fml

For my brother Ryan,

who always makes sure I take the right path.

Even when it's the wrong one.

I decided for about the hundredth time tonight that I'm not going to Cassandra Castillo's spring break barter party.

Then I changed my mind, because, fuck it: I'm seventeen, lonely, and horny. If I bailed on the party, not only would Coop and Ben never forgive me, but I'd have nothing else to do tonight that didn't involve a bottle of hand lotion and a crusty sock of Catholic shame.

Friday night. I was sitting in a booth at a greasy dive with my best friends, Coop and Ben, praying for the finger of God to wipe us and the whole stupid town of Rendview off the map so that I wouldn't have to make a decision about Cassie's party. The problem wasn't the party. It was the hostess of the party and the fact that, for the first time since freshman year, she was single. And not just single. Newly single. In fact, she had barely been free of the shackles of monogamy for an entire week.

But if I was going to make my move, I couldn't afford to waste time.

Coop interrupted my Cassie-filled daydreams by asking me and Ben a totally irrelevant question. “Who'd play you
in a movie about your life?” Coop flashed a grin, unleashing the dimples from which no teenage girl is immune. Which sucks for them because he's totally into dudes. One dude in particular.

Ben snatched a fry off my plate and shoved it into his mouth without so much as a please or thank you. Which is how Ben is. Love him or loathe him, you don't get between him and a french fry. Not if you value your fingers. “Definitely Jake Gyllenhaal,” Ben said.

“Just because he plays you,” Coop said, “doesn't mean you get to bang him.”

“Unless he's a method actor.”

“You are pretty good at fucking yourself,” I said, and pulled my plate of limp fries out of his reach.

Ben kissed Coop on the cheek and said to me, “You'd be played by a Muppet. And the movie would be called:
Simon Cross and the Blue Balls of Destiny
.” Ben cracked up at his own joke and slid out of the booth to go talk to friends at another table.

Coop, Ben, and I had been best friends since grade school, when we all got stuck at the same lunch table with Phil Bluth. Banding together was the only way to protect our precious pudding cups from Phil's grabby hands. We were the Three Musketeers. The Three Amigos. Peter, Ray, and Egon. Until junior year of high school, when Ben and Coop coupled up. I thought it was great that they had fallen in lust and all that sappy bullshit, but I often felt like the third wheel of a trike that longed to be a big, bad, two-wheeled bicycle, riding off
into the sunset, leaving me to pedal solo on the lonely road to Loserville. Population: me.

“Earth to Simon.” Coop snapped his fingers in front of my eyes and brought me back to our sticky booth in the middle of Gobbler's, which is famous for being one of the few places in town that won't immediately call the cops on kids for hanging out, and not at all famous for their lousy burgers. Rendview is a sleepy beach town on the east coast of Florida, and there isn't much to do except eat, sleep, surf, and get drunk. That last item was on everyone's agenda for the evening. Gobbler's was wall-to-wall with my classmates. It was the last Friday of spring break and we were all getting ready to migrate to Cassie's house for a night of balls-to-the-wall teenage rebellion.

Despite the fact that I couldn't wait to graduate from the soul-rotting drudgery of high school, I felt a bond with some of these guys, forged from our years of shared suffering. Suffering that would come to an end at our imminent graduation.

“Ben's only messing with you,” Coop said.

“I'm a loser,” I said. “A seventeen-year-old virgin. I'm going to graduate in a couple of months, go to community college, and end up sleeping with someone like Mrs. Elroy because I repulse girls my own age with my wit and charm and concave chest.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Coop said. “Mrs. Elroy was hot back in the nineteen twenties.”

“Lucky me.” I picked at one of my fries but tossed it down without eating it. “Even if I did manage to bag her, she'd end up showing me the door before I've had a chance to say, ‘I swear it doesn't usually happen that fast'—though who am I kidding, it always happens that fast—because her husband will be home any moment and, oh wait, I think that's him now. Better jump out the window. Naked. Yeah, good times.”

Coop laughed into his napkin, and I thought for a minute that he was going to choke, which would have served him right. But the bastard had the nerve to cough and catch his breath again. “It's not that dire. There are plenty of girls that'll do you.”

“If you say Aja Bourne, I'm going to punch your face off.”

“No,” Coop said. “We'll find you a nearsighted girl who likes to binge drink.”

“I'd prefer something less date-rapey.”

“Who's date-raping whom?” Ben asked as he slid back into the booth, throwing his ropey arm around Coop's shoulders. Ben is always in motion, even when he's sitting still. It's like his molecules can't stop bouncing around. Our school had suggested he go on ADHD meds back in eighth grade, but Ben's mom had told them where they could stick their pills. Four years later, Ben is about to graduate with a free ride to MIT. Guess he showed them.

“I'm not date-raping anyone,” I said, loudly enough that a couple of kids at the closest tables turned to gawk.

Ben was eyeballing my fries, so I pushed the soggy leftovers
across the table. “Maybe more girls would be into you if you weren't so obvious about your Cassie fetish,” he said

“Ixnay on the Assie-cay,” Coop said. I hate how he and Ben treat me like a feral monkey who's going to fling his shit at them every time they mention Cassie's name. Sure, I'm totally into the girl, but I'm not obsessed.

