The List (11 page)

Maureen cleaned the hair out of her comb and dropped it into the wastebasket. “If you don’t want to go, don’t go. Pretend you’re sick or something.”

“But she’ll know I’m lying. I told her ten minutes ago that I’d be there. Her mom’s coming to pick me up in an hour.”

Maureen nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect!”

“Huh?”

“You’re overthinking things, Margo. It’s not up to you to spell out for Jennifer why you don’t want to be her friend. She’ll figure it out. And if she doesn’t, well … that’s not your problem.”

A while later, Margo heard a car horn outside. She tiptoed to her bedroom window, made a tiny gap in her blinds, and watched her mom jog out to deliver the news. Jennifer and Mrs. Briggis both looked concerned. Mrs. Briggis acted like any mother would toward a sick child. Worried, sympathetic. Jen
nifer was different. Her face turned as pale as the sidewalk, and she stared through the windshield up to Margo’s bedroom window, her mouth a straight, flat line.

A shock of anxiety hit Margo. Did Jennifer know? Even though Margo had been careful, had she seen this coming? And if she had, would it make things easier?

Margo fought the urge to step away from her window. She raised her blinds all the way up, to make sure Jennifer saw her. She felt brave and cowardly.

Mrs. Gable waved good-bye as Jennifer and Mrs. Briggis drove off. She walked back up to the front door, yanking out a dandelion on her way and flinging it into a bed of ivy that separated their property from the neighbors’.

Later, when Margo asked to be dropped off at the ice cream shop, where she knew Rachel and Dana would be, Mrs. Gable refused. If Margo was sick, then she was sick. Margo looked at Maureen, silently begging her to help, but Maureen stuck out her tongue and slipped out the door.

The next morning, Margo didn’t reschedule the sleepover plans with Jennifer. She didn’t pick up the phone when Jennifer called, nor did she call her back, even when her mom would leave Jennifer’s messages taped to her bedroom door. It took a few weeks of this before Jennifer stopped calling.

Without Jennifer, Margo had a great summer. There were pool parties and barbecues and late-night chats on the roof of her garage with her new friends. Dana invited her to ride on a fire truck for the town’s Independence Day parade. She and Rachel spent weekends selling antique Coke bottles at an outdoor flea market, but mostly getting tan in lawn chairs. She
didn’t miss Jennifer at all, and no one ever wondered why Margo never brought her around anymore.

Only one person wouldn’t let Margo move on.

Looking back, it had been a mistake. She should have never involved her mom. Throughout high school, Mrs. Gable was a huge source of guilt, always asking about Jennifer, always wanting to know if she was good, how Mr. and Mrs. Briggis were, if Jennifer had a boyfriend. She asked the questions even though she knew Margo had no clue. To prove a point, Margo guessed. What a mean girl her daughter was. Not that Margo could blame her. She knew what it looked like from the surface. The pretty girl leaves her ugly friend behind. It’s what everyone probably thought.

Jennifer, too.

Margo didn’t care to set the record straight.

She’d gotten what she wanted, and that was the end of that.

A knock at Margo’s car window jolts her back to reality. It’s Matthew in his football practice gear.

She unrolls her window and forces down a dry swallow. “Hi.”

“Is something wrong with your car?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Thanks. I guess I zoned out.”

“Oh. Alright then. I’ll see you tomo —”

“How was practice?” she asks to keep the conversation going.

Matthew sighs. He seems tired. “Intense. We haven’t beaten Chesterfield since we were freshmen. Plus our team is way overdue for a W.”

She pulls her hair into a fresh ponytail, smiles a very pretty
smile. “Oh!” Margo says. “I’ve got some news about my party on Friday. My parents decided they want to stay at home. I guess Maureen’s friends went a little crazy last year, and someone went in my mom’s closet and stole her robe. We can still drink and everything. And they promised they wouldn’t leave their room.”

Matthew nods, but then takes a step back from the window and regards her skeptically. “You sure you’re okay? You look, I don’t know, worried.”

Her overstretched smile makes her cheeks ache. “I’m sure.” Even though she’s not. And she doesn’t like that Matthew sees it.

She rolls her window back up and thinks about Jennifer and Rachel and Dana. Margo’s sure she’ll come up in conversation, if she hasn’t already. What will Jennifer say about her?

Nothing good, that’s for sure.

ennifer walks as quickly as she can away from Margo’s car, surprised by the footsteps crunching leaves behind her.

Maybe she shouldn’t have offered to drive to the mall. Margo will surely be mad at her for that. She isn’t blind. She’d noticed the dirty looks Margo shot her. As if every time Jennifer came around, she was trespassing on Margo’s private property.

But what did Margo expect her to do when Rachel and Dana invited her to the mall? They were going out of their way to be nice to her, and Jennifer certainly wasn’t about to refuse their kindness. Anyway, she really did want to go dress shopping, now that they’d convinced her to go to the homecoming dance. And Rachel and Dana could have said no. They could have made up an excuse and waited for Margo.

