The Hot List

by Hillary Homzie

  I smiled harder. “I like to pretend to be annoyed with you, but I’m so sure, with a little help, you’d get on the List. I seriously love doing makeovers and stuff.” Okay, that was an exaggeration. Back in fifth grade, Maddie and I did like to pretend to be models, and we would do runway shoots in my room with her dad’s digital camera. But that was pretty much the extent of it.

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “I get to prove that I know more about the Hot List than anyone else. Well, except for the Listmakers,” I said, shrugging.

  “I get it, I think,” said Squid. “Maybe I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. But you can’t tell anyone I’m helping you to get onto the Hot List. Got it?”

  “What about them?” He flicked his eyes over to Elio and Gabriel, who had been progressively creeping closer to us.

  “NO!” I boomed, and they both ducked like I was going to take a swing at them.

  “But they’re my friends.”

  “This works much better if you can concentrate fulltime and not get distracted. If the entire school knows what we are up to, then it’ll be much harder, trust me.”

  “Aw, c’mon,” said Squid. “Please? Double please?”

  “Squid,” Gabriel called from down the hall. “Elio’s scrounging the dirt off your locker and making a beard with it.”

  Elio grinned at us. He had smeared the dirt all over his face in some sort of third-grade approximation of a beard.

  “See,” I said.

  “You have a point,” said Squid.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sophie. J’ai faim!” says Squid, rubbing his hands together. “Pour le kiss.”

  I shut my eyes and scrunch up my face. “Never!”

  “Calmez-vous,” says Madame Kearns, narrowing her eyes at me and putting her fingers to her lips.

  Hayden, who sits three rows in front of me, turns around and laughs. My stomach clenches. He is not laughing at me. He is laughing at Squid. He can’t be associating kiss and Sophie and Squid because I clearly said, “Never” and said it in English so there was no confusion.

  —Nightmare French conversation dreamed by

  Sophie Fanuchi

  In fifth period my French teacher, Madame Kearns, who was as prim-looking as a porcelain doll, was firing questions at us about masculine and feminine nouns. She wore an Eiffel Tower necklace and rocked on her little black flats that had ribbons at the toe, the colors of the French flag. “Écoutez, le pain or la pain?”

  Pain means bread but it’s spelled exactly like pain, which was what I was in when I thought of all the work that I had to do with Squid in order to get him Hot List–ready.

  “Le or la ?” repeated Madame, with her hands clasped in front—fig-leaf position.

  I raised my hand, and, of course, Maddie, my brainiac former best friend, was raising her hand higher.

  So I stretched a little bit, and Maddie stretched a lot higher. Madame Kearns nodded at Maddie. “Oui?” She smiled tightly.

  “Le pain,” said Maddie. “Masculine.” Nia smiled at her approvingly as if she had just solved world peace and found the cure for cancer.

  “Bravo,” said Madame. She turned to face the rest of us. “Écoutez, I want you to work with a partner, whomever is sitting across from you, and ask him or her about what they would like to eat for dinner. D’accord?”

  I turned across the aisle to face my partner. That would be Squid. I wasn’t sure whether this was good or bad.

  Bon or mal ?

  Mal or bon ?

  He got a huge grin on his face. With his arm extended backward, Squid was rolling his pencil across his blank piece of paper. It was easy to see where he got his nickname, since he apparently was so flexible he didn’t have any bones in his body. “Bonjour, la partner,” he boomed.

  “Bonjour, le Squid,” I said back.

  “Remember to say le pain. Not la,” cautioned Madame Kearns. “Répétez après moi: le pain.”

  The whole class repeated in unison, “Le pain.”

  Then as we started working on our conversations, I noticed Nia and Maddie whispering together and glancing back at me.

  I was finding it hard to concentrate on asking Squid what he wanted to eat given all of the Maddie/Nia giggles. As they loudly whispered, I could make out the words “shirt” and “so sad,” but that was it. Mostly, it was—laugh, laugh, laugh, and then stares back at me. I crunched down on my teeth as Squid fished his French textbook out of his backpack.

  One more whisper did it. I whipped around and snapped at Maddie and Nia. “Shut up.”

