The Hot List (3 page)

“Okay, we need to decide who's going to go first,” I said, irritated that Maddie had pulled out her phone again to check for her new messages. “Blue or Square?”

“Square,” said Maddie, putting up her thumb for her crush, Auggie.

“Definitely Blue,” I said, thinking that Hayden just had to be number one.

“I've got a coin!” Maddie pulled a penny out of her pocket, and we flipped for it. I picked tails and won.

As I jotted down Hayden's name at the top of the List, I thought the sparkly ink looked extra sparkly. Softly, I
hummed the tune to this new song that I really liked.

“Let me write. I can do caps too.” Maddie got that frowny look again.

I continued to hum and ignored Maddie's pleas because I was afraid she'd make even her caps look, somehow, like calligraphy.

“C'mon,” she begged.

I sang a little louder this time, actually singing the lyrics instead of just humming along to the tune.

“Sophie, you're
such
a good singer,” gushed Maddie. “You could be professional.”

I stopped singing. “Yeah, right.” When I'm by myself I love to sing, but I can't sing in front of people at all. Well, except for Maddie, my dad, and Rusty. And what's a dog going to say about my singing?

“It's true,” said Maddie. “You're the best. You have to sing at the school talent show. I think it's in December; that's three short months.” The talent show was a fundraiser for leadership, and it was a huge deal.

“Yeah. Like that's ever going to happen. Can you imagine me on stage? Never!”

“I don't get it. You play soccer in front of people.”

“That's different. You look at the ball, not the people watching the ball.”

“Okay, I'm just sayin',” said Maddie. “You're really
good. Ah, c'mon now, give me the pen. Please? Please?”

“All right,” I conceded. “Fine. Go ahead. But in all caps!” As I handed her the lists, I noticed that her list ran a little longer down the page than mine, because she had added a name on the bottom and then crossed it off. I hadn't noticed that before. “Who did you cross out?” I asked.

“No one. I just misspelled a name, and rewrote it.”

“Oh, just wondering.” I handed Maddie the pen, and she finished writing up the list, alternating between the guys on her list and mine. And then, because our list didn't seem long enough, we added other guys until we had twenty total.

Suddenly, Maddie's eyes started twinkling. “I think we should add girls, too.”

“Girls?”

“It's not just boys who are hot.” She shook her hips. “I'm hot! And you, too!”

“Hey, I'm not going to stop you. Go for it.”

Then, next to the guys' Hot List, she started creating a girls' Hot List and writing in girls' names. When I saw the first name that she wrote, I inwardly groaned. Nia, of course.

“She has the best hair in the school,” said Maddie.

It was true. Nia had these Taylor Swift, golden blond
curls. She added the rest of Nia's long-haired, flowy posse—Ava, McKenzie, Amber, and Sierra. And then her eyes gleamed. “Now I'm going to put me and you on the Hot List.”

“No,” I said, grabbing the pen away from her. “Don't you dare.”

“Why not?”

I could hear an adult calling down the hall to someone, so I lowered my voice. “Because if we put our names, and anyone happens to see it, they'll know we wrote it. C'mon. Let's be serious. We're not Hot List material.”

“That's not true,” said Maddie. “You're so pretty.” She glanced at my long, jean capri–clad legs. “And you're model tall, and you'd be taller if you didn't slump.”

“Thanks for sounding like my dad.”

“Sorry.” She bit her bottom lip. “But it's true. If I put my name on the Hot List, it'd be a dead giveaway that I wrote it.” She glanced at her hoodie, which she had paired with checkered leggings and strappy sandals. I had patiently explained to her earlier in the morning that if you're going to go for casual, you've got to extend that all the way down to your footwear. But unfortunately, those were the only clothes she had packed for the sleepover.

Maddie tapped her owl-shaped lavender glasses. “These are another problem. I can't wait until I get contacts.” And
she looked down at her chest. “Still like a brick wall down there.” She smiled up at me. “But I could put you on the List.”

“Maddie, to get on the Hot List you've got to play the popularity game. Sometimes I wear any old hoodie to school. I don't do the
talk.
I'm not into the drama. Am I part of a girl clan? No. You've got to be seen as someone who's part of an inner circle. And that's just not my thing.”