But they hadn’t. They’d said yes.

Rachel calls shotgun as they approach Jennifer’s car, then searches the radio stations for a song they can sing along to. Dana turns in the backseat to check Jennifer’s blind spot for her as she merges onto the highway. These small things warm Jennifer. They make up for the fact that, for most of the ride, her two passengers talk exclusively to each other. Jennifer chimes in when she feels she can add something to their conversation, to remind them every so often that she is there. Otherwise she keeps her attention focused on the road, like a good and responsible driver, and tries not to take it personally. Things are good. Great, even. And the fact that yesterday she’d been crowned Mount Washington
High’s ugly queen and now she’s riding with the cheerleaders to the mall to buy homecoming dresses is still unbelievable.

But it is also a glimpse into the life she could have had if Margo hadn’t ditched her back before high school started. And look, was she such a drag? Would it have been that hard to fit Jennifer in? Jennifer knows she could have done it. She could have made it work. Margo could have been honest with her. Did she need new clothes? A new haircut? To lose a few pounds? Whatever it was, Jennifer would have tried. Only Margo never gave her a chance.

But now that Jennifer’s gotten one, she plans to prove herself worthy.

As they near the mall, discussion turns to strategy: which shops in what order. Rachel turns in her seat to face her. “So, what kind of dress do you think you want, Jennifer?”

Jennifer shrugs. “I haven’t given it much thought. I still can’t believe I’m going.”

“I bet you’d look great in bright yellow,” Dana says.

“Yellow?” Jennifer asks, eyeing Dana in her rearview mirror. She doesn’t own anything yellow. And she typically shies away from anything bright. “Are you sure?”

Dana laughs. “Yellow is, like,
the
color right now.”

Rachel slips off her sneakers, takes off her ankle socks, and puts her bare feet up on the glove box. They are a little stinky from cheer practice, but it hardly matters, because Rachel’s toes cascade like a staircase, in even steps from big toe to pinky, and the nails are polished a perfect cherry red. Jennifer keeps looking at them out of the corner of her eye. They are so perfect, Rachel could be a foot model.
If I had feet like that,
Jennifer thinks to herself,
I’d never wear any shoes but flip-flops.

“Don’t worry, Jennifer,” Rachel says. “Just leave everything
to us. Dana and I will find you the most beautiful dress in the history of homecoming dresses. Promise.”

Jennifer suddenly feels the urge to cry, but she won’t allow herself to do it for fear of looking lame. Instead she turns into the mall parking lot and finds a spot right up front, near the glass doors. “That’s a good shopping omen,” she tells the girls.

They nod like it’s true, even though Jennifer just made it up.

The department store dressing room is empty except for the three girls. Rachel and Dana share the large one designated for handicapped people. Jennifer is across from them, and listens to their voices through the slats in her door.

“Ew,” Rachel says. “Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.”

Dana’s groans are muffled by the rustling of material. “Yellow never works for me.”

Jennifer stands in her underwear, her back to the mirror, and stares at the last dress hanging from the door. She only brought in two others, which now lie discarded on the carpeted floor.

The first, a lavender sheath with a sweetheart neckline, had looked so pretty on the hanger. But it didn’t sit right, the seams shifting right and left like a winding country road to accommodate her, as if every part of her body was where it shouldn’t be.

The second was a black lace tea-length dress with shimmery peach lining that peeked through. Jennifer felt it was a little old-fashioned, but Rachel and Dana explained that faux vintage was super hot and that Jennifer could definitely pull it off.

It wasn’t true. Jennifer couldn’t even get the thing on.

She’d known it would be too tight, but Rachel had insisted that she try it anyway, after a salesperson informed them that the sizes on the floor were the only ones in stock. As Dana and
Rachel ricocheted off the round racks like two pinballs selecting dresses for her to try, their criteria shifted from what was cute to what was actually offered in her size. This is why Dana got to try a yellow dress, and Jennifer did not.

Jennifer tried hard to stay positive. Especially because the girls were picking out lots of other things for her, too — new bras that would be more supportive, a pair of zebra-print flats that would go with everything. The mission was no longer about just a homecoming dress. It was a full-on wardrobe intervention.

She said yes to practically everything they threw at her.

But the shopping spree, now in its third hour, is wearing on her. And it annoys her, the lack of sympathy from the girls. They don’t understand that it’s hard to be her, to be shopping with them.

Like when Dana had pointed out a pair of jeans that Jennifer
had
to try, before darting into another section. Skinny girls can walk by a table full of pants, piled in high stacks, and peel a pair off the top. Easy. Effortless. But not girls like Jennifer. She had to dig to the very bottom of the pile, upending the neat stacks to search for the large sizes. Even then, sometimes they weren’t on the table, but hidden in cubbyholes underneath the display. Jennifer got down on her knees, her purse slipping off her shoulder, and rummaged like a pig in a trough for them while Dana called out, “Jennifer! Hurry! You need one of these, too!”

