The Hot List

by Hillary Homzie

  “Maybe we can decorate Hayden and Auggie’s lockers after the leadership meeting. No one will be around,” said Nia.

  “Absolutely,” agreed Maddie.

  “I’m thinking lightning bolts. On www.fashiontween.com they’re all about lightning.”

  “Count me in!” said Maddie.

  “Today is a good day. I feel good!”

  “I feel good too!” said Maddie.

  “I feel gooder!” Nia said even louder.

  “I feel gooder bestest,” said Maddie, laughing.

  And there was no doubt about it, I felt the worst.

  After school, I threw myself on my bed and listened to mostly depressing songs on my iPod. I didn’t do any homework, I didn’t get dinner started. I just stared at the ceiling with a sad soundtrack going.

  Of course, when my dad came home, he noticed me acting like a slug. Without knocking he barged into my room, sat on the edge of my bed, and said he wanted to talk to me about something. “Are you upset with me dating Mrs. Tate?” He seemed so happy that I didn’t feel like saying anything, so I shook my head. Of course, I didn’t love the idea of my dad dating, but I did understand. They had been seeing each for a solid month now, and Mrs. Tate couldn’t help that she was Nia’s mom.

  Then Dad cleared his throat and started asking me why Maddie wasn’t coming around anymore, and I broke down and told him that we had a fight. I didn’t give him any more details than that. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “I really am. But that happens to friends sometimes. Even”—he cupped his mouth confidentially—“to administrators. There are a couple of curriculum developers in the superintendent’s office who are not on speaking terms right now. Even your mom and I used to fight.”

  I smiled a little. Dad hadn’t spoken about Mom in awhile. I liked it when he did because it brought her back a little. I had been in preschool when she had died, so my memories of her mostly come from our family albums and videos.

  “Mom and I fought about dumb stuff,” said Dad, as he picked up my soccer ball and twirled it in his hand. “The laundry. Who was supposed to pay a bill.”

  “Well, it’s not dumb stuff between me and Maddie. I can’t trust her anymore.”

  “You guys have been friends for so long. Can I call her parents? Maybe we could bring you guys together to work this out?”

  “No, don’t you dare do that, Dad! No. Please.”

  “It might be good for me to check in with Maddie’s parents. We could help. I do have a counseling degree.”

  “Don’t do it! You can’t!”

  “Okay, okay. I just hate seeing you so miserable.”

  Get used to it, I thought.

  Chapter Eight

  Texts received on Nia Tate’s Phone: 14

  Homeroom

  Travis Middle School

  Boulder, Colorado

  USA

  Monday, November 2

  Between 8:27 a.m. and 8:31 a.m.

  Central Time

  Texts received on Maddie Narita’s Phone: 6

  Homeroom

  Travis Middle School

  Boulder, Colorado

  USA

  Monday, November 2

  Between 8:27 a.m. and 8:31 a.m.

  Central Time

  Texts received on Sophie Fanuchi’s Phone: 0

  Homeroom

  Travis Middle School

  Boulder, Colorado

  USA

  Monday, November 2

  Between 8:27 a.m. and 8:31 a.m.

  Central Time

  It was the first Monday in November, and the rumor was that another Hot List would be posted today. Everyone was chatting and gossiping about it. While the old Hot Lists eventually got painted over, the others were texted, tweeted, e-mailed, and video-blogged. It was the start of second period, and everyone was waiting for a Hot List sighting.

  I watched Nia glance down at her phone, which she strategically hid in her desk.

  “I wonder if anyone new is going to get on,” Nia said to Maddie, who unfortunately sat in front of me in pre-algebra. Mrs. Tate had a seating chart, so I couldn’t move to the back of the classroom like I wanted.

  Mrs. Tate—my teacher, and Nia’s mom, and my dad’s pretty-much girlfriend after two months of regular dating—was giving us ten minutes of individual review time before the quiz, so some kids were still hauling their math books out of their backpacks, while others flipped through their binders. Some girls glanced down at their hidden phones. Mrs. Tate has the same moon-shaped face and curly blond hair as Nia, except hers was shorter.

