The List

by Siobhan Vivian

  “Me, too,” Lisa says, and rubs Abby’s back. “Do you want to drop it off at Mr. Timmet’s classroom now? I bet he’s gone for the day. You can leave it on his desk and forget about it. And then we can go shopping!”

  “Great idea.”

  The girls run into school together, their feet pounding on the floors, their laugher filling the otherwise empty halls. Abby feels a million times lighter, but she is resolved to do what she needs to do to pass Earth Science. This is her wake-up call.

  The door to Mr. Timmet’s classroom is open. The girls step inside, expecting the room to be empty, but it isn’t. Mr. Timmet is still there, putting on his coat.

  And sitting on a desk near the window, swinging her legs, is Fern.

  Abby immediately notices that Fern has her hair done the same way Abby had worn hers earlier in the week, in a knot with a braid tracing along her hairline. Fern’s is a poor attempt, lumpy and bumpy and uneven, but she has clearly tried to copy Abby.

  “I … uh …” Abby mumbles.

  Mr. Timmet waves her inside. “You almost missed me, Abby.” He notices the blue card stock in her hand. “Is that your signed progress report, I hope?”

  Abby forces down a swallow. She nods. Fern is staring at her.

  “Wonderful. I didn’t want to have to call home. And I hope that you aren’t grounded the way you thought you’d be.” He steps over and takes it out of Abby’s hands, then turns back to Fern and says, “I should get home. I can’t believe we’ve been talking for thirty minutes. But thanks for bringing me this article. I’m excited to read it.” Abby watches Mr. Timmet slide her father’s Popular Science magazine into his briefcase.

  Fern gets up and heads to the door, nodding and smiling. “Oh, good. It’s really … um, good.”

  Abby steps backward out into the hall. Lisa is there, pressed up against a locker, frozen. Abby quickly mouths to Lisa that she’ll call her later. Lisa mouths sorry back, and then disappears into a stairwell.

  Fern says her good-byes to Mr. Timmet and then joins her sister out in the hall. As she stalks past Abby, she says, “You’re failing Earth Science, Abby? It’s only the fourth week of school.”

  “Shut up, Fern.” Abby trails a few steps behind.

  “Who signed your progress report?”

  “Mom,” Abby says, trying to sound confident.

  Fern laughs, and it cuts right through Abby. She pushes through the heavy double doors. “Oh, yeah? Let’s go ask her.”

  Mrs. Warner’s car is parked outside, and she waves to both her daughters. A few feet in the distance, Lisa and Bridget drive away together as Abby watches.

  “Please don’t tell on me,” Abby pleads.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Fern shakes her head.

  “Because they won’t let me go to the homecoming dance.” Abby wipes away a tear with her sleeve. She knows Fern will hate her for crying over the dance. But Abby hopes she’ll pity her, too.

  “Of course I’m going to tell. They’re going to find out anyway when you fail.”

  “Come on, Fern! Can’t you do me this one favor? Please?” She is begging. Unabashedly begging for Fern’s mercy. “Please. I never ask you for anything!”

  “Why should I lie for you?”

  “Because you’re my sister.” Abby can barely get the words out. Every part of her is shaking. “Sisters don’t do this to each other.”

  Fern takes out the elastic from her hair. She shakes out the knot, yanks out the braid. “No one believes we’re related. Especially not me.”

  uring World History, Lauren’s last period, a secretary knocks at the classroom door and hands a note to Lauren’s teacher. The teacher reads the note, and then places it on Lauren’s desk.

  Principal Colby wants to see her immediately after school.

  Lauren glances up at her teacher, silently hoping for more information, but he shrugs indifferently. This must be about the list. Her friends had said Principal Colby was on the warpath, trying to figure out who’d made it. Could she possibly think Lauren was to blame?

  Lauren considers not going to the principal’s office, pretending she never received the note. After all, her mother will be waiting to pick her up right when school ends. But she can’t skip out on the principal. It would make her seem more guilty. Or maybe make Principal Colby call the house looking for her. She has no choice. So, after saying good-bye to her friends in the hallway, Lauren walks gloomily over to the main office.

