And then there was ninth grade. Simon, you want to know what I was doing four years ago today? I was stumbling headfirst into the biggest, most all-consuming crush of my fourteen-year-old life. We had biology first period, Ms. Hensel’s class, and we were partnered together for the hereditary lab. Do you remember that? It was that truly batshit assignment where we had to flip coins to determine the genotype of our fictional baby. It was the first time we’d ever talked, though I was mostly trying not to openly gape at you.
I remember just how it felt. My rabbit heartbeat, my whirlpool stomach, the way my brain fogged over every time your mouth moved. Of course, I’d noticed you before then. Scrawny freshman Simon Spier, with your moppy hair and thick glasses. You always looked really startled and pleased when anyone talked to you, which was so strange and endearing (Simon, everyone wanted to talk to you. I don’t think you’ve ever understood your own gravitational pull).
So there I was, making a baby with this unbearably cute boy (who had all these very strong opinions about coin toss terminology: “How is that a tail, Bram? How? It’s the freaking front of the eagle!”). I’ll never forget when we had to translate all those genotypes into phenotypes. Our giant-nostriled disaster baby. And, Simon, you loved him. You loved every recessive sprout of hair on his ears. You held my illustration up next to your face, beaming, and it was game over for me, Spier. You’ve had my heart ever since.
I really wish I could be there tomorrow. I know we’ll both be home in five days, but it just sucks. Every moment we miss is so dumbfoundingly hard. And these four stupid years feel like forever. But I plan to be in love with you for so long, Simon Spier. We’ll make those four years feel like nothing. Not a blip.
Love,
Blue
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: NOV 18 AT 7:12 PM
SUBJECT: I’M STILL JUST . . . HOLY SHIT
Abraham Louis Greenfeld, you are UNBELIEVABLE. I just scrolled back through our emails, and I can’t stop smiling. You’re such a freaking con artist, you know that? God. Bram. Best fucking surprise of my life. I don’t think my feet have even hit the floor yet.
Bram, I’ll never get over the sight of you on my bed, cross-legged, in flannel freaking pajama pants, reading a textbook. A TEXTBOOK. Like it’s some regular homework night. And I’m just standing in the doorway, fucking speechless. Bram, I thought you were a ghost (probably because I’d just come back from a ghost tour, AS YOU KNEW PERFECTLY WELL, BECAUSE YOU’RE IN CAHOOTS WITH MY FREAKING ROOMMATE).
Like. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you two have been planning this all month. You guys are the sneakiest little sneaks on earth. I still can’t believe you SLID INTO KELLAN’S DMs, talked him into bringing me on a ghost tour, and then talked my freaking customs person into smuggling you into my dorm room. Such deception!!!! By the way, Kellan and Grover are so fucking pleased with themselves right now. They legit won’t stop high-fiving each other (high-fiving! Guys, this is why people think you’re a pair of straight dudes!) (okay, so the high fives are a little finger-twiney upon further observation, but STILL).
Anyway, it was perfect. It was just the most perfect birthday imaginable. You’re a really great person to be in love with, you know that?
Love,
Simon
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:12 PM
SUBJECT: SQUAD THE F UP
Okay, turkey squad, I’m moving this over to email, because apparently some people keep missing messages on their Androids (me. Some people is me).
Anyway, clearly tomorrow’s the day, so should we lock this in? Want to say noon at Waffle House? Do I really get to see all your gorgeous faces at once????
xoxo,
Abby
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:15 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Hell yes, all my dudes at Waffle House??? That is a recipe for greatness!
Sent from G-money’s iPhone
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:17 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Wait hold up which Waffle House??
Sent from G-money’s iPhone
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:21 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Roswell Road, right? Near the Starbucks? I’m hyped!!
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:23 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
“WaHo near the Starbucks” LOL, we are most certainly back in Shady Creek, my friends
Sent from G-money’s iPhone
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:27 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Hi, everyone! So excited for tomorrow. Quick question: “G-money,” who are you?
Best,
Taylor
Taylor Eline Metternich
Harvard College
Creekwood High School Salutatorian
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:30 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
’Tis I, Guy Fieri!!
Okay wait, for real, should I bring back the Fieri hair? Do we think the ladies of Tech would appreciate??
Sent from G-money’s iPhone
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:35 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Garrett, no.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:39 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Umm, Garrett, what do you mean by “bring back”?
(Do I want to know??)