  Mrs. Tate approached Maddie’s desk and set her lips into a line. “I have to take your phone. Hand it over.” Mrs. Tate’s Southern drawl made the command seem nicer somehow.

  “Sorry,” said Maddie, giving Mrs. Tate her cell, who imprisoned it in a drawer in her desk. And then she wrote Maddie’s name up on the whiteboard. “You can pick it up after school.”

  Pre–Hot List, pre-Nia, Maddie would have never gotten her name written up on the board.

  “And you too, Nia,” Mrs. Tate said.

  Nia sighed and handed over her phone, and Mrs. Tate wrote her up. I had to like Mrs. Tate for a moment. When it came to enforcing the rules, she didn’t skip over her daughter.

  I stared outside the window, where I could catch a peek of the blue outline of the Rocky Mountains. Usually, looking at the snow-capped peaks made me happy but not today. List Day reminded me of what happened between Maddie and me.

  I watched as Nia dug out her binder and slammed it onto her desk. I knew she was mad at her mom.

  The other kids were all whispering about the Hot List as they wrote down the assignment, which was in the right corner of the whiteboard, while Mrs. Tate watered her fica. It kept dropping crunchy, yellow leaves.

  The quiet chatting continued, and Mrs. Tate said, “I suggest all eyes stay focused on the quiz.” She handed out the stacks of quizzes to the first desk on every row to pass back. “Do what I say, and y’all will do real well on your big test coming up,” she continued, as if we were sixth graders and not seventh graders, practically high school students.

  Actually, if you wanted to do well at Travis, there was only one thing you really needed to pay attention to today, and it was the List. Unfortunately.

  “You’ve got to go to the bathroom for me!” yelled Squid, during the break between second and third period. He stood behind me, pleading.

  “Excuse me?” I whipped around in the hall to face Squid, who wore a green gymnastics T-shirt and purple athletic shorts. “You want me to go to the bathroom for you?” I stared at his crazy mullet haircut. And the row of pimples dotting his forehead. “Are you sick or something?” Other students poured around us, trying to get to their lockers before fourth period. A line of girls darted out of the bathroom. Some shook their heads, while others had huge smiles on their faces.

  Squid raised his eyebrows like I was the one who was crazy. “Sophie, I mean go into the bathroom.” I stared at a ray of afternoon sun poking through one of the few windows in the hallway. “Why would you want me to go into the bathroom for you?”

  “I want you to see whether I’m on it.”

  “On what?” I shrugged and glanced at the hall clock.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” Of course I knew. Like the first time, the Hot List was once again being posted in the girls’ bathroom. But I wasn’t going to let on that I knew it. A couple of seventh-grade girls strolled by and pretended to be interested in the talent show poster. But really they were glancing at me as Squid pointed and twirled his finger like I was insane. The girls snickered nervously. Even though I didn’t want to care, I did.

  In the hall Squid continued to beg. In fact, he was hopping on one foot, as if that would impress me. I think it just made him look like he needed to go the bathroom. Doors to the cafeteria swung open and a bunch of guys with oversize backpacks moved past us.

  “Please, Sophie,” he pleaded. “Go into the bathroom and look. See i
f I’m on the List.” Just because I no longer had any real friends, he assumed we were best buddies.

  “I want to get to my locker, Squid, so move it.” It was almost the end of lunch period so I had about ten minutes to dump my books off at my locker and cram for the vocab quiz in English. I stared at Squid’s T-shirt. Was that tomato sauce ringing his collar? Probably because he shoveled in the ravioli they were serving during lunch. “What are you talking about anyway?”

  He darted a glance at a trio of girls strolling past and whispered so nobody could hear, “The Hot List.”

  “Oh, that.” I sighed.

  “Just the thing that defines everyone’s status at this school,” said Squid. The crazy thing was that even though I had invented the List, even though it had been around for just a couple of months, it felt like the List had always been there.

  According to Nia and her crew, the List determined everything. If you weren’t on the Hot List, you just weren’t hot. Getting on the Hot List equaled social success and happiness.

