Someone jeered, “Come on, Sarah, don’t be
shy! Brittany thinks you’re the best!”
“Yeah, you’re roommates, you’ll be objective!”
another added.
I put down my book, feigning embarrassment.
“Really, I can’t. I’m terrible at judging guys. I… I’m into girls.”
>
Within hours, two things were trending on
campus. One: Brittany’s “Simp List” on
Instagram. Two: me coming out. Mine was a
minor ripple. Everyone was obsessed with the
list.
Surprisingly, way more guys entered the competition this time. Brittany was ecstatic. “I’ve got so many followers!” she shrieked in
our dorm room. My other roommate, Jessica,
watched her with a mix of envy and resentment.
I focused on my homework, a sense of dread
creeping in. Brittany was so oblivious. She
didn’t realize how many girls on campus
secretly hated her for turning their crushes into
simps.
Brittany was sprawled on her bed, surrounded
by gifts: a new tablet, a plush rug, expensive
skincare. All from her “simps.” Jessica
muttered, “I thought you weren’t a gold
digger?”
く
Brittany immediately posted on Instagram: “Are
a few everyday gifts considered gold–digging
now? Wow. Were my parents too generous, or
are some people just not used to being loved?”
She added a crying teddy bear emoji.
Jessica’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her
face flushed, then grabbed it and ran out. She
returned a few minutes later, eyes red. “What’s
wrong?” our other roommate, Ashley, asked.
Jessica bit her lip and pulled her bed curtains
closed. We heard muffled sobs.
Brittany chirped into her phone, “I’m not mad!
Is this your true love? Because I’m seeing a lot
of ‘true love‘ around here… Really? Yours is
more sincere…?”
My pen paused, but I didn’t look up. Later,
Brittany announced, “They’re taking us to
karaoke tonight! Everyone’s coming!” “They”
being the simps, obviously.
く
Jessica ignored her. I wrinkled my nose. “I‘’||
pass. Too much testosterone, not my scene.”
No matter how much Brittany pushed, I refused.
Finally, she gave me a knowing look. “Sarah, I
never knew you were into girls. Are you…
jealous?”
“Jealous of what?” I asked, genuinely confused.
Brittany ticked off her fingers. “One, jealous of
all the guys chasing me? Two, is your crush on
the list? Is that why you’re pretending to be
gay?”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? I’m not into guys.
And I’m sapiosexual.”
Brittany’s face went from red to white. She left
without inviting Jessica or me.
That night, Jessica said, “Sarah, did you see
Brittany’s post?” I shook my head and checked
Instagram. “What did she post?”
<
It was a picture of me studying, taken from the
side. The caption read: “What do I do? The
brainy girl says she only likes smart guys.
Does she think I’m shallow?” The comments
were filled with simps offering consolation.
“Isn’t she a lesbian? Why’s she checking out
guys now?”
“If she was so smart, she’d be at Harvard, not
here.”
“Don’t cry, Brittany! You’re the prettiest!”
I was shaking with rage. Jessica said, “Be
careful what you say around her. She’s… not a
good person.”
I took several deep breaths to calm down. I
couldn’t focus on studying and went to bed
early. Staring at the ceiling, I berated myself. “Why did you engage? Haven’t you learned your
lesson? Avoid her at all costs!”
From that night on, I avoided Brittany like the
plague. I gave one–word answers or none at all.
I marked off the days on my calendar. 47 days
until she and Chad went public. 47 days until I
was free.
