Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

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IT’S A WEIRDLY SUBTLE CONVERSATION. I almost don’t notice I’m being blackmailed.

We’re sitting in metal folding chairs backstage, and Martin Addison says, “I read your email.”

“What?” I look up.

“Earlier. In the library. Not on purpose, obviously.”

“You read my email?”

“Well, I used the computer right after you,” he says, “and when I typed in Gmail, it pulled up your account. You probably should have logged out.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. He taps his foot against the leg of his chair.

“So, what’s the point of the fake name?” he asks.

Well. I’d say the point of the fake name was to keep people like Martin Addison from knowing my secret identity. So I guess that worked out brilliantly.

I guess he must have seen me sitting at the computer.

And I guess I’m a monumental idiot.

He actually smiles. “Anyway, I thought it might interest you that my brother is gay.”

“Um. Not really.”

He looks at me.

“What are you trying to say?” I ask.

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