  The Hot List Facts

  Fact: When Micah Wong got on the Hot List he got voted most valuable player on the soccer team. And everyone knew that Micah was a just a so-so player who mostly ran around in circles while his teammates did most of the hard work.

  Fact: When Anson Blovack went from number eleven to number five on the Hot List, he started juggling three different girlfriends in two different schools for more than two months. And everyone knew before that Anson had only one girlfriend. For two days … and twenty-two seconds.

  Fact: When Teddy Stella got elevated to number two, he got 167 new friends on Facebook in one day. And two girls left messages in his in-box that they were willing to fold his laundry.

  And today, sometime during fourth period, on November 2, a new Hot List had definitely been posted. New names went on and, of course, some got the big boot.

  I was planning on NOT checking it out as a personal protest to all the List hysteria, even though I was definitely curious.

  I stared at Squid, who was still hopping. But this time there were no onlookers. Apparently there were some people at this school still eating their lunch. “You’re not serious,” I said, “about going into the bathroom to see the List. Tell me you’re not.”

  He pressed his hands together in a praying position.

  “Okay, you’re serious.”

  He nodded so the tail part of his mullet-style hair flipped up in the back. As a media center assistant pushing a cart with A/V equipment clattered down the hallway, I waved my hand in Squid’s face. “The whole thing’s so lame. And I have to get ready for Casey’s class or I’ll be toast.” I took a step down the hallway, away from the bathroom.

  “WAIT! Don’t go!” He grabbed my sweater. “I just have to find out. That’s all. I heard from someone who heard it from someone that I might be on it.”

  “Geez, you don’t give up. Why should I go into the bathroom for you? You know I don’t care about stuff like the List.”

  “It’s because you don’t care. I couldn’t ask”—he pointed to a band of girls clicking away down the hall in their cookie-cutter outfits from the mall—“them. But you’re different. You’re all …”

  “What … I’m all what?” I put my hand on my hip and considered drop-kicking him. I could, given the fact that I’m probably six inches taller than him. Me, Sophie, tall girl. And then there was Squid, short boy. I guess it made us the middle school equivalent of a Great Dane and a toy poodle.

  Squid gazed up at me. “You’re, like, above it all or something.” Yeah, I was above him. Like, at least by half a foot, even if my new boots did have a little heel on them today.

  I smiled and patted his head again. “Thank you, Squid. That’s the first decent thing you’ve said all day.”

  “You’re welcome,” he gushed, gazing up at me with a goofy smile. That’s when I turned around to see a girl swatting her friend with a cell phone and a bunch of sixth-grade guys stopping up the water fountain with paper towels to create a flood.

  “I’m so done with middle school.” For many good reasons. At least winter break was next month.

  Squid threw out his arms. “I’m not done with middle school. I want to be on the List at least before Christmas.” He smiled so his dimples popped out and showed his crooked teeth, which were railroaded with red braces.

  “Will you PLEASE go in there?” he pleaded, getting down on one knee.

  Being in Drama Club for the past year and a half really left its ridiculous imprint on him. I craned to see the clock in the hallway. “Gotta go, Squid. I have, like, three minutes to dump my books in my locker before—”

  He snatched my social studies textbook. “I’ll carry them for you!”

  “I don’t need your help, Squid.” Then a bunch of kids came barreling out of the cafeteria, including Hayden. Blue. Live and inperson. As he strutted down the hall my heart stuttered. Hayden was so cute he could easily be a celebrity. He turned toward me and saluted, mumbling, “Hey,” and I was about to utter back Hey all coolly when Squid screamed, “SOPHIE, NUMBER ONE JUST SAID HI TO YOU!”

  By number one, of course, he meant number one on the Hot List. Hayden probably thought this also meant that he was my number one.

  Which he was, of course. I could feel the heat in my cheeks like it was mid-July.

  Hayden was now walking backward and grinning as he twirled his lacrosse stick. “And now I’m saying bye. Bye, Sophie!”

