They All Fall Down by Roxanne St. Claire

grapes. Girls, you’re gonna like this tradition.”
    “Tradition?” I say, unable to keep the derision out of my voice. “Why would there be a tradition?”
    “I’m second generation,” Chloe says proudly, like that explains anything at all.
    “You mean your mother was on the list?” Bree asks.
    Chloe gives one confident nod. “She was number four in 1990. They called themselves the Babes of the New Decade.”
    I laugh again, and Dena does the same, only her reaction is a loud guffaw.
    “You think this is funny?” Chloe snaps.
    All the others are looking at me, and I glance at Dena, who has somehow become my partner in this, courtesy of one hug this afternoon and a shared laugh tonight.
    “Well,” Dena says, dragging the word out. “I think it’s a little silly.”
    “Thank you,” I whisper under my breath.
    “Did you think it was silly when Olivia drowned after falling off that cliff?”
    My head jerks around to see who posed the question. It’s Candace Yardley, number ten, who up to this point has been virtually silent. Once again, I take a second to admire her dark good looks; she is runway perfect. How I ever beat her on a list of hot girls is a question for the ages.
    “Of course I don’t think Olivia’s …” Dena shakes her head, clearly unable or unwilling to say death . “I don’t think it’s funny. But that didn’t have anything to do with this list or some secret club.”
    One of Candace’s perfectly waxed brows rises. And something in my chest slips.
    “You think it does?” I ask quietly.
    And no one says a word, the silence just long and heavy enough for me to feel the individual bumps rise on my skin. The weird, anonymous texts dance before my eyes. The feeling of the brakes giving way. The shock of smelling the gas leak. The truck that almost ran me down on the way to Molly’s house.
    All after the list came out.
    “You guys,” I whisper. “Are you saying that …”
    “We’re not saying anything,” Chloe says sharply as she sticks the bottle in the middle of the circle. “We’re drinking vodka in the name of the Sisters of the List. If you don’t join, then …”
    I wait, aware I’m holding my breath.
    “Then what?” Dena asks, her voice rich with sarcasm. “We’re going off the cliff like Olivia?”
    “I hope not.” Chloe closes her eyes, lifts the vodka, and takes a healthy sip. Then she hands the bottle to Kylie. “Three?”
    Kylie does the same, wincing, her drink a little longer. She smiles at her best friend. “Four?”
    Amanda drinks and hands the bottle to me. “Five?”
    Part of me wants to run, part of me wants to giggle nervously—my first drink!—and part of me wants to tell them about the weird things that have been happening. But some other part of me decides to stay quiet. I take the bottle and let a few drops touch my lips, the flavor like bitter grape cough medicine.
    I hand the bottle to Dena and hold her gaze. “Six?”
    “You bitches cray .” She sings the last word on a laugh. “But I need to get fried.” She takes a long, deep drink, finishing off with a satisfied sigh before turning to Shannon Dill. “Seven?”
    Shannon drinks, then gives the bottle to Bree Walker, who passes it to Ashleigh Cummings, who finally hands it to Candace. She flips some of that long black hair over her shoulder and raises the vodka like she’s going to make a toast.
    “Here’s to you, Olivia. I hope to hell that really was an accident.”

CHAPTER XI
    I don’t drink any more, and in a few minutes, the group disperses and heads toward the party. Dena sidles right next to me as we walk to the house.
    “So, sis,” she says, a little giggle in her voice. “What do you think about all this?”
    I just roll my eyes.
    “You think the list is stupid?”
    “It’s not anything I ever wanted or thought I could be on.”
    “I’ll admit, you were a dark horse for me.”
    I shoot her a look. “Did you really, like, sit around and wonder who’d be