The Hot List (11 page)

I folded my arms across my hoodie, as if it were my life shield. Suddenly, I didn't want him to take it away. But it was the right thing to do.

Madame Kearns continued to survey the room, so I spoke in English under my breath, but with a French accent. “You. Must. Borrow. My. Le hoo-die.”

“Pourquoi?”
asked Squid, which was French for “why.”

Everyone else was shedding their sweatshirts, sweaters, and hoodies, since it was practically ninety-nine degrees. The Administration at Travis—the administration being chiefly
my father—believed in blasting the heat all winter long.

Nia had turned around again to get something out of her backpack, but I could tell she was just using it as an excuse to see what I was up to. She whispered something to Maddie. I wished I could put duct tape on Squid's mouth. But he'd probably just eat it.

“Trust me, Squid,” I said, lowering my voice even more, but keeping up the French accent. “You just need my hoodie.”

He stuck out his lip in a pathetic pout. I could see those bottom red braces, which clashed with his neon-green, glow-in-the-dark shoes. Nia and Maddie turned around at least twice and watched me. I didn't care what they thought, but I still didn't want them seeing me actually giving Squid an article of clothing.

I waited until Nia and Maddie were both facing ahead, looking at Madame Kearns's assignment that she was writing on the whiteboard.

“Voila,”
I whispered, passing the hoodie under the desk, away from prying eyes.

Why was I doing this? Oh, right, the Hot List.

Squid snatched the hoodie and cupped it in both hands.

And that was when Maddie turned to peer at me. Her eyebrows curved into a question.

I flicked my eyes at Squid, who was frozen, still holding
my shirt. It was like he was meditating on it or something. Then he brought it up toward his nose and sniffed it before it putting it on. I cringed and my toes curled.

Okay, tonight, I was definitely going to have to sterilize my hoodie.

A
s I rushed down the hall, Maddie and Nia caught up
to me.

“We weren't laughing at you in French,” said Maddie.

I continued to speed-walk, keeping my eyes on the floor. “Okay, whatever.”

“Nice top,” said Nia.

“But you're going to get busted,” said Maddie.

Nia nodded. It was true. Without my hoodie, I was only my wearing a tank top with spaghetti-thin straps. It was completely illegal at Travis. Straps had to be two and half inches thick, and you were allowed to show skin only two inches below your neckline. This shirt scooped big-time.

I tried to pull ahead of the Nia pack, but Maddie caught up to me. “We're just trying to help.”

“Stop helping,” I snapped.

“Seriously, Sophie,” said Maddie. “Your dad does have a scary radar for anyone breaking the rules,” she added, as Nia and then a frowny Ava pulled alongside of us.

“Maybe it's because of his radar ears,” said Ava. “They stick out enough.”

“Shut up,” I said. It was one thing if
I
wanted to make cracks about my dad's ears, but not Ava. I also have this theory that whenever you say something bad about someone, you can guarantee they will show up.

I picked up the pace.

Maddie, Nia, and Ava picked up the pace.

I ducked my head down.

“Sorry about the radar-ears comment,” said Ava.

“Whatever,” I said.

I turned around.

My dad, Edward Fanuchi, a.k.a. the principal of Travis Middle School, rushed forward, racing toward me as if I had just stolen his basketball—only we're not at the court, we're at school. Travis Middle School. The school where he's the principal.

I was walking down the hallway—me, the principal's daughter—in a tank top with straps that were definitely less than two inches thick. I was so violating the dress code.

And that principal, my dad, was heading my way, looking as angry as I had ever seen him.

I was busted.

“Sophie,” he said accusingly, “
What
are you wearing?” He stared at my spaghetti-thin straps. His face tightened and his irises contracted. This was trouble.

Everyone in the hallway had stopped to stare at me, as if I was wearing a bikini in a snow storm. A crowd of skater dudes, and a flock of sixth graders, carrying giant posterboards about killer viruses. I mean
everyone
.

Including Hayden Carus, who looked me up and down, taking in my too-thin-for-school spaghetti straps. I could feel my ears burning at the tips, and red-hot heat spreading across my cheeks and blooming up my neck.

“Sophie, you're going to have to change into something more appropriate right now,” Dad said. “This is a warning. If this happens again, you'll get detention.”

Maddie fingered one her of her many layers, a mint-green sweater with the ying-yang symbol. It looked almost like the one that Nia had on, except hers was in beige. “You can borrow my sweater.”

“Um, well … it's okay.” I so didn't want to be rescued by Maddie.

Dad eyes grew bigger. “It's not okay.”

Maddie pulled off her sweater and her beads clacked together. “Here. Take it.”