“Okay,” she grabbed the pen back. “I don't agree with you, but whatever. What about Heather and Nicole?”

“They're fine, but
definitely
not Hot List material. They're too off on their own.” I watched as Maddie slowly added a couple more seventh graders, and then a bunch of sixth graders who were really cute—Clara Pessereau, Sarah Ruinsky, and Jane Cockrell. She made her letters really perfect-looking.

“Give me the pen,” I said. “We need to add some eighth-grade girls, too.” So I added a bunch of girls that I knew from the soccer team until we had twenty names. The same amount as the guys. Maddie checked her phone again. “Ta-da!” I said, standing back from it.

Maddie smiled at me. “The official Hot List.”

We put our arms around each other's shoulders, admiring our work. And the pure insanity of it. “I can't believe we just did this,” I said.

“Me either. But it was your idea.”

“You helped write it,” I countered.

“Everyone's going to see this on Monday, and the whole school's going to be chatting about why Ava came before McKenzie, and wondering who likes Hayden, who likes Auggie, and then start trying to figure it all out. It will be like that time that somebody left an anonymous love note on the bleachers in gym, but they addressed it to
S
and signed it
C
.”

I laughed, but my stomach started to flutter and felt queasy. “No, it won't be like that because I'm going to wipe the whole thing off with a paper towel.”

Maddie twirled the pen in her fingers. “Sorry. It's a permanent marker.”

“It is? Guess I kind of knew that.” We both laughed.

Suddenly, I heard the click click of heels clomping toward the bathroom. “What's that?” Maddie whispered.

“Uh-oh!” I said. “Someone's coming.”

I pulled the stall door shut and locked it. Then I realized that two people in a stall looked sort of weird. “There's two of us in here,” I blurted. “Hurry, jump on the toilet,” I panic-whispered.

Maddie gave me her you-are-so-crazy look. “No, you jump up.”

As the footsteps grew louder, I hopped up on the
toilet and braced myself with my arms so I wouldn't fall in. Maddie started giggling. “Stop it,” I pleaded. “They'll hear.”

That's when I glanced down at Maddie's shoes. Right. She was wearing her lavender sandals. Only Maddie wore lavender sandals at Travis. It was her signature color. If whoever was about to walk into the bathroom checked out the shoes of the people in the bathroom, like I had, they'd know it was her in a second. I furiously motioned at her shoes, then for Maddie to hop up on the toilet with me, which she did.

Only, toilets aren't really big enough for two people, so there we were. I was straddling half the rim. And Maddie was straddling the other half. And we were clinging to each other so we wouldn't fall into the bowl. I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh. This was soooooo insane.

“Rehearsals took for
ever
.” It sounded like it was Rose Workman, an eighth grader who was the star of every show, including last year's musical,
Footloose
, and the only girl at the school taller than me.

“I know it,” said someone else in irritation. “I had to call my mom to tell her to pick me up late.”

Then one of the girls clicked right over to our stall. I tried not to breathe.

“Hey, it's locked,” said Irritated Girl.

“That's weird,” said Rose.

Then I heard Irritated Girl open up the stall next to ours.

Maddie squeezed her eyes shut, and I silently begged,
Please don't hear us
.
Please, please, please
. We gave each other this look that said,
This is so messed up!

Finally, I heard the toilet flush and Irritated Girl washed her hands, which took forever. Obviously, she was one of those germaphobes.

Then they both talked about how boring blocking the show was and to hurry because Mrs. Regis wanted to lock up. Then finally, FINALLY, they left—only Maddie and I still didn't move until we were sure that they were actually gone.

“We've got to get out of here,” whispered Maddie. “We could get locked in the school for the whole weekend.”

“No, wait. They could come back,” I whispered back.

“Why?”

“One last look in the mirror. I don't know.”

So we stayed like that for a couple more paranoid minutes until I fell and banged against the toilet paper dispenser. “Ow!” The pen flew out of my hands and clattered onto the tile. “You know we've got to throw it away. It's evidence.” I stuffed it into the bottom of the trash.

