Читать книгу The List - Siobhan Vivian, Siobhan Vivian - Страница 16

Jennifer Briggis makes her way through the morning hallway traffic, head down, silently counting off the twelve green linoleum floor tiles she’ll cross before reaching her locker. The kids lining the walls keep their voices low, but Jennifer still hears every word. Most of her classmates don’t actually talk to Jennifer, just whisper about her, and all those hushed conversations over the years have done a strange thing to her ears. They’ve become tuned in to pick up what everyone’s saying, whether she wants to or not.

“Have you seen the list yet?”

“Is Jennifer on it? Oh my god, I bet she’s on it again. Oh my god!”

“Do you think she knows what today is? She has to, right? I mean, how could she not after the last three years?”

“Twenty bucks says if she’s the ugliest senior, she barfs again. For old times’ sake.”

Every conversation orbits the same central question: If this year’s list decrees it, how will Mount Washington’s undisputed queen of ugly accept her crown?

Jennifer has thought about little else since last year’s list named her the ugliest junior and effectively knocked down the second-to-last domino in this impossible chain of events. Despite the muddy feelings she had about her particular situation, a clear either/or presented itself.

Senior year would arrive, and either Jennifer wouldn’t be on the list … or she would.

But that’s not what captivates Mount Washington High this morning. Four lists or three or two or even one can’t change what is widely accepted as fact: Jennifer Briggis is clearly, certifiably, undeniably ugly. But Jennifer knows that what everyone in the hallway salivates for is her reaction. That’ll be the real show. And the expectations for something big, something messy, aren’t beyond her control, like being pretty or being ugly. They are, in fact, her fault.

When Jennifer was put on the list her freshman year, she became an instant legend. No one, in the history of ugly girls, had reacted so unattractively.

Jennifer had sunk to the floor in front of her locker and bawled unabashedly until her entire face was shellacked with a mixture of tears, snot, and sweat. The list, damp and twisted in her fists, was reduced to soggy pulp. Blood vessels burst in her cheeks and in the whites of her eyes.

She’d barely survived the worst summer of her life, and now this?

The freshmen collectively backed up and gawked in horror, the way one might upon seeing a dead body. Except Jennifer was very much alive. A gasp for breath turned into a choke, and then she vomited on herself. The metallic smell of it filled the hallway, and people ducked into classrooms or pulled their clothes up over their noses to avoid it. Someone ran for the nurse, who extended rubber-gloved hands to help Jennifer to her feet. She was led to a cot in a dark corner of the nurse’s office.

Jennifer couldn’t stop crying. She wailed so loudly, the science classes heard her even with their doors closed and the teachers lecturing. Her misery vibrated against the steel lockers, turning the halls into one big tinny microphone that broadcast her suffering to the whole school. The nurse eventually sent Jennifer home, where she spent the rest of the day in bed, feeling bad for herself.

When she returned to school the following morning, no one would look at her. She found some vindication in the school’s collective avoidance, but mostly Jennifer felt lonely. She knew for sure that her old life was officially over. Despite having played it cool for an entire summer, praying that things would return to normal, the list had ruined everything. She would never get back what she’d lost after the way she’d acted. The only thing she could do was move on.

It proved a difficult task. Before Jennifer, the prettiest girls were the ones remembered and the ugliest girls faded into the shadows. But Jennifer bucked that trend. No one would forget her.

Sophomore year, the second time, Jennifer was on her way to a fresh start and the previous year’s list was a distant memory, at least to her.

In 365 days, Jennifer had gained some confidence, having successfully auditioned for chorus, and had grown friendly with a couple girls who also sang soprano. They were nothing special, not even well known in the chorus/band circle. Their clothes weren’t particularly cool, and they never wanted to do the things Jennifer suggested — preferring to rent old musicals and collectively sing along with them rather than, say, trying to get into a party. But Jennifer knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Nothing would be as good as it had been. She’d just have to live within her means.

The morning of the sophomore-year list, Jennifer rode the bus completely aware of what day it was, but without a thought that she might make the list again. In fact, she couldn’t wait to see who had been picked for her grade. She had her hunches. Nearly every one of her chorus friends would have been a likely choice.

This time, after she spotted her name, Jennifer remained in school the entire day. She cried a little, alone in the bathroom, but she didn’t throw up or make a scene, which were marginal improvements. Her friends did their best to console her.

Junior year, when Jennifer saw her name on the list, she laughed. Not because it was particularly funny, but because it was so ridiculous. She didn’t delude herself — she knew she wasn’t going to be named prettiest. But wasn’t it only fair to pass the ugliest torch along to another girl?

She didn’t cry, not once. Her chorus friends comforted her again, of course, but more intriguing were the random students who sought her out to personally apologize. They never said what they were sorry for, but Jennifer had a pretty good idea; no one should have to be the ugliest girl three years in a row. It was too cruel, too mean. There were other girls who deserved to be picked, not only her. She was being unjustly singled out.

Though a big part of her was angry at this repeated indignity, Jennifer graciously accepted the supportive pats on the back. This, she noticed, made people relax around her. It eased their minds. The entire student body seemed to appreciate that Jennifer was taking this with grace. They were relieved that she wasn’t going to make this awkward for them, like she had back when she was a freshman. There was no hysterical scene, no finger-pointing, no barfing. She was a really good sport.

It was clear to Jennifer what had happened. The list, for better or worse, did elevate her status at school. Practically everyone knew who Jennifer was, and that was more than the other ugly girls, her friends, could say.

The rest of junior year transpired without incident. Jennifer made halfway decent grades. She stopped hanging out with the chorus girls. She never really liked them much anyway.

After twelve green tiles, Jennifer pivots. She spins the lock left 10, right 22, left 11.

Jennifer steels herself and clicks open her locker. The entire hall watches as a white paper falls softly to the floor and lands inches away from her feet. She sees the embossed stamp of Mount Washington High. Certified truth, special delivery.

Jennifer unfolds it. She skips the other grades, the other girls, and goes straight for the seniors.

Margo Gable, prettiest.

Jennifer wishes Margo didn’t deserve it, but she does.

And right above her name, ugliest, for an unprecedented fourth year in a row.

Jennifer pretends to be surprised.

Someone claps. Someone actually claps.

Drumroll, please.

Jennifer shrugs off her book bag. It hits the floor with a thud, amplified by the vacuum of noise. She paddles her hands against her locker door rapid-fire until they burn. The sound smacks off everyone watching her, shocking them like those heart-attack paddles.

Jennifer spins around to face her crowd. She explodes into a jumping jack, legs spread, hands shooting straight up, holding the list for everyone to see, as if she were one of the cheerleaders brandishing a FIGHT, MOUNTAINEERS, FIGHT! sign. She shouts the best “Wooooooo!” she can and pumps the list up and down in celebration.

A few kids grin. More clap, and when Jennifer curtsies, enough hands join in to make it full-fledged applause.

Jennifer skips down the length of the senior hallway, keeping her hands raised for anyone who might give her a high five. Many reach out for her.

At the end of the day, there is this fact: Jennifer has accomplished a feat no other girl at Mount Washington has, endured something no one else can touch. She can’t help but feel special. It’s how that old saying goes. If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. She pulls her smile as wide as it can go, so no one will think for a second that she might not be enjoying this, fully embracing this gift.

She wants everyone to know. She’s come a long, long way.