“Wait. What list?”
“You haven’t even been out of high school for four months, and you’ve already forgotten the list?” Margo checks her watch. The cheerleaders are supposed to be at Mount Washington High in five minutes so they can board the bus with the football players and lead the Spirit Caravan. They’ll be cutting it close.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Maureen snarks back. “But last year’s was supposed to be the final list.”
Margo squeezes the receiver. “How do you know that?”
It takes a while for Maureen to say anything. And in the pause, Margo slowly lowers herself down on the arm of the sofa, because she just has this feeling. Finally, Maureen sucks in a breath and says, “Because I made last year’s list.”
A horn honks outside. Dana and Rachel. Her ride.
“What do you mean you made last year’s list?” Margo says quickly, because she’s out of time. “You were on last year’s list.”
“I know.” Margo hears her sister shift the phone from one side to the other. “I put myself on it.”
“But —” The car horn beeps again. Margo curses under her breath. “Hold on a second, okay?” she says to her sister. “Just hold on. And don’t hang up!” She sets the phone down on the couch and swings opens the front door. “I’ll meet you at the school,” she screams to Dana and Rachel. “Go ahead without me!”
“What? Why?” Dana yells back.
“You’ll miss the Spirit Caravan!” Rachel chimes in.
“Then I’ll see you at the football field!” Margo tells them. Dana and Rachel are completely baffled as to what reason she might have to skip out on the Spirit Caravan, but there’s no time for Margo to lay everything out. “I’ll explain later,” she calls, waves good-bye, and then slams the door. She runs back to pick up the phone. “You there, Maureen?”
“Yeah,” she says in a tired voice. “I’m here.”
Margo goes to the window and looks outside. Dana and Rachel are gone. “Alright,” she says, sitting cross-legged in the center of the living room rug. “What happened?” She doesn’t say another word. She doesn’t even breathe.
“It was the end of my junior year, and I was cleaning out my locker. I picked up this plastic bag and it was weirdly heavy. There was something wrapped up in brown paper inside. I unwrapped it and realized it was the Mount Washington stamp. There was no note in the bag. No instructions or any clue as to who’d put it there or why. I even went through the trash can, through all the old papers I’d just tossed, in case I missed it. I have no idea how long the bag had even been in my locker. But I definitely knew I had a serious opportunity.
“So all summer long, I thought about who, exactly, to put on the list. It was a serious power trip, and I became obsessed with evaluating everyone I saw. My friends, your friends, the little freshmen on orientation day. It was a massive secret beauty contest, and I was the only judge. Though, truthfully, I was only thinking about the pretty girls. The ugly ones were just … afterthoughts. Except Jennifer. I sort of decided from the very beginning that Jennifer would be on the list.”
“Why?”
“Because anyone other than Jennifer would have been a letdown.” Margo lets the words seep in. Maureen continues, “I did think about picking you as the prettiest junior, Margo. But I went with Rachel, since I thought it would raise red flags. You know, to have both of us on there the same year.”
“You could have picked me and not yourself,” Margo notes.
“Hmm. I guess that’s true. But I thought I deserved it.”
It’s funny, but Margo had felt the same way. She never questioned her sister being on the list, being homecoming queen. But knowing it was Maureen herself behind it — well, it made things different.
Maureen goes on. “The thrill of being prettiest senior lasted for, like, a minute. My friends were jealous. They treated me weird. They thought they deserved it more than me. Which maybe they did, but I started to think maybe they weren’t my real friends at all. And every time I saw Jennifer trying to be a good sport about everything in the hallway, I felt guilty. Have you ever read that Edgar Allan Poe story about the heart that beats under the floorboards? That was basically my life. That’s when I got the idea. To confess.
“I went to see Jennifer after graduation. I told her what I did, and that I was going to make sure that she wouldn’t be put on the list next year. There would be no list. There’d be no four years in a row. I made this big deal of throwing the embossing stamp in the trash right in front of her. I told her I was sorry, and that, if she told on me, I wouldn’t blame her for it.”
“Wow. That’s … wow. But wait. Who were you going to give the stamp to?”
