before letting out an embarrassed giggle.
Fern.
Abby bites the inside of her cheek and then asks, “Is Fern the ugliest junior?”
“Oh, no,” Lisa says quickly. “It’s that freaky girl Sarah Singer, who scowls on the bench near Freshman Island.” Abby lowers her eyes and nods slowly. She guesses Lisa can see her guilt, because Lisa pats her on the back. “Look, Abby. Don’t worry about the genetics thing. It doesn’t mention Fern by name. I bet a lot of people don’t even know you two are sisters!”
“Maybe,” Abby says, hoping what Lisa says is true. But even if most of the kids at school don’t know they’re related, her teachers sure do. It has been one of the worst things about going to Mount Washington: watching her teachers realize, after the first week or so, that Abby is nowhere near as smart as Fern.
Lisa continues, “Anyway, Fern always gets the recognition. And every time she does, you’re so happy for her. Remember last year, when you made me sit through that three-hour Latin poetry reading contest Fern competed in at the university?”
“That was actually a big deal. Fern got picked out of the whole high school to recite it, and she won a bunch of scholarship money.”
Lisa rolls her eyes. “Right, right. I remember. Now it’s your turn to get some attention.”
Abby squeezes her friend’s hand. Yeah, the genetics comment is kind of mean. But Lisa is right. It’s not like Abby herself said it. And she is always cheering on Fern for her academic stuff. She never even complained once about those early-morning wakeups or all the college visits they’d gone on this summer instead of a vacation.
Not out loud, anyway.
When they get close to the gym, Lisa jogs a few steps ahead. “Here it is,” she announces, tapping the paper with her finger. “In black and white.”
Abby finds her name near the top of the list. Her name! Seeing it makes the whole thing way more real, feel more earned. Abby is, officially, the prettiest girl in her freshman class.
She’s not sure how long she stands there staring at it. But eventually Lisa pinches her arm. Hard.
Abby tears her attention off the bulletin board. Fern is marching down the hall with incredible purpose, her book-bag straps pulled tight over her shoulders, the tails of her French braids swinging side to side.
If Fern knows Abby is on the list, Abby certainly can’t tell. Fern walks by exactly the same way she usually does at school — as if Abby doesn’t exist.
Abby waits until Fern rounds the corner. Then she pulls the list off the bulletin board, using her pinky nail to ease out the staples, careful not to tear the corners.
From a block away, Danielle DeMarco realizes that she’s missed her bus. It is too quiet, especially for a Monday. Nothing in the air but the typical morning sounds — chirping birds, the click click click of rising automatic garage doors, the tinny rumble of empty trash cans being dragged back up driveways.
Late to school, starving for breakfast, utterly exhausted. Not such a great way to start off the week.
But Danielle still thinks last night was worth it.
She’d been asleep for two hours when her phone rang. “Hello?” she asked, her word wrapped in a yawn.
“How can you be sleeping? It’s only midnight.”
Danielle checked that her bedroom door was shut. Her parents wouldn’t like Andrew calling so late. They still referred to him as her friend from camp, despite the million times she’d corrected them. As if boyfriend was a tongue twister. Or maybe that was the thing they worried about, because Andrew was a year older. But for someone her parents lumped in the same category as her best friend, Hope, they certainly had a lot of rules about when, where, and how Danielle could spend time with Andrew.
That had been the hardest part about coming home from Camp Clover Lake, where they’d both worked as counselors this past summer. They’d lost the freedom to hang out when they wanted, talk when they wanted. There were no more nights of Andrew sneaking through the dark and scratching the screen in the window above her bed. No more taking the paddleboats out to the center of the lake and waiting until the breeze brought them back to the dock.
Summer already felt like a million years ago.
Danielle pulled her comforter over her head and kept her voice low. “Lights out, campers,” she teased.
Andrew sighed. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’m just way too amped up to sleep. I’ve got tons of adrenaline stored up from the game and no way to get rid of it.”
Danielle and Hope had watched from the stands that afternoon as Andrew was stuck in a perpetual warm-up routine on the sideline while the football field got torn up by other players’ cleats. He’d bounce on his toes, do jumping jacks, or run a sprint of high-knee lifts to stay warm. After each play, Andrew glanced over at the varsity football coach, fingers laced around the face guard of his gleaming white helmet. Hopeful.
She felt terrible for him. It was the fourth game of the season, and he hadn’t seen one minute of playing time. What would it have mattered, giving sophomores like Andrew a chance? Mount Washington was losing by three touchdowns at halftime. The Mountaineers hadn’t won a single game.
“Well … I thought you looked cute in your varsity jersey,” she said.
Andrew laughed, but Danielle could tell by the dryness that he was still upset. “I’d rather not get called up if I’m not going to see any playing time. Just let me start on JV. It’s humiliating, standing on the sideline, doing absolutely nothing while we get our asses beat game after game. I could have had nachos with you and Hope in the bleachers for all it mattered.”
“Come on, Andrew. It’s still an honor. I bet there are a ton of other sophomores who’d kill to be on varsity.”
“I guess,” he said. “You know, Chuck got to play the whole second half. I wish I were big like him. I should do more weight room work and maybe try those nasty protein shakes he’s always chugging. I’m way too skinny. I’m, like, the smallest guy on the team.”
“You are not. And anyway, why would you want to be like Chuck? Yeah, he’s big … but it’s not like he’s in good shape. I bet you could run circles around him.” Danielle was pretty sure Andrew knew she wasn’t crazy about Chuck. Andrew once told her that Chuck had a special shelf for his cologne bottles, which he displayed proudly, and wouldn’t leave the house without a splash on. Chuck would even put some on before he’d go lift weights in his garage. According to Andrew, Chuck was really grossed out by the smell of sweat, even his own.
Andrew considered it. “That’s true. The dude does eat crap. I don’t think Chuck even knows what a vegetable is, unless it goes on his Big Mac. No wonder he can’t get a girlfriend.”
They both laughed at that.
It had taken Danielle a few weeks to understand the way Andrew and his friends