  Outside the office, she sees her mother sitting on a bench. Mrs. Finn is wearing the same cream blouse and wool skirt that she had worn for her interview on Monday.

  “Mommy! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Lauren’s heart is clogging up her throat. Would Principal Colby bring up the list in front of her mother? Lauren takes a seat next to her mother and quickly decides if that were to happen, she would play dumb. She’ll pretend not to know anything about it.

  But Mrs. Finn says, “I left early so you and I could meet with Principal Colby and discuss your English teacher.” She looks down at her watch and frowns. “Since you haven’t had the time to do it yourself.”

  From down the hall, Principal Colby’s light voice cheerily says “See you tomorrow” to someone, probably another teacher.

  “Is that her?” Mrs. Finn whispers. Lauren presses her lips together and nods. “She sounds … young.”

  Principal Colby rounds the corner. She’s wearing a black wool dress, black heels, and a long necklace of tiny pearls knotted halfway down. Her hair is in a low ponytail, a pair of tortoiseshell glasses holding back her bangs. Lauren feels Mrs. Finn stiffen next to her.

  “Hello!” Principal Colby calls out, hustling to meet them. “You must be Lauren’s mom. It’s a pleasure to —”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Colby,” Mrs. Finn interrupts. She stands, but does not shake the hand extended toward her.

  Principal Colby blushes, clearly caught off guard. “I’m sorry to have kept you both waiting. Today’s been … well, quite a day.” Her mother follows Principal Colby into her office, close on her heels. Lauren trails behind them, her mouth suddenly bone-dry.

  Principal Colby takes a seat behind her desk and her gaze moves onto Lauren with concern. “Now, this is about Lauren’s English class curriculum, right? Lauren, are you having trouble keeping up?”

  Her mother’s shoes. That’s where Lauren sets her gaze. They are older than Lauren herself, and probably Principal Colby, too, though they do not appear to be at all broken in. Beige leather with a squat, square heel.

  Mrs. Finn laughs drily. “Principal Colby, when it became clear that I could no longer be Lauren’s primary educator, I met with her teachers and provided copies of my lesson plans to bring everyone up to speed on what we’ve already covered. I assume you’ve read them?”

  “I … think I remember seeing them. Yes.”

  Mrs. Finn exhales a deep breath. “Then you must know that Lauren has already studied nearly every book on the sophomore AP English reading list. It’s the fourth week of school, and her teacher has made no adjustments to accommodate her. I’m sure you can imagine how frustrating that is for me, knowing Lauren must sit in class, day after day, bored to tears.”

  Lauren cringes. She’d said those exact words yesterday afternoon, except they sound much worse now. She’d done it to smooth things over with her mother, because things had felt tense when she’d gotten home from working on the Spirit Caravan decorations. She’d had a great afternoon with the girls, painting snowcaps on their cardboard mountains, and had lost track of time. When she finally got home, her mother had already eaten her half of the stir-fry dinner she’d cooked for them. She sat with Lauren while she ate, but didn’t say anything. Not until Lauren complained that her English teacher was horrible, especially compared to her mother. It had seemed a harmless compliment at the time.

  Principal Colby shuffles some things around on her desk. Lauren has never seen her so flustered. “I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Finn. I
mean … I’m sure you’ll understand that our teachers can’t do away with the curriculum for the entire class on Lauren’s behalf.”

  “Of course you can’t,” Mrs. Finn says with bitter validation, as if they both are agreeing this has been a huge waste of time.

  “But,” Principal Colby adds, “I will speak with her teacher about developing a secondary reading list Lauren can pursue on her own. I know Lauren is a brilliant girl, and it would go against every reason I became involved in education to let her languish unchallenged this year.”

  Lauren looks at her mother, hoping to see relief, but Mrs. Finn is barely pacified. “I guess that’s the best I can hope for,” she says.