“You, I guess.” And then Maureen adds, “But I never would have told you it came from me.”
Margo’s mind spins. Who would she have put on the list, if she’d had the chance? For as badly as she wanted to be homecoming queen, could she have put herself on it?
An interesting hypothetical, yes. But it didn’t matter. What did is that Margo is innocent. And now she has proof that Jennifer’s the guilty one.
Margo says, “So after you left, Jennifer must have pulled the stamp out of the trash and she put herself on as the ugliest senior.” She wonders why Jennifer would do that.
“Yeah,” Maureen says. “And she put you as the prettiest.”
Even though the Spirit Caravan has surely started making its way back down the mountain and to the football field, Margo drives to Jennifer’s house. She can’t let this go one second longer.
To think, the whole time, Jennifer knew. She knew people suspected Margo was behind the list, but she never hinted otherwise, never said a word to defend her. Jennifer had been glad to let Margo take the fall, have her reputation ruined, to have Margo’s friends and complete strangers think the absolute worst of her.
Margo hates that she ever felt sorry for Jennifer. She wishes she could go back in time and erase her conversation with Matthew. Not the end of it, obviously, but definitely the parts where Margo made herself look bad. She can’t wait to call Jennifer out, to force her to own up to what she’d done. And to all the people who thought she was guilty, she’ll say, I told you so.
But as she pulls along the curb in front of Jennifer’s house, a wave of nerves catches her by surprise. She and Jennifer are about to have it out, the way they probably should have back in eighth grade. Only this time, it will be way more messy, way more painful.
Mrs. Briggis answers the door. It is the first time Margo has seen her since the day her friendship with Jennifer ended. She steels herself for the coldness, but there isn’t any. “Margo! What a nice surprise!” Mrs. Briggis looks over her shoulder. “Jennifer’s still asleep. I don’t think she’s feeling very well.”
“Do you think I could go up and talk to her? Just for a second? It’s about tonight.”
“Of course. She’s really looking forward to the dance. It was so nice of you girls to take her out shopping and convince her to go. I know if she never went to a single high school dance, she’d regret it forever.”
Margo looks down at her feet. “Yeah.”
Margo takes the stairs two by two and enters Jennifer’s room without knocking. Jennifer is asleep in bed. Her party clothes, the ones she’d worn last night, are in a heap on the floor.
The walls are painted a cheery lemon yellow, which Margo thinks is new, though she can’t remember what color they used to be. The bunk beds are gone, replaced by an iron frame with rose-colored glass spheres mounted to the posts. She can’t see Jennifer, just her lumpy form underneath the quilt Jennifer’s grandmother had sewn as a present for Jennifer’s eleventh birthday. Margo loved that quilt. The pink squares with the strawberry print were her favorite. Jennifer liked the ones with the shamrocks best.
Margo has not thought of Jennifer’s grandmother since they stopped being friends, and she realizes that she’s probably dead. She’d been very sick all through eighth grade, deteriorating. Jennifer u
sed to call her at the nursing home and sing to her over the phone.
Margo inches forward. “Jennifer!” she whispers. “Jennifer, wake up.”
Jennifer wriggles out from under her covers and squints at Margo. “What are you doing here?”
“I know you made the list, Jennifer. My sister told me everything.” Margo crosses her arms and waits for the moment. That uh-oh moment to register on Jennifer’s face.
Jennifer rolls over. She’s hurting, Margo can tell. Probably from everything she drank last night. There’s a glass of water on her nightstand. Jennifer takes a few big gulps, and then says, “Oh.”
No uh. Just an oh. That’s it.
Margo glances around the room for the Mount Washington stamp. For proof she can take back and show everyone. But Jennifer’s room is messy. She probably has it hidden. So she turns back to Jennifer. “Why did you put yourself as the ugliest senior? It was to frame me, right? Or maybe you were just looking for people to pity you.”
“Why shouldn’t people pity me?” There’s no sarcasm in Jennifer’s voice. It’s just an honest question.
“Umm, because it’s your fault you’re on the list! You did it to yourself!”
