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

by Becky Albertalli

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.

I completely understand what you mean about feeling locked into yourself. For me, I don’t even think it has anything to do with other people thinking they know me. It’s more that I want to leap in and say certain things and do certain things, but I always seem to hold myself back.

He looks so miserable. I feel weirdly guilty. Even though he’s blackmailing me, I feel guilty. So that’s a little fucked up.

Breakfast is obviously an Oreo granola bar or Oreo Pop-Tart. No, they’re not gross. Shut up. They’re amazing.

I pour myself a mug of coffee and add an avalanche of sugar. My mom watches me stir. “I didn’t know you drink coffee.” Okay, this. She does this every freaking time. Both of them. They put me in a box, and every time I try to nudge the lid open, they slam it back down. It’s like nothing about me is allowed to change. “Well, I do.”

I’m too busy trying not to be in love with someone who isn’t real.

But the curtains start to open. And I keep moving forward.

I end up wandering through the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with scary-looking pink mohawk girls.

he hands me a shot glass filled with something bright orange, like that cold medicine. Like liquid Triaminic. But I’m only half done with my apple drink, so I sort of chug it, and hand the empty glass back to him. And then he clinks his shot of Triaminic against mine and makes it disappear.

“Abby, did I mention you are the absolute best person in the entire universe? Oh my God. I love you so much. I love you more than Nick loves you.” Abby laughs, and Nick starts coughing, and I feel a little nervous because now I can’t remember if it’s a secret that Nick loves Abby. I should probably keep talking.

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

“So what’s our next move? Do we keep it classy? Or do we blast everyone’s newsfeeds with kissing selfies?” “Probably the selfies,” he says. “But just a couple dozen a day.” “And we have to shout out our anniversary every week. Every Sunday.” “Well, and every Monday for our first kiss.” “And a couple dozen posts every night about how much we miss each other.”