  Her mother stands. Principal Colby does, too, only with a bit more urgency, and says, “Actually, Mrs. Finn, I want to tell you that Lauren is making quite the impression around our school.”

  Lauren stares at Principal Colby harder than she’s ever stared at anything in her whole life. Please don’t, she shouts inside herself. Please don’t say anything about the list.

  Principal Colby seems to sense this, and mumbles her way out of things. “I … I always see her surrounded by a group of girls. She seems to have made lots of friends here.”

  Lauren sags. This is almost worse.

  The business clothes had been stored in several zippered garment bags. Her mother tries everything on, emerging nervously in each outfit, rising up on her toes to see herself in the cracked mirror atop the oak bureau.

  Lauren watches from her mother’s bed. She is on her stomach, feet up behind her.

  The suit separates are clean and well preserved, but tailored in old-fashioned silhouettes that show their age. There is no money for new work clothes, not yet anyway. And so Lauren feels it her duty to make her mother feel good no matter what. She offers only compliments. How the navy blazer brings out her mother’s eyes. The timelessness of a herringbone skirt.

  As Mrs. Finn changes outfits and regards herself in the mirror yet again, Lauren summons her courage and says, “There’s a homecoming dance on Saturday night.” Lauren pauses to see if her mother will say something, but she is too interested in picking some lint off a pair of slacks. “I’d like to go.”

  A good minute of silence goes by before her mother says into the mirror, “Money’s tight right now, Lauren.”

  “The tickets are only ten dollars, and I’ve got that saved. And I wouldn’t need a new dress or anything. I think most of the girls are wearing jeans.” This is a lie, of course. Her friends have been talking nonstop about their dresses. Lauren knows she’ll have to make do without, that jeans and a nice blouse will have to do. Or there’s the black dress she wore to her grandfather’s funeral. And there’s always the chance that one of the girls will let her borrow something.

  Mrs. Finn raises an eyebrow. “So you’re planning to go with a group? The friends Principal Colby mentioned?”

  “They’re just girls from my grade. We’re going to the football game together and then —”

  “Football game?” Her mother shakes her head, like it’s too much for her to process. “This is the first I’m hearing about this, Lauren.”

  Lauren takes a deep breath. She tries to stay patient, but what is her mother being so short with her about? It isn’t like she’s breaking any plans they’d had. “Yes. A football game, and then a dance. I’d like to go to both, please.” Asking permission makes her feel like a little girl, though she had always felt like an adult with her mother. “Everyone’s going to meet at one girl’s house before the dance, and we’ll walk over to the school in a big group.”

  Mrs. Finn sits down on the bed. “Don’t you miss the old days? When it was just us, together?”

  Lauren tenses up. Her mother is making it sound like she’s doing something wrong. “Of course I do. But I’ve been trying to put myself out there.”

  “You need to be careful, Lauren. You don’t know these girls that well.”

  “They’re nice. They’re my friends.”

  “This party? Who’s it being thrown by?”

  “Her name is Candace Kincaid.”

  “Why don’t you invite Candace over for dinner tomorrow so I can meet her.”

  Of all the girls, her mother wants to meet Candace? That’s not going to work. “Mommy! Please.”

  “So I should just let you call all the shots, now that you’re a high school girl, huh?” She shakes her head. “I have a right to know whom you’re spending time with.”

  Lauren uses the phone in the living room while Mrs. Finn takes a shower. She’d written the phone numbers of her friends down on the back of the list, and she calls one to get Candace’s. The friend seems shocked and wants to know the details of what would necessitate this call, but Lauren manages to get the number without giving too much embarrassing information.

  Lauren isn’t sure she can get Candace to agree to come over. After all, Lauren was probably only invited to Candace’s party because of the other girls, so Candace wouldn’t look bad. And if Candace does say no, there’s a good chance Lauren won’t be able to go to the dance at all.

  But then again, then none of the girls would go to Candace’s party.

  Candace sounds surprised to hear from her.

  Lauren explains the situation. And she is surprised at how quickly Candace says yes to her dinner invitation.

