Leah on the Offbeat
Page 51
“I’m shook,” Simon says, and Bram pats him on the arm.
So now I’m walking down a tree-lined path, holding hands with Abby Suso.
Holding hands with my girlfriend. My girlfriend who is Abby Suso. My brain is totally obsessed with this fact. Like, I’m pretty sure my academic career is over, and God help me on the AP exams, because how are you supposed to think about calculus WHEN ABBY SUSO IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND?
Now we’re practically at the pavilion, and my heart’s in my throat.
Because inside the pavilion is my prom date. And my possibly racist friend. And Abby’s ex-boyfriend. And the girl he’s making out with. And probably a slew of casual homophobes.
This is not my perfect prom night, and it’s not the happy ending I pictured. It’s not an ending at all.
But it’s mine.
This whole moment is mine. This electric-bright pavilion, with music so loud I can feel it. It’s mine.
And maybe everything’s a mess. Maybe everything’s changing. I’m sure my face is a swollen splotchfest, and my boots are muddy, and my hair’s completely undone. I don’t even know if my voice works. But I keep following Simon and Bram back down the trail. I keep holding Abby’s hand.
Until we’re close enough to the pavilion that I can practically smell it. Corsages and sweat. This night. My prom.
And even though I’m looking in from the outside, I get closer with every step.
35
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: Sep 21 at 1:34 AM
SUBJECT: Re: You were born!!!
Okay, I can’t even tell you how much I love the fact that you sent me an actual birthday email. In Garamond. That’s like peak Simon. If you ever change, I swear to God I’ll kill you.
But the birthday was good! Abby’s such a fucking nerd. She made me breakfast in bed, and by breakfast, I mean cookies, and by made I mean wore a cargo jacket with cookie-sized pockets to the dining hall. And, make no mistake, we live five minutes from a cookie delivery bakery (let that sink in. Cookie. Delivery. Bakery). But of course, some sacrifices are necessary, especially when a person and her girlfriend are saving every dollar for the April New York trip that is DEFINITELY HAPPENING. So tell your boy to clear out some Leah and Abby-sized floor space in his dorm room (like Bram would ever have clutter on his floor, God, what am I even saying?).
So I’m ignoring your first question, because I know you don’t actually want to know about Intro to Sociology (it fucking rules, though, just fyi). I’m not ignoring your second question, but I’ve been sitting here staring at Abby’s laptop screen for ten minutes trying to find the exact words to explain what it’s like, and apparently those words don’t exist, so. Yeah. It’s good. Like, really, really good. She’s just Abby. You know? Like today. It was one of those perfect sunny days, so we just spread a blanket out on the North Campus quad and she was reading and I was drawing and she kept pushing her sock against mine, like our feet were kissing and NOW I’M BLUSHING, ARE YOU HAPPY?
Because I am. Happy. Honestly. It’s kind of weird.
And yes I did talk to Nick, but he did NOT mention the Taylor development! Are you serious? God, I think he’s going to wake up one day and discover he’s married to her. She’ll make it happen. But good for her, I guess? I mean, good for . . . them? Not going to lie, I’m a little freaked out that I’m dating someone who was dating someone who is dating Taylor Metternich.
Yikes.
Okay, but Garrett and Morgan—WHAT? Bram needs to get us all the details (hi, Bram!). Are you still heading up to New York this weekend? You better text me lots of pictures. I love you a lot, Simon Spier. You know that, right?
Love,
Leah (your platonic soul mate forever and ever and ever) (and I don’t care if I’m being corny right now, because corny is the new me, I’m turning into my mom, YEAH I SAID IT) (I love you)
So now I’m walking down a tree-lined path, holding hands with Abby Suso.
Holding hands with my girlfriend. My girlfriend who is Abby Suso. My brain is totally obsessed with this fact. Like, I’m pretty sure my academic career is over, and God help me on the AP exams, because how are you supposed to think about calculus WHEN ABBY SUSO IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND?
Now we’re practically at the pavilion, and my heart’s in my throat.
Because inside the pavilion is my prom date. And my possibly racist friend. And Abby’s ex-boyfriend. And the girl he’s making out with. And probably a slew of casual homophobes.
This is not my perfect prom night, and it’s not the happy ending I pictured. It’s not an ending at all.
But it’s mine.
This whole moment is mine. This electric-bright pavilion, with music so loud I can feel it. It’s mine.
And maybe everything’s a mess. Maybe everything’s changing. I’m sure my face is a swollen splotchfest, and my boots are muddy, and my hair’s completely undone. I don’t even know if my voice works. But I keep following Simon and Bram back down the trail. I keep holding Abby’s hand.
Until we’re close enough to the pavilion that I can practically smell it. Corsages and sweat. This night. My prom.
And even though I’m looking in from the outside, I get closer with every step.
35
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: Sep 21 at 1:34 AM
SUBJECT: Re: You were born!!!
Okay, I can’t even tell you how much I love the fact that you sent me an actual birthday email. In Garamond. That’s like peak Simon. If you ever change, I swear to God I’ll kill you.
But the birthday was good! Abby’s such a fucking nerd. She made me breakfast in bed, and by breakfast, I mean cookies, and by made I mean wore a cargo jacket with cookie-sized pockets to the dining hall. And, make no mistake, we live five minutes from a cookie delivery bakery (let that sink in. Cookie. Delivery. Bakery). But of course, some sacrifices are necessary, especially when a person and her girlfriend are saving every dollar for the April New York trip that is DEFINITELY HAPPENING. So tell your boy to clear out some Leah and Abby-sized floor space in his dorm room (like Bram would ever have clutter on his floor, God, what am I even saying?).
So I’m ignoring your first question, because I know you don’t actually want to know about Intro to Sociology (it fucking rules, though, just fyi). I’m not ignoring your second question, but I’ve been sitting here staring at Abby’s laptop screen for ten minutes trying to find the exact words to explain what it’s like, and apparently those words don’t exist, so. Yeah. It’s good. Like, really, really good. She’s just Abby. You know? Like today. It was one of those perfect sunny days, so we just spread a blanket out on the North Campus quad and she was reading and I was drawing and she kept pushing her sock against mine, like our feet were kissing and NOW I’M BLUSHING, ARE YOU HAPPY?
Because I am. Happy. Honestly. It’s kind of weird.
And yes I did talk to Nick, but he did NOT mention the Taylor development! Are you serious? God, I think he’s going to wake up one day and discover he’s married to her. She’ll make it happen. But good for her, I guess? I mean, good for . . . them? Not going to lie, I’m a little freaked out that I’m dating someone who was dating someone who is dating Taylor Metternich.
Yikes.
Okay, but Garrett and Morgan—WHAT? Bram needs to get us all the details (hi, Bram!). Are you still heading up to New York this weekend? You better text me lots of pictures. I love you a lot, Simon Spier. You know that, right?
Love,
Leah (your platonic soul mate forever and ever and ever) (and I don’t care if I’m being corny right now, because corny is the new me, I’m turning into my mom, YEAH I SAID IT) (I love you)