  Would the linoleum just open up and swallow me now? I weakly nodded bye to him. How could Squid do this to me? Hayden turned around and was now casually strolling away with one hand in his jean pocket, and the other holding his lacrosse stick.

  That was so Hayden.

  Also, he never wore a dorky backpack like other guys. I wasn’t sure how he transported regular things like books, erasers, and his lunch. Maybe someone did that for him.

  If he asked, I would even do it.

  I had this feeling that by high school, he would be discovered by a Hollywood casting agent. Slowly, we would start hanging out and become a couple based on mutual admiration. The Hollywood establishment would be baffled as to why the famous actor did not go for a model, but he preferred to stay home with me, by the fire in our Swiss-style chalet in Boulder.

  Of course, he’d take me to all of the Hollywood A-list parties. We’d have four children—two girls and two boys—he would offer me four nannies to care for them but I would say no, what with their dimples and …

  Squid pushed against my shoulder. “Say bye back to him!”

  At this point, Hayden was a dot down the other side of the hall.

  “No, shut up, Squid,” I said, groaning under my breath and pulling my hoodie further around my face. “There’s no way!”

  “Afraid Hayden Carus’ll know you like him?” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

  Ah, no. That ship had already sailed, probably.

  As Squid jumped to his feet, I noticed how he had bleached his sneakers with these weird eyeball patterns. Suddenly, I had to get away from him. And the bathroom was my quickest escape. And, okay, my curiosity about the List had won out.

  “See you later, Squid. I’m going in but don’t expect me to report back to you. You’ll just have to ask someone else.” That was when I pushed back Squid like I was a firefighter about to save a Chihuahua from a burning building.

  Chapter Nine

  I rammed the bathroom door open with my shoulder and spotted Maddie at the sink, applying some gooey moisturizing lotion that smelled like over-ripe mangoes. And Nia was next to her, applying the exact same kind. Matching crystals hung at their necks. They both stood there, in peasant shirts and stacked necklaces and suede boots, chatting away.

  “I can’t believe he stayed on the List,” said Nia, shaking her head. “I mean, zits.” She tapped her nose.

  “I know. Seriously,” agreed Maddie. “What were they thinking?”

  As I stood there in front of the door, Nia shook back he
r corkscrew blond curls. “I still think you should ask Auggie to the skate park. For a little private lesson.”

  “You think?” asked Maddie, reddening a little.

  I couldn’t believe it. Maddie and Nia were actually talking about the List as if they didn’t write it. I guess I was wrong to think they were the new listmakers. That left me with tons of unanswered questions. Like who actually was the Listmaker? Was Maddie still on? Was Hayden still number one? Could I be on? Nah, that wasn’t happening.

  I strode purposefully into the bathroom and stopped by the last stall, the new and original home of the List, and waited behind a strawberry blond-headed girl with pigtails.

  “And did you see Vinday got onto the List?” went Nia. Then she saw me and suddenly stopped speaking. I expected them to run away from me like I was the “it” in a game of hide-and-seek.

  “Hey,” I said, trying hard to give them my I-don’t-care face. Seeing them together made my stomach muscles bunch up.

  They both gave me grade-A fake smiles. They were so obsessed with the Hot List. They probably wouldn’t leave the bathroom for the rest of the day. Just so they could be near the List. And moisturize with organic products. You’d think they lived in the Mojave Desert and not outside of Denver.

  Nia turned away as Maddie shrugged and gave me a guilty look.

  I noticed her hair had grown out and was now almost touching her shoulders and had a lot more body. She must have gotten some kind of a perm of something. I couldn’t help but check myself out in the mirror. Yeah. The same brown eyes and long dark brown, almost black, hair that touched my shoulders. But it wasn’t flowy like Nia’s or Maddie’s. It was straight as a board.

  Sighing, I headed into the stall and checked out the lame-o list.

  There was still Hayden Carus at the top. I started by reading from the top of the guys’ list:

  HAYDEN CARUS

  TEDDY STELLA

  AUGGIE MARTIN

  TYLER FINKEL

  ANSON BLOVACK