The List by Siobhan Vivian Page B

Okay.”
    “If you’re bored, you can always unpack.” Though they moved to Mount Washington almost two months ago, most of their things are still in boxes.
    “I want to know we’re staying first. You never know. If I don’t get this job, we might have to sell the house.”
    “You’ll get the job, Mommy. I know it.” Lauren says this expecting her mother to smile. But Mrs. Finn doesn’t. Instead, she looks at Lauren as if she’s said the wrong thing entirely.
    As the sedan pulls up to school, Lauren notices other students noticing her. In a way, the list was like a birth certificate; it officially marked the beginning of her existence at Mount Washington High School. Lauren turns, hoping to see that her mother isn’t noticing, and she’s not. She’s glancing out her side-view mirror, looking backward.
    Lauren gets to homeroom. She takes a seat and again reviews the notes on the back of the list, trying to focus only on the girls in the tight circle who’d seemed the most interested in her.
    One by one, these girls arrive to find Lauren. They pull their seats close to hers. Others stand to get a better view, and they all beam down at Lauren as if she’s a baby in a nursery they’ve collectively adopted.
    They appear charmed by her innocence, sharing pleased little looks as they point out Lauren’s social transgressions to each other — her lack of makeup, that she’s covered her textbooks in brown paper, the barrette she uses to keep her hair pinned off her face.
    Blood rushes to Lauren’s head and makes her woozy and warm.
    And then, the questions begin.
    “So, have you lived in Mount Washington your whole life?”
    “No,” Lauren answers, once she’s picked out the girl who’d asked from the crowd. “I used to live out west with my mom. We moved here when my grandfather died.”
    “Are your parents still together?”
    Lauren turns her head toward a girl perched on the desk to her right. “No. It’s just the two of us.”
    “Where’s your dad?” a girl leaning against the bulletin board asks.
    “He died, too. When I was a baby.”
    “Wow. That’s so sad,” comes a voice from behind her. The girls nod in solemn agreement.
    “He was a lot older.”
    Lauren senses their urgency to get to know her, and she tries her best to keep pace, answering their questions as quickly as they’re asked. It is clear from the unspoken ways they communicate — head nods, glances, smiles — that most of these girls have known each other for practically forever. Lauren herself has watched them from afar the last few weeks walking through the halls with their arms linked, hugging in between classes. She wants to be a part of what they have. There seems to be so much time to make up for.
    Lauren wishes it wasn’t so one-sided. She wants to ask them things, too. But their questions keep coming.
    “What kind of stuff do you like to do?”
    “Um, I don’t know. Read? I like reading.”
    “Do you have a boyfriend?”
    “A couple of the guys told us to ask you that,” a girl says slyly, and the others laugh.
    Lauren shakes her head. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve … I’ve never even been kissed.” As soon as she admits this, it hits her that she isn’t just talking to these girls. Her answers will be reported back to more people she doesn’t know.
    “Never?!” they all squeal with shocked delight. A few inch closer to her desk, as if to protect her. She can’t remember any of their names.
    “Well, that’s about to change,” a girl says. She is speaking tothe others in the group but keeping her eyes on Lauren. “I bet Lauren gets a boyfriend by the homecoming dance.”
    Lauren feels herself blush. It seems impossible. “I don’t know about that.”
    “Have you bought your ticket to the dance yet?”
    “No.”
    “But you’re coming, right?”
    Lauren nods. “I think so,” she says, even though she hadn’t considered it before now. Even though she’ll have to ask her