“Nobody said she wasn’t.”
“I swear to God, Simon, if you start a fight over us both agreeing that your dog is perfect—”
“I’m not fighting!” Simon throws his hands up. “You know, I think our whole problem is that you take my bitchiness personally. I’m like this with everyone. You aren’t special.”
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie mutters.
Simon takes his book out of his bag and attempts to read, but he keeps reading the same sentence over and over. This book requires thinking, something he’s never been great at when Charlie’s around.
“It isn’t true, you know,” Charlie says.
Simon gives up, closing the book. “What isn’t?”
“You aren’t mean. You’re mean tome, but not in general. Usually you’re quiet. Like, really quiet. You can’t be bitchy if you don’t talk.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Alex thinks you’re nice.”
“Slander. And we both know Alex would never describe someone she liked asnice.”
“Simon. You fucking idiot. Alex is yourfriend. She’s been your friend forseven years.”
Working together isn’t the same thing as friendship, but Simon isn’t going to be the one to explain this to Charlie if he doesn’t already grasp the difference. Still, he remembers how he felt at Lian’s, that sense of almost belonging. If they all actively hated him,they’d have figured out a way to avoid spending extra time with him. Maybe.
It occurs to him that if Charlie hated him, he’d have figured out a way not to spend six hours trapped in a car together.
It also occurs to him that if he hated Charlie, he maybe wouldn’t be here either.
But, no. Simon is capable of nuance. It’s never been about hate. He doesn’t hate Charlie. He resents Charlie. Charlie annoys him. A lot of people annoy him. The whole reason he agreed to this trip is because Jamie, his favorite person, is on his last nerve.
“You aren’t special,” he says again, because it feels crucial that Charlie absorb this information. It might be crucial for Simon to absorb this information too, but that’s a thought for later.
He makes another effort with his book. It’s the one Roshni recommended. It contains zero dragons and zero implied dragonfucking, thank you very much. He is a man of sophisticated tastes.
He manages to finish the paragraph, but his eyes keep drifting to the left. Even though the road is straight, Charlie keeps adjusting his hands on the wheel. He’s even more fidgety than usual.
Simon, having spent seven years learning the most efficient ways to press Charlie’s buttons, knowns that all this fidgeting and jaw clenching is a sure sign he’s getting pissed off. Based on how frequently he glances at the blank screen of his phone where it rests in the console, Simon can guess why. It turns out there’s no satisfaction in watching Charlie get annoyed if Simon isn’t the one making it happen.
Whenever Charlie shifts his hands, the muscles in his upper arm move, and the tattoo on his biceps becomes this mesmerizingpresence in the corner of Simon’s eye. Charlie got that tattoo between second and third season. At first glance it looks like a vine, or maybe barbed wire, but when you pay attention, you see that it’s clusters of stars and planets.
“You haven’t turned a page in forty miles,” Charlie says.
“Well, that’s about fifteen minutes the way you’re driving.” Simon doesn’t actually have any complaints about Charlie’s driving; he’s just being difficult because that was Charlie’s shit-stirring voice and Simon knows how to give an audience what they want.
“Because I’m doing a hundred and sixty miles an hour? In my Audi SUV?”
“Maybe I’m a slow reader. Maybe you hurt my feelings.”
“Maybe you just hate that book.”
“I kind of do.” Simon sighs and closes the book again. “It’s the book’s fault for being so boring.”
“I’m telling you, readA Scorched Land. Download it. It’s like $4.99.”
“I hate ebooks.”
“Of course you do.”