Jennifer shakes her head, as if Margo isn’t following. “Yeah, this year. But what about the three other years of high school? Maureen told me she put me on the list because anyone else would have been a letdown. And you know what? She was right. If I’d put anyone else’s name on that list, people would have said, It should have been Jennifer.” Jennifer closes her eyes and winces as she sits up. “Look, I had no idea this ‘Queen Jennifer’ stuff was going to happen. I’m as surprised as you are about that.”
“So then why did you put yourself on the list?”
“Because being on the list makes me somebody. People know who I am. I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. I picked you for prettiest, didn’t I?”
Margo laughs. She can’t help herself. On Monday, it had felt like the entire school had voted her the prettiest. Like it was a fact. But no. It was only Jennifer.
“You are the prettiest, Margo.” Jennifer continues, “And I didn’t want to take anything away from you. But when Dana and Rachel started being friendly to me, I wondered if … I don’t know … maybe we could be friends again, if I could prove that I fit in with your group.” Jennifer closes her eyes and shakes her head sadly. “But it was clear you weren’t interested in that.”
It’s true. Margo wasn’t.
But why was Jennifer? Didn’t Jennifer hate her?
And then Margo remembers. Last night. In her bedroom.
“What were you doing in my room last night? What were you looking for? You were the one who made the list, so clearly the stamp wouldn’t have been in my armoire. What had you wanted to find?”
Finally, the look Margo has been waiting to see arrives. The corners of Jennifer’s mouth sink. She’s embarrassed. Humiliated. But over what?
Jennifer lowers her head. “Your diary.”
Margo gasps and steps backward until she hits the door. “You read my diary?”
“It’s not like I did it all the time. Only when you started acting weird. I was trying to find out what was going on with us, because you wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
Everything starts to click in Margo’s head. “You always knew the perfect things to say to make me feel bad about myself. Now I know why.”
It always struck her as odd, the way Jennifer would randomly bring up things she’d only just confessed to the pages. Like when she lamented the size of her chest. Or the things she’d secretly do with Dana and Rachel. Or being in love with Matthew Goulding. Or how she was seriously afraid of Maureen sometimes. There were pages and pages devoted to her inner turmoil about ending her friendship with Jennifer.
Margo takes a deep breath. Jennifer must have known the friendship was going to end before Margo found the courage to do it. Which maybe should have made her feel less guilty, that Jennifer hadn’t been blindsided by it the way she’d assumed. That she knew it wasn’t just a pretty girl leaving her ugly friend behind. Instead, Jennifer knew the guilt, the worry she’d had about hurting Jennifer’s feelings.
Jennifer continues, “I thought if I could knock you down a few pegs, you wouldn’t leave me for Rachel and Dana. But you still did.”
Margo realizes that senior-year Jennifer has the same flawed logic that eighth-grade Jennifer did. She wants to leave the room now — leave the house, leave Jennifer, in the same way she did back then. The only difference is that her younger self wasn’t entirely sure of her reasons. But this time, Margo is all too aware of why she wants to go. And she doesn’t feel sorry about it one bit.
There’s just one thing she needs before she goes.
Margo swallows. “I want that stamp.”
“Are you going to tell everyone I did it? Is that your plan, to make sure I don’t win?”
“This isn’t about homecoming queen, Jennifer! God! Of course I’m going to tell on you. Everyone thinks I did it.”
“Oh, I feel so bad for you.” Jennifer rolls her eyes. “You know you didn’t do it. What does it matter what everyone else thinks?” Jennifer smirks. “That’s right. You haven’t changed, either. You still care what people think of you.”
“Give it to me, Jennifer. My sister told you she wanted the list to end.”
Jennifer purses her lips. She lies back down on her bed. “Tell you what. You want the stamp? You want to end the list? Then I’ll give it to you tonight, at the end of the dance.”
“No deal.”
“Then no stamp.”
Margo puts her hands on her hips. “Fine. I don’t need the stamp. But I’ll tell. I’ll tell everyone.”
“You won’t be able to prove it. I’ll just deny it.” Jennifer rolls over to the wall. “And I’ll hand it off for next year,” she threatens. “I already know who I’m going to give it to. And there’ll be nothing you can do to stop it.”
