don’t match, and it’s almost impossible to believe that this is the first time she’s been home in three months. I don’t think I realized until this moment how weird it’s been without her.
    Nora must be thinking the same thing I am, because she says, “I can’t believe you have to go back in two days.”
    Alice purses her lips for a minute, but doesn’t speak. The air feels chilly, and I slide my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie. But then my phone buzzes.
    Text from Monkey’s Asshole: hey is there anything going on this weekend
    A moment later: like with Abby I mean
    It seems Martin doesn’t give a shit about punctuation, which is totally not surprising.
    I write back: Sorry, family stuff. Sister’s in town .
    His instantaneous reply: its cool spier, my brother’s in town too. He