“The party is at Cassie's house,” I said. “She was going to come up eventually.” I did my best to keep my voice even and calm. I'd had plenty of practice.

Here's the lowdown on the Cassie situation: I love her. The feeling isn't, technically, mutual. Maybe, possibly, somewhere deep, deep down where even she doesn't know they exist, Cassie might have some sweaty feelings for me, but it's highly unlikely. Girls like Cassie don't go for skinny geeks like me, in spite of my awesome hair.

And that should have been the end of it, except that freshman year, I'd done the unthinkable. I'd asked her out. And she'd said yes. We'd gone on one date and I'd nearly kissed her but—

“Are you thinking about mini-golf again?” Ben asked. Without waiting for an answer, he slapped me across the face so hard that spit flew out of my mouth and hit the wall. Someone whispered, “Cat fight,” from a nearby table, and hissed.

Coop and I gaped at Ben. “Negative reinforcement,” Ben said. “Every time he thinks about, talks about, or looks at Cassie, I'll slap him.”

I put my hand to my cheek and wiggled my jaw. “You, sir, are a douchenozzle.”

“I could punch you in the balls instead.” Ben made a fist and leaned forward.

Coop held Ben back. “Can we save the ball punching for later?”

“Or never,” I said.

“But Ben has a point,” Coop said. “Just yesterday you were going on and on about how the party is the perfect chance for you to tell Cassie you love her and to finally kiss her, finishing what you started at Pirate Chang's.”

Ben gulped some of my soda. “That was years ago, buddy. Time to move on. Your crush, while adorable, is starting to curdle. Pretty soon you're going to be that creepy guy who lives in his parents' basement, wallpapering his bedroom with old pictures of the girl he can't get over.”

My friends had a point, but that didn't stop my brain from churning out scenario after scenario—imagined histories of what my life might have been like if I'd kissed Cassie that night instead of letting her get away. I feel about Cassie the way Coop feels about Ben. And even though I know that Cassie doesn't feel the same way about me, I've hoped. For years, every time she talked to me, every time she smiled in my direction, I hoped.

“Let's say you do make a play for Cassie tonight,” Coop said. “And, for the record, I'm not saying I think it's a good idea. What about Eli?”

“Don't egg him on,” Ben said. “Simon's got as much chance of scoring with Cassie as he has of scoring with me.”

“Wow,” I said. “Thanks for the support.”

“I'm not trying to be a dick—”

“It comes more naturally to some,” I said.

“Simon, listen. Cassie is pretty. She's popular. She's smart as shit. She dates guys like Eli Horowitz. Eli Fucking Horowitz, man.”

“She dumped him.”

Ben chuckled. “Do you honestly believe that means he won't break you into tiny pieces and then break those pieces into even smaller pieces? Look at him.”

We all turned to the far corner where Eli sat alone. He looked like reheated dog shit. Like he hadn't shaved since school let out for spring break. Like he hadn't showered or even bothered to put on clean clothes. I was willing to bet the cost of my meal that Eli stank like the insides of my gym shorts. And yet, despite looking like a New York City hobo, he was still built like someone who could and would tear me from crotch to crown. His arms were the size of my thighs and his thighs were the size of my torso. His dusky skin hoarded shadows, making him appear even more dangerous. Which he was. Eli was a wrestling god at Rendview. And an honor student, and homecoming king, and staring at us.

“I could take him,” I said, trying to look like I wasn't looking. “Anyway, he's mourning Cassie, not trying to get back with her.”

Ben patted my hand. “Simon, I would love nothing more than to see you and Cassie sneak off to a quiet bedroom to fulfill your porniest fantasies so that you can finally move on with your life, but it's never going to happen. Ever. Not in your lifetime or mine. Not in a parallel universe where you and Cassie are the last human specimens on a planet ruled by poodles.”

I leaned back in the booth and crossed my arms over my chest. “Your confidence in me is inspiring. No, really, I may weep. Here come the tears.”

“Just keeping it real.”

“Don't be mean,” Coop said.

“Sorry,” Ben said, but not to me. He and Coop got those silly looks on their faces that meant they were dangerously close to engaging in some full-frontal smoochery.

Thankfully, a tall girl with long blond hair strolled over to our booth and saved me from that ungodly display. We waited for her to say something, but she stood there awkwardly for a long moment.

“Did you forget your lines?” Ben asked.

The girl shook her head. I noticed a long scar that ran along the bottom of her chin. “Ketchup,” she said.

“It's not a vegetable, kids.”

I kicked Ben under the table. “Don't mind Ben,” I said. “He thinks he's funny when he's mostly just an ass.” I grabbed the ketchup from the end of the table and passed it to her.

“You're Simon, right?” the girl asked. I nodded. “I'm Natalie Grayson.” She smiled brazenly.

Something about that smile reminded me of— “Wait. We had sophomore geometry together, didn't we?”

“Yeah.” Natalie's face lit up.

“What did the guy say when he got back from vacation and found his parrot's cage empty?”

“Polly gone,” she said, and we both laughed.