  Frankly, it scares her.

  anielle is about to jump into the pool with the other freshman swimmers when Coach Tracy beckons her over to her office.

  “Do you have regular workout clothes with you today?”

  “Yes.”

  Coach Tracy grabs some papers off her desk and says, “Go change out of your suit and head to the weight room.”

  “Okay,” Danielle says, curious. “Sure.”

  The Mount Washington High weight room is directly across from the gym. At one time it had been two classrooms, but the adjoining wall had been torn down, the blackboards replaced with mirrors, and the room filled with free weights, benches, exercise bikes, and treadmills. An old radio stayed tuned to the classic rock station and provided a sound track of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Steve Miller Band.

  Danielle walks into the room in sweats, a plain white tank, and her favorite red sports bra. She is definitely nervous, in part because she’s never done any weight training before, but more because most of the varsity swim team is already there, girls and boys, hanging around and talking with each other. There aren’t many chances for the team to mingle this way, as everything in the sport is segregated by sex. But there’s a clear unity to the swimmers. Everyone seems close. Like friends.

  Danielle knows who some of them are, and a couple of people give her a little head nod, as if they know who she is, too. The looks are different from the ones Danielle has been getting in the hallway since the list came out. These come with smiles. With recognition that she is a good swimmer.

  “Alright,” Coach Tracy says when she walks through the door with a stack of papers. “Today we’re going to be concentrating on arms with the girls and legs with the boys. Break off into pairs and complete this weight circuit twice. And for those of you who don’t already know, this is Danielle.” Coach Tracy grins at Danielle, a nod to their private joke. “She’ll be joining our four hundred freestyle relay team for Saturday’s meet.”

  A rush of energy shoots through Danielle. She is officially a varsity swimmer! It is the first good thing that has happened to her this week, and she relishes it.

  She thinks about asking to go to the bathroom. Not to pee, but so she can find Andrew to tell him the news. But before she can, she’s paired up with a senior girl named Jane. Their first exercise is a bench press.

  “Do you want to go first?” Jane asks her.

  “No. I’ve … actually never done this before. So I think you’d better start.”

  Jane loads up the bar with two round weights, ten pounds on each side. Then she lies down on the bench. “Okay, Danielle. Stand behind me and keep your fingert
ips lightly under the bar. I don’t want this thing falling and crushing me.”

  “Got it.”

  Jane lowers the bar until it is almost sitting on her chest, and then raises and lowers it eight times. As she works her way through the set, her limbs shake and her cheeks turn red. On Jane’s last rep, Danielle has to help lift the bar. Not much, but a little.

  Jane sits up, a little winded. “Okay. Your turn.”

  Danielle lies down on the bench and takes a deep breath as she readies herself to lift the weight. Her heart is already pumping fast, mostly out of nerves. She pushes up and lifts the bar from the cradle. It is lighter than she expects. And, to her surprise, she pumps it up and down eight times without much trouble.

  “Wait up!” Jane says, looking down at her in surprise. “That was way too easy for you.” She slides another set of weights on the ends. “Now go.”

  Danielle does. It is slightly harder than the first time, but still totally doable.

  “Coach Tracy!” Jane cries. “Come here a second. Danielle is rocking this bench!”

  Coach Tracy approaches, and so do a few other girls on the team. Jane loads more weight on the bar. Danielle does eight more reps, and the girls whoop and holler.

  When Danielle looks around, she sees that a couple of the boys have come over to watch, too. They peer down at her wearing looks of begrudging respect, like the boys had at Clover Lake.

  More weight is added, and Danielle has to really work to lift the bar for the final set. Coach Tracy has taken over Jane’s spotting duty, and the rest of the team gathers around the bench to cheer her on through the reps. When she lowers the bar and readies for the last press, Danielle’s arms feel like overstretched rubber bands. But with her new teammates rooting for her, she finds some energy deep down and roars as she pushes with all her might to raise the bar back up. Her arms shake, and she drops the bar into the cradle with a huge crash. Everyone screams.