Margo considers this. “You’d really do that? What about the other girls?” she asks. “The ones you picked as the ugliest? You’d let them go through what you did?”
“I picked those girls for a reason, Margo. I picked everyone for a reason. And anyway, they can deal with being put on the list one time. Look at me. I survived.” Jennifer sighs. “Just give me tonight, Margo. Give me one night, one chance to not be the ugly girl. Please. If you do, I’ll give you the stamp. If you don’t, well … you can try and get me in trouble. But, remember, you’ll be putting Maureen at risk, too.”
Margo knows she doesn’t owe Jennifer anything. Not anymore. But at the same time, she has no desire to wrestle the stamp out of Jennifer’s hand, or to spread the truth when the truth will only come back to haunt Maureen.
This is bigger than just her and Jennifer. The greater good is at stake. The chance to end the list once and for all. And, suddenly, that’s what matters to Margo. Not homecoming, not redeeming herself to her classmates, but making sure no one has to go through this ever again.
“Tonight,” she tells Jennifer. “I’ll give you tonight. Then it’s over.”
t is the worst Saturday of Abby’s whole life.
Lisa sends her text messages throughout the football game so she can follow the score. It is sweet of Lisa to do, but it also makes it harder for Abby, having to read tiny versions of the play-by-play action that she doesn’t get to be a part of.
The game is not going well, at least not at first. Apparently, the coach gets so desperate, he lets a few of the second-and third-string kids play. Mount Washington manages to fight their way back within one. With the clock ticking down, Andrew drops a Hail Mary pass that would have won the game. Lisa spots him afterward, being ignored by his friends.
She feels bad for thinking it, but Abby is glad the team loses.
Maybe Andrew will be so upset that he’ll cancel his party. Or maybe Jennifer and Margo will duke it out over the homecoming crown and Principal Colby will call off the dance. Or Sarah’s smell will
be declared an environmental hazard and the whole gym will be shut down.
There is always hope.
The rest of the afternoon is beyond boring. Abby doesn’t know what to do with herself. So when the time comes that she would have been getting ready for the dance, that’s exactly what she does.
She takes an extra long shower and shaves her legs. She blows out her hair and uses her fat curling iron to give the ends a little bounce, like Bridget had done for her and Lisa at the beach.
Then she opens her makeup bag and does her eyes. A little eyeliner on her top lids, some shadow at the creases. She spreads petal pink blush on the rounds of her cheeks. Pink would have looked best with her dress, the dress she never bought. She traces her lips and then spreads a thin layer of lipstick in between the lines.
Abby texts Lisa a few times, asking to see a picture of Lisa dressed up. Lisa doesn’t write back. Probably because she’s too excited, or maybe because Bridget is doing her hair for her. Though typing the words makes her want to cry her eyes out, Abby manages to send one last text:
Have fun tonight!
Then she turns off her phone. She thinks about taking a Benadryl so she can fall asleep. She doesn’t want to spend the night staring at the clock, imagining all the fun happening without her.
She comes out of the bathroom and walks into her bedroom. Fern is sitting at her desk with The Blix Effect and a notebook.
“Well, are you ready or what?” Fern asks impatiently.
“You’ve read that book ten times, saw the movie yesterday, and are about to see it again. You don’t have the story down yet?”
“Hello! I’m killing time while you’ve been playing beauty parlor in the bathroom.” Fern finishes scribbling something down, and then looks up at Abby, surprised. “You do remember that you’re not going to the homecoming dance, right?”
A thunder rumbles inside her. “Shut up,” Abby says, and climbs into her bed and pulls the covers over her head.
“Nice. Real nice.” Through a little gap in the fabric, Abby watches Fern sneer at Abby’s side of the bedroom, scoffing at the mess. She sighs the way their mother would sigh, only it sounds much lighter coming from Fern’s mouth, like a girl playing dress up. Fern moves the books from her desk to her tightly made bed. “Sit here,” she tells Abby. “And maybe you should take advantage of being grounded and, you know, clean your side of the room tonight. It’s disgusting.”