by Sparling,Amy
I’ve never been in trouble, never had detention, never so much as been called out by the teacher for talking in class. I like it that way.
But now . . . something is off.
Weirdly off.
People are staring at me.
Is it my imagination? No . . . it doesn’t feel like it. I walk through the athletics hallway and into the main corridor of the school, where lots of students like to hang out before the first bell. I can’t really explain it, but it feels like everyone is looking at me.
I swallow and head for my first class even though I still have a few minutes to kill. A ton of people are crowded around the massive bulletin board on the wall near the cafeteria.
And that’s when I realize what’s going on. I let out the breath I’d been holding and resist the urge to laugh. No one was staring at me. It’s just that the stupid Dis List has been posted, and that always gets everyone on edge.
I don’t really know much about it, just that a few years ago a group of students invented it. They make this secret list dissing people and then post it up at school, until it inevitably gets taken down by a teacher.
Some of the things can get pretty rude. This girl named Clara was rumored to have slept with a substitute teacher our freshman year, and I heard through the grapevine that the Dis List named her Sluttiest Freshman.
It’s all stupid, really. I’ve never even bothered to go look at the stupid list, which gets posted at random times during the school year. But that explains why I felt so weird. Everyone is just on edge because of some stupid list.
In first period pre-cal, I slide into my desk as the first student here. Mrs. Perry is changing out the batteries in the class set of calculators and tells me good morning.
Soon, the bell rings and people filter in, Dana among them. She slips into her desk next to mine, her cheeks flushed like she’s been running. She wears her hair in a mermaid braid today, with a purple ribbon tied in a bow at the end. She is so effortlessly beautiful, sometimes it’s really annoying.
“Hey,” I say, at the same time she says, “I’m sorry.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Sorry for what?” I ask, but the bell rings, drowning out half of my question.
Mrs. Perry starts talking so we have to shut up. Dana’s face is an expression of pity and maybe worry, and I’m wondering what she could have possibly done to me to be sorry about. We’re cousins and best friends.
I hold up my palm and mouth the word what?
She gnaws on her bottom lip, then glances up at Mrs. Perry. As soon as our teacher turns around to write on the white board, Dana whispers, “Did you see it?”
“See what?” I ask.
Her eyes go wide and she holds up a finger. Then she takes out her phone, hiding it behind her text book while she sends me a message.
I do the same, hiding my phone at an angle that Mrs. Perry can’t see were she to turn around and look at me. Not that she would. I’ve never once texted in class because it’s against the rules and I wouldn’t want to get caught. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
Dana has sent me a picture message of the Dis List.
Curious, I skim down the list, taking in the titles of Biggest Flirt, Sexiest Senior, Hottest Teacher, Bitchiest Teacher, and so forth. It’s all so stupid, really.
And then I see it. The name Zoey Caplan.
Biggest Prude.
Chapter 5
I don’t hear a word Mrs. Perry says during her calculus lesson. I don’t even take notes because my brain won’t focus enough to copy what she writes on the board onto my paper. But I keep the pencil in my hand, hand posed over my notebook just to keep up appearances. The last thing I want is for the teacher to finally notice me on the worst day of my life.
When the bell rings, Dana grabs my elbow, hauling me out of my desk. “You didn’t know?” she whispers as we leave the classroom. Now I know for a fact that I wasn’t mistaken about the whole people looking at me thing.
They are definitely looking at me.
“Why would I know?” I hiss as we enter the packed hallway. “I don’t pay attention to that stupid list.”
“I’m so sorry. What could you have possibly done to Alex to make him retaliate like that?”
And there it is. Confirmation of what I figured out for my own in first period. Alex Blackwood ratted me out.
My chest aches and I keep my head down, not wanting to see exactly how many people are snickering as I walk by. “I can’t believe I’m on that stupid list.”
“Yeah, for real,” Dana says with a snort. “If I had to guess which one of us would have been named on the list first, I’d pick me.”
We head toward the languages hallway because we both have Sign Language 3 class together.
“Listen, Zoey, I’m sorry.” Dana nudges me with her elbow as we walk. “It’ll be okay. Everyone will forget.”
“Yeah, I hope.”
“So what’d you do? He did he try to kiss you and you rejected him or something?”
I stop in the middle of the hallway, in front of some guy struggling to open his locker. “It was worse than that.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, was your first kiss terrible?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t kiss. He groped me,” I whisper, leaning in because it feels like the entire world can hear me when I reveal this shameful secret. “He put my hand on his—thing—and wanted me to—well, you know.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dana snaps, her voice no longer a whisper. There’s a fierceness in her eyes as she grinds her jaw tightly. “I’ll kill him.”
I start walking. “You’re not killing anyone, Dana. And you’re not telling anyone either, okay? I’ve already been humiliated enough as it is.”
“This is bullshit, Zoey. You need to stand up for yourself. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to jack off a guy on your first date.”
“Apparently there is because now I’m the school’s biggest prude,” I say, shuddering at the last word. It’s so stupid. Prude? That’s not exactly a bad thing, right? I mean it’s not as bad as being called a bitch or a slut.
