The List. Siobhan Vivian

say.

      The rest of junior year transpired without incident. Jennifer made halfway decent grades. She stopped hanging out with the chorus girls. She never really liked them much anyway.

      After twelve green tiles, Jennifer pivots. She spins the lock left 10, right 22, left 11.

      Jennifer steels herself and clicks open her locker. The entire hall watches as a white paper falls softly to the floor and lands inches away from her feet. She sees the embossed stamp of Mount Washington High. Certified truth, special delivery.

      Jennifer unfolds it. She skips the other grades, the other girls, and goes straight for the seniors.

      Margo Gable, prettiest.

      Jennifer wishes Margo didn’t deserve it, but she does.

      And right above her name, ugliest, for an unprecedented fourth year in a row.

      Jennifer pretends to be surprised.

      Someone claps. Someone actually claps.

       Drumroll, please.

      Jennifer shrugs off her book bag. It hits the floor with a thud, amplified by the vacuum of noise. She paddles her hands against her locker door rapid-fire until they burn. The sound smacks off everyone watching her, shocking them like those heart-attack paddles.

      Jennifer spins around to face her crowd. She explodes into a jumping jack, legs spread, hands shooting straight up, holding the list for everyone to see, as if she were one of the cheerleaders brandishing a FIGHT, MOUNTAINEERS, FIGHT! sign. She shouts the best “Wooooooo!” she can and pumps the list up and down in celebration.

      A few kids grin. More clap, and when Jennifer curtsies, enough hands join in to make it full-fledged applause.

      Jennifer skips down the length of the senior hallway, keeping her hands raised for anyone who might give her a high five. Many reach out for her.

      At the end of the day, there is this fact: Jennifer has accomplished a feat no other girl at Mount Washington has, endured something no one else can touch. She can’t help but feel special. It’s how that old saying goes. If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. She pulls her smile as wide as it can go, so no one will think for a second that she might not be enjoying this, fully embracing this gift.

      She wants everyone to know. She’s come a long, long way.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Margo Gable is walking with her best friends, Rachel Potchak and Dana Hassan, three wide in a crowded hallway that always leaves room for them. The girls’ heads are pitched forward in a secret-sharing way, their hair falling collectively to make a privacy curtain. They are not talking about the list, as an outsider might assume. They are giggling about Mrs. Worth’s toes.

      The toes, gnarled and stuffed into a pair of orthopedic sandals, had mesmerized Margo during fourth period, and she ignored the lecture on the algebraic equation of a Möbius strip in favor of mentally unlocking the twisted, overlapping joints.

      “Why would a person with such hideous feet ever think to buy a pair of sandals?” Rachel asks.

      “No clue,” Dana says. “Also, hello! It’s almost October. Why is she wearing sandals in the first place?”

      Margo pulls her brown hair up in a sloppy bun at the very top of her head, secures it with a pencil, and thinks hard for an answer. Perhaps it’s a medical condition?

      This is why she doesn’t notice Principal Colby lurking by the staircase until the principal’s hand is on her arm, pulling her to an abrupt stop.

      Principal Colby is new and, so far as Margo can tell, the youngest faculty member at Mount Washington High School. She’s dressed in a red pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse with tiny yellow beads for buttons. Her dark hair is gathered in a low ponytail, except for her bangs, which Margo notices are kept long and shaggy in the way that is featured in lots of magazines right now.

      Some in her group have said that Principal Colby could be Margo’s older sister. But now, up close, Margo thinks Maureen, her actual older sister, is prettier.

      “Margo. I’d like to talk to you about this list. Do you have a minute?”

      Margo expects this to be a quick conversation, if that is even the right word for it. She tongues her watermelon gum down in her cheek and tells Principal Colby that she doesn’t know anything about it.

      Principal Colby narrows her eyes. “Well, Margo … you know that you’re on the list, right?”

      The suspicion in Principal Colby’s voice catches Margo off guard, and it suddenly feels funny to be smiling. Like it gives the wrong impression of her. She threads some of her soft hair behind her ear. “Yes,” she admits. “Someone mentioned it in homeroom.”

      Actually, Jonathan Polk, who had been cast as the lead in Pennies from Heaven, drowned out the morning announcements by performing the list as a monologue. Afterward, he tried unsuccessfully to coax Margo into taking a bow. It is nice, being on the list again. She’d been on it freshman year, Dana sophomore year, and Rachel last year, when they were juniors. That’s when her sister, Maureen, had also been on the list, and then, five days later, was picked as homecoming queen, which was the way things usually went.

      Margo had thought about texting Maureen at college with the good news, but decided against it.

      It has been weeks since they’ve spoken.

      Principal Colby produces a copy of the list from a small pocket at her hip. It has been folded several times to fit, like a piece of origami. “Since I’m new here, I was hoping you could shed some light on what this is, exactly. Fill me in.”

      Margo gives a light shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just a weird school tradition, I guess.” It feels strange to be talking openly about the list with school faculty. Margo is almost positive the teachers at Mount Washington know about it. How could they not? The ones who’ve grown up here, like Mrs. Worth, could have even been on it back in the day! But they tolerate it in the name of tradition, like Margo said. Or maybe, she realizes, they just don’t care.

      “And you have no idea who is behind it?”

      Dana and Rachel are lurking a few steps away, trying to eavesdrop. Margo says, “No,” as confidently as she can.

      Principal Colby regards her skeptically. “Do you know any of the other girls on the list?” She offers her copy of the list to Margo, but Margo keeps her hands clasped behind her back.

      “A couple, I guess.”

      “Would you agree with the ones who were picked? Or would you have picked different girls?”

      “Principal Colby, I haven’t even seen the actual paper before right now. I don’t know anything else. Really.”

      Instead of believing her, Principal Colby waves off Rachel and Dana, who have inched a little too close. “Go on, ladies. You don’t want to be late.”

      As her friends disappear down the stairs, Margo is guided over to the wall. She recognizes Principal Colby’s perfume as one of the bottles on her dresser, but decides not to comment on it. “Am I in trouble?” she asks.

      “No,” Principal Colby says. Which, to Margo, should be the end of it, but she goes on. “I’m wondering how you plan to respond.”

      “Respond?”

      “You seem like the kind of girl who has influence around here, Margo, and how you choose to deal with the list will have an effect on your peers.” Principal Colby pushes up her sleeves and folds her arms. “This is a sick tradition, don’t you think? And I plan on getting to the bottom of who’s behind it. So if you know something, I would suggest you let me know right now.”

      Margo