“Farewell,” said Maddie.

“Nice knowing you,” I said. Suddenly, I felt an ache in
my chest. And it was the oddest thing, but tears sprang into my eyes. It was not like me to be all weepy. “This is crazy. It's just a pen.”

But it wasn't really. As we walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, carefully avoiding anyone, I thought about how Maddie had mailed the pen as well as a journal to me from Spain. It had been perfect timing for my birthday present because I had been really feeling alone without her around during the summer. She found it in an art shop in Barcelona where her dad was doing architectural research. The journal was still sitting unopened at the bottom of my drawer.

“Uh-huh,” she said, as her phone made that text
bing
y sound.

“Nia again?” I said irritably. That girl didn't give up.

Glancing at the screen, Maddie shook her head. “Nope, your dad.”

“Why's he texting
you
?”

“Because you forgot your phone. Big dummy.”

“Oh, right.” I shrugged. I had left it in the pocket of my backpack. That was more like something Maddie would do, not me. I was definitely not myself today.

“Apparently, you're supposed to be back before he leaves for his date.”

“The date.” I bit my lip. “I can't believe it's already been
an hour.” I had promised I'd be back in forty-five minutes. “I swear, it feels like it's been fifteen minutes.”

That's when we both bolted out of the school to get back to my house. “Promise not to tell anyone about this,” I said as we jogged over to Rusty.

“I promise,” said Maddie.

A
s I put my books in my locker before homeroom on
Monday morning, my stomach felt twisty as I thought about the Hot List. “Do you think anyone's seen it yet?” I whispered to Maddie, who was trying to close her locker.

“Seen what?”

“You know what.” Beside me, Brianna Evans twirled the combination to her locker, and Trent Eckhart tossed his baseball cap into the locker next to mine. I flicked my head toward the bathroom.

“Oh, that.” Maddie pushed her locker again, but it wasn't completely closing. I could see a binder sticking out of the bottom.

“Here,” I shoved the binder in with the rest of her mess, then quickly kicked the door shut before an avalanche of books thundered out of the locker.

“Thanks!” said Maddie.

I shrugged. “No problem.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two health teachers, Mrs. Moriarity and Ms. Crenshaw, talking and glancing over at me. Mrs. Moriarity pointed at me, while Ms. Crenshaw craned forward. My heart began thumping. Did they know we wrote up the Hot List?

I nudged Maddie with my shoulder. “They're looking at us,” I said.

Maddie smiled and spoke through closed teeth. “That's because of the new trophy case. Right behind you.”

I whirled around. “Oh, wow. Didn't notice that.” The old trophy case had been replaced with new glass, and there was even lighting at the top of the shelves so the medals and stuff gleamed. “Guess I'm getting all paranoid.”

“Just a little,” Maddie said as the bell for homeroom rang. “Stop worrying, Soph. See?” She pointed to the mobbed hallway, where students were rushing past us and chatting together. “Nobody's staring at you.”

“Good,” I said. That was
exactly
how I liked it.

Of course, when I got to homeroom, I couldn't stop Mrs. McGibbon from gazing at me and gushing in her formal tone, “Good morning, Miss Fanuchi.”

“Good morning,” I answered back.

I've gotten used to teachers being extra friendly to
me because I'm the principal's daughter. But it still was embarrassing. And some teachers were more obvious than others. Mrs. McGibbon was definitely a brownnoser.

“Would you like to help me staple?” Mrs. McGibbon pointed to a stack of science papers about amoebas and other single-celled organisms. I didn't really want to, but I didn't think I had a choice. When I grow up, I'll marry an insurance agent, or someone who has nothing to do with middle schools. My children shouldn't have to suffer like me.

“Sure. Yeah, I'll do it.” Stapling would actually give me something to do, especially since Maddie was not in my homeroom, or anyone else I was superfriendly with, and I wouldn't have to worry about the Hot List. Anyway, Hayden happened to be in my homeroom. He sat, with his lacrosse stick at his feet, in the back of the class, playing paper football with Auggie. And I was sure, if he met my eyes, somehow, he'd just know that I wrote his name on the stall of the bathroom, as number one.