  “I’m not hearing français,” corrected Madame Kearns.

  “Fermez la bouche,” I said, which meant shut up, only in French.

  Madame Kearns locked her fingers together and rocked forward on her heels. “Sophie, I appreciate you’re speaking French, but that’s not what I had in mind. So, pardon your French. I want you to turn around and talk to your partner, Henry.”

  Madame Kearns happened to be the only teacher in the school who called Squid by his first name. I had even forgotten that his real name was Henry. Squid was so not a Henry.

  Reluctantly I turned toward Squid, and he told me, in French, that he was hungry. “Sophie, j’ai faim.” Actually, it was more spitting than French because, as he exaggerated the f sound, spittle flew onto his bottom lip. He was also wiggling his body and patting his tummy. I think some sauce was coming off on his hand. The hand with the orange Magic Marker on it.

  Then for a moment, he turned, and I saw exactly what Nia and Maddie must have been whispering about—Squid’s T-shirt. It was bad enough that it was a Power Ranger one with some holes, but there was red sauce smeared all over the side shoulder and some on his back. Sometime between fourth and fifth period, he must have smacked into a pepperoni pizza. Reminder to self: introduce Squid to napkins.

  Today I had on my brown hoodie. Underneath I had on a baby doll T-shirt with straps that were definitely not two inches thick.

  I had to give Squid my hoodie, so he could cover up his scary T-shirt.

  No, I couldn’t do that. Then I’d be wearing only spaghetti straps in the middle of class.

  I turned away and kept on staring up at The Little Prince poster that Madame Kearns had behind her desk, which showed a weird little kid who lived by himself on a planet the size of a hot air balloon. Squid looked like an even weirder version of the little prince.

  I had to do something about that.

  Kids were staring at Squid, as the holes in his T-shirt appeared to have grown larger. And the sauce, saucier.

  I had to save Squid from himself. From that shirt. From his crazy mullet hair, and teeth with food stuck in them. He needed to get off of his weird planet. I would introduce him to the concept of a haircut, of dental floss. It might be wise to ban stringy-type foods from his diet.

  But I could at least start with the shirt.

  “You so need my hoodie,” I stated to Squid as he contorted one of his legs in a strange position around the chair leg.

  Madame Kearns, stood in front of the class, surveying all with her small French ears, which had earrings that look like the Arc de Triumphe on them. “En français,” she corrected, glancing over at me. “Speak en français !” Jiggling her little gold charms, she placed her hands back into the fig leaf position.

  I struggled in French to tell Squid that he needed my hoodie, but I managed something French-sounding and then said, “Le hoodie.”

  Squid sat up, his eyes grew round and moist. “I need your hoodie?” He leaned forward, peering at my sweatshirt.

  “En français!” reminded Madame Kearns, who was rocking on her heels even faster. English words definitely upset her.

  Squid also mumbled something French-sounding and then said something like, “Le cool.”

  I folded my arms across my hoodie, as if it were my life shield. Suddenly, I didn’t want him to take it away. But it was the right thing to do.

  Madame Kea
rns continued to survey the room, so I spoke in English under my breath, but with a French accent. “You. Must. Borrow. My. Le hoo-die.”

  “Pourquoi?” asked Squid, which was French for “why.”

  Everyone else was shedding their sweatshirts, sweaters, and hoodies, since it was practically ninety-nine degrees. The Administration at Travis—the administration being chiefly my father—believed in blasting the heat all winter long.

  Nia had turned around again to get something out of her backpack, but I could tell she was just using it as an excuse to see what I was up to. She whispered something to Maddie. I wished I could put duct tape on Squid’s mouth. But he’d probably just eat it.

  “Trust me, Squid,” I said, lowering my voice even more, but keeping up the French accent. “You just need my hoodie.”

  He stuck out his lip in a pathetic pout. I could see those bottom red braces, which clashed with his neon-green, glow-in-the-dark shoes. Nia and Maddie turned around at least twice and watched me. I didn’t care what they thought, but I still didn’t want them seeing me actually giving Squid an article of clothing.

  I waited until Nia and Maddie were both facing ahead, looking at Madame Kearns’s assignment that she was writing on the whiteboard.