Maybe it is.
I really wouldn’t know because I’ve never called anyone a prude before. I don’t call people anything because I am a nice freaking person. Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t return the favor.
We’re lucky enough to have a test today in Sign Language class, so I’m able to take a long time on it and avoid talking to Dana about this situation for another period. Despite what she thinks, there’s nothing really to talk about, besides how damn embarrassed I am. This will all blow over soon. I hope.
When the bell rings, I dive out of the classroom like I’m some kind of Olympic-level hallway runner. I manage to slip around the corner and down the stairs before Dana can catch up and follow me. I love her, but she’ll only want to keep talking about this. That’s the last thing I want to do.
I jog down the stairs and turn the corner, facing a group of guys who are hanging out around a water fountain.
“Watch out for the Virgin Mary,” one of them says when he sees me. They all hold up their hands like they’re innocent, laughing as I walk by.
I look away even though I’d rather glare, or tell them to go to hell. I’d rather do something, anything—but I don’t. I’m too chicken. I’m too quiet and I don’t want to get in trouble. So I just suck it up.
I suck it up a second time when Trey Martinez says, “Sup, Prude!” as I walk by.
Now I know I’m not imagining it. Everyone is looking at me. And this most definitely will not blow over quickly.
Probably all of the other people on the list are being stared at all day too, but I don’t really care about them right now. I care about how I’m supposed to get through all of this humiliation.
I want to scream at everyone who looks at me, tell them they should be sneering at Alex Blackwood, who wanted a hand job on a first freaking date.
But what do I know? Maybe that’s how dates wo
rk these days. Not everything happens as romantically as they do in the movies. I should definitely never date again.
Somerton High has block scheduling, so we have ninety minute classes and only have to go to four classes a semester. That means it’s lunch time. I am so not ready to face a cafeteria full of mocking stares.
So, with a lump in my throat, I turn the opposite way and head to the library. It’s not like I can eat right now anyway.
Our librarian is an elderly woman who has worked at the district since the forties, or something. She doesn’t notice me when I walk in, and I manage to slip back into the tall shelves of books, letting them hide me like the embarrassed fool I am.
I’m not sure if we’re allowed in the library at lunch time; I’ve never needed to go for any reason. I do all of my research projects at home, or at the local city library. I’m pretty sure it would be okay to come here, but because I’m terrified of getting caught and being griped at, or worse—getting detention—I stay out of sight.
I venture through the aisles, the smell of old books filling the air. Most of the books I read are eBooks, or books I bought from the store. I haven’t checked out anything here since my freshman year when I was doing a project on endangered animals.
I kill time by reading book titles, picking up a few of them to flip through the pages. Eventually, I get bored, so I venture to the back of the library, where the bookshelves are so tall they’re casting a shadow against the back wall.
I turn the corner and jump. There’s a pair of black Chuck Taylors in front of me, attached to a boy who is sitting on the floor, watching a movie on his phone.
He looks up at me and removes one of his earbuds. “Hi.”
I step back, glancing back toward the librarian’s desk, but it’s so far away I can’t see her, so she can’t see me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
He shrugs. “Ditching lunch and then third period. You?”
I shrug. I definitely won’t stay here past lunch time. I’d get caught for skipping, and then my parents would get a call that I missed class. Not happening.
“I’m Jonah,” he says when I don’t answer.
I’m smiling and I don’t really know why. “I know who you are.”
Jonah Thedford is a senior who has lived in Somerton all his life like me. He has dark hair that’s short on the sides but a little longer on top, which he keeps wavy and in his eyes. I think he’s part Italian, if I remember our junior high ancestry project correctly. His skin is a dark tan, the kind of color that perfectly fits the tall dark and handsome cliché.
Jonah Thedford is bad news. He’s a loner. Always in trouble, at least he was back in junior high. I don’t really see much of him anymore, probably because he likes to ditch class to watch movies in the library.
“You’re Zoey, right?” he asks.
I nod, then look over my shoulder. I should leave, head back, but I don’t want to face the public right now. Plus, there’s about ten minutes of lunch break left so . . .
“You wanna sit down?” Jonah asks.
I nod. I sit. Jonah smells like that boy body wash they advertise in commercials. I like it. He hands me one of his earbuds and then leans his back against the wall and plays the movie on his phone.
I put it in my ear and lean back, sitting next to him in the library while I’m ditching lunch.
This day couldn’t get any weirder.
When the bell rings, Jonah pauses the movie and I hand him back his earbud. “Thanks for hanging out,” he says, giving me this little sideways grin.
“Do you always spend lunch in the library?” I ask as I rock back on my heels.
He shrugs. “Not always.” It looks like he might say more but he doesn’t.
I study my cuticles, the awkwardness of this situation is as clear as my name printed on the Dis List. “Well, see ya.”
“Yeah, see you around.”
I start to go but Jonah calls my name. I turn back to him. “Yeah?”
“There are worse things to be, Zoey.”