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: NOV 23 AT 4:44 PM
SUBJECT: RE: SQUAD THE F UP
Fifth grade. Please see attached.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: DEC 10 AT 11:12 PM
SUBJECT: FINALS AND OTHER F-WORDS
Okay, I changed my mind. This is overkill, Abby, you’ve been at the library for fifte
en hours. How am I supposed to study for earth science without you tucked up next to me with your knees butterflied out (I maintain that this is not a real sitting position)? Also, hi, how come nobody’s randomly initiating a full sequence of dramatic arm and back stretches? Who’s going to elbow me in the boobs, Abby? I can’t elbow myself.
ABBY SUSO, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I HAVE A PONYTAIL RIGHT NOW, THIS SECOND, AND THERE’S LITERALLY NO ONE DOING LITTLE ABSENTMINDED PIANO MOVES ON THE NAPE OF MY NECK?
So, yeah. I’m officially not a fan of final exams, especially the part where I decide to be an absolute dumbfuck by insisting we hole up in separate library study rooms. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let’s just quit while we’re ahead, okay? We gave it a shot, got a lot of work done, and now we can focus on our anatomy exam, like normal people who don’t actually take anatomy.
Real talk: I know how hard you’ve been working on this story, and I’m amazed by you. Just think, in a few days, it will be done and submitted and well on its way to earning you a big shiny A on your transcript. And then you’ll take commissions from your fans, right? How about this one: two girls coming home late for winter break, so they can spend a few extra nights in their dorm room. With the door locked.
Okay, Hermione Granger, I’m shutting down my laptop now. Come home soon. ♥
All best,
LCB
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: DEC 9 AT 3:31 AM
SUBJECT: RE: FINALS AND OTHER F-WORDS
I’M DONE, I’M DONE, I’M DONE, THANK GOD. HOLY SHIT. Okay, I’m waiting for the shuttle so I can come home to my little freckle-faced sleeping beauty, and LeLe, I’m so sorry, I know I smell like libraries, but I’ll have to shower tomorrow. Because for now, the exhausted void once known as Abigail Suso is passing the fuck out on her silk fucking pillowcase and sleeping in as long as she wants. And then I’m going to wake up tomorrow fully recharged, at which point I’ll read this mofo one more time, and then I’m pressing send and turning it in a day before it’s due. Yeah, you heard me, I’m going full Taylor Metternich. And then, Leah, then! I’m taking it to the next level with some of that sweet, sweet Analysis of Geometry and Calculus. I am NAILING finals week, Leah, nailing it!!!!!!!
Okay wow, I’m reading this email over, and I know, Leah, I know I sound REALLY drunk. But I’m not. I honestly haven’t had a drop to drink (except, like, a billion drops of coffee). I’m just an ungodly level of exhausted right now. And I miss you. I miss your face, LCB. Fuck. I’m so tired, I’m just gonna say the thing, Leah. I love you. I’m in love with you. There it is. (I know this is the least surprising development of all time, and I know I’m not subtle, and I know you’re still getting used to that word, but Leah, I love you so much I can’t stand it. I think about you constantly. Do you have any idea how often I say your name in my head??)
Anyway, you’re going to wake up before me and read this before I’m awake enough to talk my way out of it, and maybe that’s a good thing. Or we could just pretend this email never happened. Up to you, Leah Burke. But now you know where I stand.
xo and xo and my whole goddamn heart,
Abby
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: DEC 18 AT 1:52 PM
SUBJECT: RE: GET YOUR BUTT HOME, SPIER
I am. So jealous. I can’t believe I’m still here with an exam Thursday afternoon and three papers due Friday (THREE!) and you’ve been home for a week. But to answer your questions: I get in Friday afternoon, and Bram should get in thirty minutes after me. We’re just going to take MARTA up to the North Creek station, and then Bram’s mom is picking us up, so we should be good (but thank you!!!).
And I’m actually here through New Year’s! Savannah isn’t until January. Sorry, I realize calling it a Chanukah trip was slightly misleading, haha. But yeah, Chanukah’s actually over. B and I celebrated when I was in NY after Thanksgiving (he did the menorah prayer in Hebrew, it was so freaking cute). But we’re driving down on January 4th so we can do Late Ass Chanukah with his dad, stepmom, Caleb, and various elderly relatives, including Grandpa Greenfeld (who Bram describes as Bernie Sanders meets Eugene Levy, so I’m predicting only excellence).
Okay, so FYI, we’re officially confirmed for January 18th for my Top Secret Mission. Right now, the plan is to get him over to Garrett’s parents’ house after dinner, and we’ll have all you guys waiting in the basement. I’m still working on getting a final head count. Nick’s already going to be back in Boston (BOOO) and Alice is doing that January winter session thing. But so far, it’s me, you and Abby, Garrett, a bunch of the other soccer guys, and obviously Nora. And then we’ve got Bram’s cousin Starr and her boyfriend (they’re the ones who wore their school uniforms to Netherworld last year, remember? And you asked them which anime they were cosplaying? ICONIC). Anyway, Bram’s cousin SJ on the Greenfeld side is also coming, and we’re just waiting for confirmation from SJ’s boyfriend. So we’re probably looking at around fifteen people or so?