  “Voila,” I whispered, passing the hoodie under the desk, away from prying eyes.

  Why was I doing this? Oh, right, the Hot List.

  Squid snatched the hoodie and cupped it in both hands.

  And that was when Maddie turned to peer at me. Her eyebrows curved into a question.

  I flicked my eyes at Squid, who was frozen, still holding my shirt. It was like he was meditating on it or something. Then he brought it up toward his nose and sniffed it before it putting it on. I cringed and my toes curled.

  Okay, tonight, I was definitely going to have to sterilize my hoodie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As I rushed down the hall, Maddie and Nia caught up to me.

  “We weren’t laughing at you in French,” said Maddie.

  I continued to speed-walk, keeping my eyes on the floor. “Okay, whatever.”

  “Nice top,” said Nia.

  “But you’re going to get busted,” said Maddie.

  Nia nodded. It was true. Without my hoodie, I was only my wearing a tank top with spaghetti-thin straps. It was completely illegal at Travis. Straps had to be two and half inches thick, and you were allowed to show skin only two inches below your neckline. This shirt scooped big-time.

  I tried to pull ahead of the Nia pack, but Maddie caught up to me. “We’re just trying to help.”

  “Stop helping,” I snapped.

  “Seriously, Sophie,” said Maddie. “Your dad does have a scary radar for anyone breaking the rules,” she added, as Nia and then a frowny Ava pulled alongside of us.

  “Maybe it’s because of his radar ears,” said Ava. “They stick out enough.”

  “Shut up,” I said. It was one thing if I wanted to make cracks about my dad’s ears, but not Ava. I also have this theory that whenever you say something bad about someone, you can guarantee they will show up.

  I picked up the pace.

  Maddie, Nia, and Ava picked up the pace.

  I ducked my head down.

  “Sorry about the radar-ears comment,” said Ava.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  I turned around.

  My dad, Edward Fanuchi, a.k.a. the principal of Travis Middle School, rushed forward, racing toward me as if I had just stolen his basketball—only we’re not at the court, we’re at school. Travis Middle School. The school where he’s the principal.

  I was walking down the hallway—me, the principal’s daughter—in a tank top with straps that were definitely less than two inches thick. I was so violating the dress code.

  And that principal, my dad, was heading my way, looking as angry as I had ever seen him.

  I was busted.

  “Sophie,” he said accusingly, “What are you wearing?” He stared at my spaghetti-thin straps. His face tightened and his irises contracted. This was trouble.

  Everyone in the hallway had stopped to stare at me, as if I was wearing a bikini in a snow storm. A crowd of skater dudes, and a flock of sixth graders, carrying giant posterboards about killer viruses. I mean everyone.

  Including Hayden Carus, who looked me up and down, taking in my too-thin-for-school spaghetti straps. I could feel my ears burning at the tips, and red-hot heat spreading across my cheeks and blooming up my neck.

  “Sophie, you’re going to have to change into something more appropriate right now,” Dad said. “This is a warning. If this happens again, you’ll get detention.”

  Maddie fingered one her of her many layers, a mint-green sweater with the ying-yang symbol. It looked almost like the one that Nia had on, except hers was in beige. “You can borrow my sweater.”

  “Um, well … it’s okay.” I so didn’t want to be rescued by Maddie.

  Dad eyes grew bigger. “It’s not okay.”

  Maddie pulled off her sweater and her beads clacked together. “Here. Take it.”

  Dad smiled. “Thank you, Maddie.” Dad looked at me expectantly. “Put it on, Sophie.”

  Reluctantly, I took the sweater. Did I have any other choice? I slipped it over my shoulders. Since I’m way broader and taller, it was on the tight side.

  Ava clapped, which surprised me, since I thought she was so into being bored and annoyed unless she was on a horse.

  “Perfect,” Maddie said. “It fits you really well.”

  Suddenly, I shivered and my stomach muscles tensed up. But it wasn’t perfect. This was Maddie’s sweater, which matched Nia’s sweater, and it smelled like mango lotion. It smelled exactly like them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I flopped down on my bed.

  I couldn’t fail with Squid.