But Jennifer is trying to be a good sport. Even though there is no perfect dress, as they’d promised. And as critical as Rachel and Dana are being about their dresses from their fitting room, Jennifer knows everything looks great on them. They could wear any one of those dresses and be gorgeous. The flaws that they see, no one else would. It is as if Dana and Rachel are
inventing them on her behalf, to make her feel better. Except it doesn’t. It makes her feel worse. On top of everything, Jennifer is hungry. It is time to go home.

“How are you doing, Jennifer?” Rachel calls out.

“Um, I think I’m done.” She doesn’t even want to try on the last dress. It seems like too much effort.

“Really?” Dana asks, and Jennifer can’t tell if she’s genuinely surprised or sympathetic.

“Come on,” Rachel says. “You have to show us at least
one
dress.”

Jennifer sighs and pulls the last dress off the hanger, probably harder than she should, considering the price. It is cornflower blue cotton taffeta, strapless, with an empire waist that blossoms into a wide skirt. She slips it on over her head and then holds her breath for the zipper at the side. It takes a bit of a fight to get it to the top, but after some pulling, it closes.

The corners of Jennifer’s mouth lift. She does a little spin.

“This one’s actually not bad,” she announces, no one more surprised than herself.

She opens the door. Rachel and Dana sit on two overstuffed chairs beside the three-way mirror. Each has a lap full of discarded dresses. “Did you guys not find anything?”

“Forget us! Look at you!” Rachel says.

“Wait a sec.” Dana springs up and tucks the hanger straps down into Jennifer’s bodice. “Okay. Now, let us see.”

Jennifer steps onto a platform in front of the three large mirrors. “I think I love it,” Jennifer says, pulling up her hair in an impromptu twist. She does love it, but she wants the girls to love it, too.

“I think it’s perfect,” Rachel announces.

Dana nods. “A perfect homecoming dress! And with red shoes, don’t you think, Rachel?”

“Yeah! Red heels would be so cute.”

Jennifer pops up and down on her toes. She imagines herself in the gymnasium, with her makeup and hair all fixed, dancing with Rachel and Dana and Margo in a circle. Hopefully, someone will take a picture for the yearbook.

At that moment, a salesgirl enters the dressing room to check on them. She’s dressed in black from head to toe, her hair in a tight ponytail. She looks at Jennifer and bites her lip. She wants to offer an opinion, Jennifer can tell.

Against her better judgment, Jennifer asks, “What do you think?”

The salesgirl pouts and shakes her head. “I don’t like it.” She steps forward and gestures with a manicured hand. “See how it cuts your middle here? The bodice is pinching you. And that makes the skirt fall funny on your hips. It should be a straight, smooth line, not jutting out like that.”

Jennifer stands motionless as the salesgirl points out her flaws in the three-way mirror, the imperfections duplicated again and again and again to infinity. Her lip begins to quiver, her chin wrinkles and dimples and prunes.

The salesgirl, noticing this, steps back apologetically. “You might have better luck in The Salon on the third floor.”

The Salon is where Jennifer’s mother shops. The Salon is for fat old ladies. They don’t have clothes for teens there. They don’t have televisions playing music videos, or bins of bright-colored nail polish at the register. They wouldn’t have anything for homecoming.

Rachel gets up from the armchair and pushes all the dresses
she’d been holding into the salesgirl’s hands. “Thanks for your help. I’m done with these,” she says curtly.

“I — I’m sorry, but she asked —”

“I said, thanks for your help. We’re all good in here. So why don’t you go and … I don’t know … fold something.”

The salesgirl turns and walks out. Jennifer feels the tears coming, and this time she can’t stop them. She sits down on the little platform in front of the mirror and cries.

“Jennifer!” Dana says quietly, rushing over. “If you feel good in it, who cares what that dumb salesgirl says?”

“Seriously. People who work retail are, like, the lowest of the low. She hates her life. Clearly.”

But Jennifer keeps crying. And through her tears, she watches Dana and Rachel share sad, pitiful looks. They finally get it. They finally understand. One of them rubs her back.

But even worse is the feeling that Margo had been right. She doesn’t fit in this life, in this world. She doesn’t belong with these girls. She’s failed. Forget the dance. Forget everything.

“You seriously look great in the dress, Jennifer,” Rachel says. She pulls her hand inside her sweatshirt sleeve and gently dabs Jennifer’s tears away.

“Homecoming is going to be amazing,” Dana says, kneeling down in front of her. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

The
we’re
and the
together
is like music. It is an invitation. They want Jennifer to go to the dance with them.
With
them. Like real friends.

She wonders what Margo will say.

After she changes and wipes her face, Jennifer walks up to the register and buys the dress from the bitchy salesgirl. And it feels like a victory. Or at least like something she deserves.