Confessions of an Almost-Girlfriend by Louise Rozett

grade. “Jealous?”
I am jealous, but not in the way that she means.
Holly’s hair is perfect, her skin is perfect, her face is perfect, her body is perfect. I bet she doesn’t hate mirrors. I bet she
doesn’t think about mirrors one way or the other. Life is probably
really different if you look like Holly Taylor. Or Stephanie Trainer.
A bunch of cell phones buzz and ding at the same time and
people quickly reach into their bags and backpacks to silence the
devices that we are supposed to leave in our lockers during the
day. Matt, still standing at the front of the room, manages to pull
his eyes off Holly in order to check his phone. When he looks up,
his face is weird. He turns to Tracy with a confused expression.
When they first got together in eighth grade, Matt looked at
her adoringly. Then last year he looked at her like she was a parasite he couldn’t shake. After they broke up, he stopped looking at
her entirely. Now he’s staring at her hard, like there’s something
he should say but he doesn’t know how to do it.
Something about his expression makes me very, very nervous
for Tracy. There’s no way he suddenly feels bad about what happened last year. Something else is going on—something that is
about to explode.
Yup, the fantastic potential of the first day of school.
Kristin—already dressed for cheerleading practice with her
ponytail swinging madly and panic in her eyes—skitters over
to Tracy and puts her iPhone on the desk.
“Just thought you should know about this,” she says, eyes darting around the room, taking in everyone looking at their phones.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Kristin feels bad about whatever she’s showing Tracy.
Matt ducks his head and takes a seat at the back of the room,
and I start to feel sick to my stomach. Tracy looks at Kristin’s
phone and freezes.
I lean over her shoulder and see a photo posted on a Facebook page. The photo is of a list of names written on a bathroom
stall door, and the date at the top is today’s. The words “Top Ten
Union High Sluts” are right underneath the date, followed by 10
names. Tracy, who has been with one guy in her entire life—one
guy who is currently sitting at the back of our classroom, unable
to make eye contact—is number 1.
I reach over and scroll up to see whose page it is. It belongs to
the YouTube stalker, who posted Tracy’s and Kristin’s humiliating
initiation dance after homecoming last year, but also captured
on video what, at the time, I considered to be one of my proudest moments in my life: knocking Regina down at track tryouts.
The YouTube stalker must be a girl, since the caption under
the photo reads, “fl. 3 stall 2 girls b-room.” Or maybe it’s a guy
who’s really crafty about getting into the girls’ bathroom, which
is creepy.
I find it ironic that the YouTube stalker needs a Facebook
page. I guess not all social media platforms are created equal.
Also, I’m stuck on how somebody could have written a list on a
bathroom stall that has already been photographed and posted
on Facebook. School hasn’t even started yet.
“You’re still coming to tryouts today, right?” Kristin whispers
with concern. Tracy can’t take her eyes off the phone. “We really
need you there.” When Tracy still doesn’t answer, Kristin exhales.
“It’s just a slut list. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Tracy turns to me, her mouth hanging slightly open. Then she
says, “Kristin, if it doesn’t mean anything, why did you show it
to me?”
Kristin gets a little defensive. “Like I said. I just thought you
should know.”
“That was super sweet of you. Did Lena think I should know,
too?”
Kristin looks guilty as she snatches up her phone, wheels
around and throws herself dramatically into an empty chair. “Just
come today, Trace, okay? We need you. You’re our best dancer.”
Tracy slowly twists around in her chair, fixing her most withering stare on Matt. He actually