SO, YES, IT’S ALL HAPPENING. Now I just have to keep it a secret from my favorite boy for a month. “G-money” better not blow my cover (I’m still not over it, Leah. Do you think he tells everyone at Tech to call him that? Do you think he tells them that WE call him that?). Also, I’m pretty sure Taylor knows exactly who G-money is, and was just trolling like the legend she is.
Anyway, I’ll see you SOON. Come hang with me and Bieber this weekend or something!!
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: DEC 31 AT 11:52 PM
SUBJECT: LAST EMAIL OF THE YEAR
Dear Jacques,
You’re holding my hand while I write this, which has to be the biggest advantage of being a lefty, and also the best possible reason for one-handed typing. And that’s it. That’s the email.
Love,
Blue
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: JAN 1 AT 12:05 AM
SUBJECT: FIRST EMAIL OF THE YEAR
Hello, beautiful boy, you are really something else. You just typed that whole email with one damn hand, didn’t you, after three glasses of champagne. And not a comma out of place. Not a single freaking error in your whole entire email. Except the part where you say holding hands is the best reason to type one-handed. (Second best, Bram, don’t you think? ☺)
Anyway, Drunk Bram, let’s go watch the fireworks (and by watch, I mean let’s MAKE some fireworks, wink wink wink).
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: JAN 8 AT 9:36 AM
SUBJECT: RE: HI FROM MACON!!!
So you’re telling me his dad thinks you’re back in Atlanta, his mom thinks you’re still in Savannah—and you’re actually in a hotel room in Macon?? Um. Wow??? Talk about some top-notch divorce-kid trickery. Your boyfriend? Is diabolically romantic. Simon, are we sure he’s a Ravenclaw? Because that’s straight out of the Slytherin playbook. He is the king of surprises, and I’m forced to stan.
Well, Spier, I hope it was absolutely perfect (and I absolutely don’t need the details). Can’t say I’m surprised about the hotel bumping you to double beds (Georgia’s gonna Georgia). But who knows, maybe the front desk took one look at you two and said, nope, these two clearly can’t handle the amount of personal space provided by a king bed. Who even wants a king bed?? That’s like a long-distance relationship in furniture form.
Anyway, yup! Got back Sunday, classes started yesterday, and it’s full steam ahead here. But it’s honestly good to be back to the normal routine. Look, I love my mom to the end of the fucking earth, and I’m officially on board with Wells. But if I’m going to have to live with a bunch of blissed-out lovesick dorks, at least one of them better be named Abby Suso.
Okay, hopping on the shuttle now, but keep me posted on party p
lans. You’re going to have to step up your surprise game big-time, Simon Spier, and you know it.
Love,
Leah
P.S. Nope. Don’t listen to any of them. Those weren’t tears. They were seasonal allergies that powerfully, randomly resurfaced on New Year’s. It’s a thing.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
DATE: JAN 16 AT 8:14 PM
SUBJECT: TOP SECRET
NEW STEPPED-UP GAME PLAN FOR FRIDAY, EVERYONE. We’re officially scrapping Garrett’s house in favor of . . . you guessed it . . . Operation Ferris Wheel!!
Okay! Here’s the info:
Festival doors open at 6:00 p.m. (remember, Perimeter parking lot, Nordstrom side—you’ll see it). So I’m thinking you guys could get there by 6:30 or so, just to be safe? But you don’t technically have to be in position until 7:00. Leah, I gave Starr and SJ your number so you can find each other there. Garrett, you’re in charge of looping in the soccer guys. And then the only other people we’re expecting are Nora and Cal (as friends, FYI, they’re NOT back together, and Nora is specifically requesting for us to not “make it weird”).
So that means fourteen confirmed (not counting me and Bram). Luke the ride operator is the MVP, and he’s been prepped, so he knows we need seven adjacent cars. But just in case, maybe someone wants to run through the plan with him one more time when you get there?
I’ll shoot to have Bram in the ticket line by 7:00, and hopefully at the Ferris wheel by 7:15.
So Luke will let you guys off the ride one car at a time, and—this is so important—the first two people need to act SURPRISED to see us in line. Bram should think we just happened to run into you. But then more and more of you will step off the ride, which is when he’ll realize what’s happening (and I’m calling it, he’s going to do his cute little eye-flare-quick-inhale surprised face, and I CAN’T WAIT).
And then Bram and I get on the ride, I press play on Otis Redding, and we’re off!
Love, Creekwood Page 4