  There was so much to do over the next month, Squid-wise, and not that much time to do it. In my mind I saw his mullet hair, which was scarily uncombed and the sauce on his superhero T-shirt.

  Ugh.

  There was no doubt about it, I was going to have to do a complete makeover on the boy. I sat by my desk and brainstormed a list to make Squid Hot List–ready.

  Do List For Squid

  1) Take Squid to the mall so he can get a look at what’s trendy.

  2) Buy regular, non-superhero shirts.

  3) Buy normal jeans that don’t show the colored bands around his sweat socks.

  4) Buy un-florescent, non–glow-in-the-dark-type shoes.

  5) Be seen with cool people, such as Hot Listers—to up reputation.

  6) Spread the word that he’s hanging with cool types.

  7) Act less goofy.

  8) Act less spazzy and hyper around girls (and guys, too).

  9) Find non–yo-yo playing, non–muddy-footprint-measuring friends.

  10) Get rid of mullet-type hairstyle.

  There was a lot to be done. I decided that I would spread things out and start with the first four items on my list, which meant going to the mall and getting clothes and shoes.

  Over the phone, I explained to Squid that he had some work to do, like acting less hyper around girls and hanging out with people who could help, not hurt, his reputation, and that he needed a style upgrade. I read Squid the list and waited for his reaction. Apparently, I overwhelmed him, as he wasn’t responding. Had I freaked him out? “Squid?”

  “You said you’d get me onto the List, but you didn’t say I’d have to have plastic surgery.”

  “I didn’t say anything about plastic surgery. We’re talking some basics.”

  “Surgery’s next on your mind. I can tell. I’m a mind reader. And maybe one of those medieval devices, where you’d stretch me to make me longer. Ouch. Okay, I think I’m quitting this Hot List thing.”

  “Squid. C’mon. I’ll pay for everything you need at the mall,” I said desperately. “I’ve got a ton of birthday money.”

  “Hmm, let me think about it.” I could hear him ta
pping his head. “Think think think think. How much birthday money?”

  “Two hundred dollars.”

  “Whoa,” said Squid. “Okay. But I also want a new game for my DS.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not going to spend all of my money.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Huzzah! I looked outside my window. The moon was so bright you could see the Rockies almost clearly. “Meet me at the mall. The south entrance right after school tomorrow. I need to be with you to make sure that you don’t buy, like, light-up shoes or Barney pajama tops. We’ve got to make you Hot List–ready right away. We don’t have that much time. One month.”

  Squid made a sizzling sound. “That was me becoming hot.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said and hung up as Dad popped his head into the room. “That wasn’t Maddie was it?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nah. It was Nicole and Heather.” Of course it wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell my dad that I was speaking to Squid Rodriquez on the phone.

  Dad sat down on the end of my bed. “I know it’s been hard with stuff changing between you and Maddie. I’m glad you’re finding new friends.” He smiled, and picked at some loose threads on my comforter.

  It was funny, but after all of this time eating with Heather and Nicole, I did, for the first time, think of them as friends. That part was true.

  Dad smiled. “I just wanted to let you know that this weekend, I’m going to take Mynah out for dinner after a concert. I’ll be gone awhile. But on Sunday, I thought you and I could do something together. Maybe hit the slopes?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, even though on Saturday night I sort of hated the idea of, maybe, being by myself and watching a movie. I also was a little freaked out when Dad called Mrs. Tate, Mynah. It made her sound like a person or, actually, more like a bird.

  Dad grinned so lines formed parentheses on either side of his mouth. He’d been so happy recently it was hard not to feel a little bit okay about the dating thing. And Saturday during the day, I was going to be so busy shopping at the mall that, hopefully, I’d crash early.

  Squid and I were walking through the mall. Scratch that. I was strolling through the mall and Squid was racing through it. I noticed a rack of scarves similar to the one that Maddie had bought me in Barcelona last summer. The one that I had thrown away. On impulse, I wanted to go and look at them, but I kept on moving because I was with Squid, and I wanted to get to Driscoll’s department store. They had a boy’s section and a big sign that said, 50% OFF SALE, which was a good thing since I didn’t want to spend too much of my birthday money on Operation Make Squid Look Hot.