“What do you mean?” I ask like an idiot. Of course I should have known what he meant.
His tongue flits across his bottom lip. “Alex Blackwood is a dick.”
Jonah is a man of few words, so that’s all he says. I nod once and then hurry to my next class.
Chapter 6
After school, I get home before Dad does because Mondays are his late parent meeting nights. I decide to make good use of the alone time and cry. Balled up in the corner of my room that’s twice the size of my room at Mom’s house, I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my head on top of them and cry, cry, cry.
I don’t remember the last time I cried. Not like sobbing over a sad movie or when a character dies in a book I love, but real crying. Crying from the pain of real life. The thing you do when everything just totally sucks.
It doesn’t happen very often, that’s for sure. My life is usually pretty okay. Maybe a little boring, but never worth crying over. Until now.
The stupid comments and rude remarks didn’t stop after second period. I was giggled at and stared at and called Virgin Mary more times that I can count.
I’m not the only one who isn’t immune to the stupid Dis List. Mrs. Roberts, who was named hottest teacher, had a substitute for the rest of the day. Everyone thinks she couldn’t handle the stress of being on the list. I wonder if she’ll come back for the rest of the week. Shelly Malcom, the girl who was named Biggest Slut, wore her title like a badge of honor all day. She clearly didn’t mind it and seemed to enjoy the attention it got her.
I wish I didn’t care about being the biggest prude. I wish it could roll off my back the way the word slut rolls off Shelly’s. Shelly is a sophomore and I’ve never actually talked to her. She’s pretty and popular and not even remotely in the same loser crowd I associate with on a daily basis. Still, I think about calling her up and asking for advice on how to deal with being on the list. But, seriously, how lame would that be? Prude and slut are on opposite ends of the name calling spectrum.
I take a deep breath, gaze around my room, and then start crying again.
***
Dad believes me when I tell him I’m sick. He doesn’t even try to force me to eat dinner with him, because he doesn’t even suspect that I’m lying. I’m the good daughter, the strait A student who never does any wrong. If I say I’m feeling sick, he believes me.
And yeah, I feel guilty as hell about the lying, but if I were to tell him the truth about the stupid Dis List, he’d call up our principal and demand to have the list obliterated from existence. And of course, it would somehow get back to me, that I’m the baby loser who couldn’t handle a stupid list and I got everyone in trouble for it because my dad is a principal in the district.
So although I feel bad about lying, the lie was definitely worth it.
I also expect Dana to blow up my phone, wanting to talk about what happened today. We normally hang out in the ten minute period between classes, but I’d ditched her for the rest of the day, choosing to get to my classes early and sit there alone and miserable. To her credit, she does not blow up my phone. Maybe she realized I just need some space—or time—or contemplation to get over this.
Actually I don’t know what I need. I am equal parts angry and embarrassed. Sad and mad. Pissed off and ashamed.
Why am I the one suffering just because I didn’t want to give a guy I barely knew a hand job in a darkened theater? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Public sex acts or public nudity or something like that.
Why do I have to suffer the backlash?
Gritting my teeth, I reach for my phone and pull up the photo of the Dis List Dana had sent me in first period.
Alex’s stupid name isn’t on there at all. He doesn’t know what it feels like, how awful it is to be so thoroughly embarrassed and shamed publicly to the entire school.
What an asshole.
I have a title for Alex Blackw
ood: Biggest Pig.
I chuckle a little, absentmindedly imagining myself making my own Dis List. It would be one item long and it would shame Alex for being such a . . . a . . . dick.
Jonah was right, even though I don’t usually curse and I don’t say vulgar words like that. Alex is a dick.
And how weird was that, anyway? Spending my lunch break with the bad boy of Somerton High School. He turned out to be pretty nice, I guess. Maybe he just felt sorry for me.
Hours go by and I’m still in my room, wallowing in self-pity like some kind of idiot. Dad checks on me before he goes to bed and I scrunch up my face, put a hand to my stomach and tell him it must be something I ate.
Dad frowns, the lines in his forehead creasing because he’s a good dad and he genuinely cares about me. What would he think if he knew I was lying?
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” he says.
I nod, keeping up the pained facial expressions. “I’ll be okay, I think.”
“If you need to stay home tomorrow, that’s fine.”
My eyes widen but I try to play it off by rolling over on my side. Could it really be that easy? Fake a sickness and stay home from school all day?
Nice.
“Okay, I’ll see how I feel when I wake up. Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, Zo.”
He closes my door and I lie back in bed staring at the slanted ceiling in my room. All four walls rise up a few feet before flattening out in the center where my huge ceiling fan hangs.
My mind can only focus on one word at the moment: Prude.
I sit up and grab my phone and search for the definition of the word that’s been haunting me all day.
Prude
(noun)
A person who claims to be easily shocked by matters relating to sex or nudity.
What. The. Hell.
That’s not even an accurate depiction of me! I am not afraid of sex or nudity. I simply didn’t want to give a guy a hand job. Anger ratchets up in my chest, my jaw grinding together as I sit here and stare at my phone screen.