Carry On: The Rise and Fall of Simon Snow

by Rainbow Rowell

There’s a cross-shaped burn on my palm from when I yanked his necklace off last night. (His cross is on the other side of the room now; Snow took care of it himself this time.) He brings my palm to his mouth and kisses it. “I didn’t think you were gay,” I say. Quietly. He shrugs. Half of Snow’s sentences are shrugs. “What does that mean?” I whisper. “I don’t know,” he says, closing his eyes. “I guess I’ve never thought much about what I am. I’ve got a lot on my plate.” That makes me laugh. A juvenile snorty laugh. Snow starts laughing with me. “A lot on your plate?” I repeat. “Are you gay?” he asks, looking over at me, still laughing. “Yeah,” I say. “Completely.” “So you do this all the time?” I roll my eyes. “No.” “Then how do you know you’re gay?” “I just do. How do you not know?” “Dunno,” he says. He laces his fingers in mine and holds my hand loosely. “I try not to think.” “About being gay?” “About anything. I make lists of things not to think about.” “Why?”