Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (Creekwood, #1)

by Becky Albertalli

The air has that crisp, early fall feeling, and people are already lining their steps with pumpkins. I love that.

There are some socks that shouldn’t be washed by your mom.

Wonder Woman and a gay dementor. It doesn’t bode well for the survival of the species.

But I’m tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways. I get a girlfriend. I have a beer. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.

We only had about six trick-or-treaters. Of course, that means I am contractually obligated to eat the leftover Reese’s cups.

Fall air always smells like possibility.

Their genre is emo, and it’s basically a sea of bangs and wristbands and tears. I begged Nora last night to show up in a black wig, eyeliner, and for the love of God, at least a My Chemical Romance shirt.

“Plenty of room.” And there is—I won’t have to sit on his lap, anyway. It’s actually kind of unfortunate.

Breakfast is obviously an Oreo granola bar or Oreo Pop-Tart. No, they’re not gross. Shut up. They’re amazing. Lunch should be Oreo pizza with an Oreo milk shake and a couple of those Oreo truffles my mom makes (a.k.a. the most delicious freaking things in the universe). Dinner is deep-fried Oreos served on top of Oreo ice cream, and for a drink, it’s Oreos dissolved in milk. No water. Only Oreo milk. Dessert can be Oreos straight up. Sound reasonable? It’s for your health, Blue.

As a side note, don’t you think everyone should have to come out? Why is straight the default? Everyone should have to declare one way or another, and it should be this big awkward thing whether you’re straight, gay, bi, or whatever. I’m just saying.

The Homosexual Agenda? I don’t know. I think it’s more like the Homo Sapiens Agenda. That’s really the point, right?

I don’t even know. I’m just so sick of straight people who can’t get their shit together.

The way I feel about him is like a heartbeat—soft and persistent, underlying everything.

White shouldn’t be the default any more than straight should be the default. There shouldn’t even be a default.

“I want to hold your hand,” I say softly. Because we’re in public. Because I don’t know if he’s out. “So hold it,” he says. And I do.