Dad smiled. “Thank you, Maddie.” Dad looked at me expectantly. “Put it on, Sophie.”

Reluctantly, I took the sweater. Did I have any other choice? I slipped it over my shoulders. Since I'm way broader and taller, it was on the tight side.

Ava clapped, which surprised me, since I thought she was so into being bored and annoyed unless she was on a horse.

“Perfect,” Maddie said. “It fits you really well.”

Suddenly, I shivered and my stomach muscles tensed up. But it wasn't perfect. This was Maddie's sweater, which matched Nia's sweater, and it smelled like mango lotion. It smelled exactly like them.

I
flopped down on my bed.

I couldn't fail with Squid.

There was so much to do over the next month, Squid-wise, and not that much time to do it. In my mind I saw his mullet hair, which was scarily uncombed and the sauce on his superhero T-shirt.

Ugh.

There was no doubt about it, I was going to have to do a complete makeover on the boy. I sat by my desk and brainstormed a list to make Squid Hot List–ready.

1) Take Squid to the mall so he can get a look at what's trendy.

2) Buy regular, non-superhero shirts.

3) Buy normal jeans that don't show the colored bands around his sweat socks.

4) Buy un-florescent, non–glow-in-the-dark-type shoes.

5) Be seen with cool people, such as Hot Listers—to up reputation.

6) Spread the word that he's hanging with cool types.

7) Act less goofy.

8) Act less spazzy and hyper around girls (and guys, too).

9) Find non–yo-yo playing, non–muddy-footprint-measuring friends.

10) Get rid of mullet-type hairstyle.

There was a lot to be done. I decided that I would spread things out and start with the first four items on my list, which meant going to the mall and getting clothes and shoes.

Over the phone, I explained to Squid that he had some work to do, like acting less hyper around girls and hanging out with people who could help, not hurt, his reputation, and that he needed a style upgrade. I read Squid the list and waited for his reaction. Apparently, I overwhelmed him, as he wasn't responding. Had I freaked him out? “Squid?”

“You said you'd get me onto the List, but you didn't say I'd have to have plastic surgery.”

“I didn't say anything about plastic surgery. We're talking some basics.”

“Surgery's next on your mind. I can tell. I'm a mind reader. And maybe one of those medieval devices, where you'd stretch me to make me longer. Ouch. Okay, I think I'm quitting this Hot List thing.”

“Squid. C'mon. I'll pay for everything you need at the mall,” I said desperately. “I've got a ton of birthday money.”

“Hmm, let me think about it.” I could hear him tapping his head. “Think think think think. How much birthday money?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“Whoa,” said Squid. “Okay. But I also want a new game for my DS.”

“I don't think so. I'm not going to spend all of my money.”

“Oh, all right.”

Huzzah! I looked outside my window. The moon was so bright you could see the Rockies almost clearly. “Meet me at the mall. The south entrance right after school tomorrow. I need to be with you to make sure that you don't buy, like, light-up shoes or Barney pajama tops.
We've got to make you Hot List–ready right away. We don't have that much time. One month.”

Squid made a sizzling sound. “That was me becoming hot.”

“Ha-ha,” I said and hung up as Dad popped his head into the room. “That wasn't Maddie was it?” he asked hopefully.

“Nah. It was Nicole and Heather.” Of course it wasn't, but I wasn't about to tell my dad that I was speaking to Squid Rodriquez on the phone.

Dad sat down on the end of my bed. “I know it's been hard with stuff changing between you and Maddie. I'm glad you're finding new friends.” He smiled, and picked at some loose threads on my comforter.

It was funny, but after all of this time eating with Heather and Nicole, I did, for the first time, think of them as friends. That part was true.

Dad smiled. “I just wanted to let you know that this weekend, I'm going to take Mynah out for dinner after a concert. I'll be gone awhile. But on Sunday, I thought you and I could do something together. Maybe hit the slopes?”

“Sounds good,” I said, even though on Saturday night I sort of hated the idea of, maybe, being by myself and watching a movie. I also was a little freaked out when Dad called Mrs. Tate, Mynah. It made her sound like a person or, actually, more like a bird.

Dad grinned so lines formed parentheses on either side of his mouth. He'd been so happy recently it was hard not to feel a little bit okay about the dating thing. And Saturday during the day, I was going to be so busy shopping at the mall that, hopefully, I'd crash early.

Squid and I were walking through the mall. Scratch that. I was strolling through the mall and Squid was racing through it. I noticed a rack of scarves similar to the one that Maddie had bought me in Barcelona last summer. The one that I had thrown away. On impulse, I wanted to go and look at them, but I kept on moving because I was with Squid, and I wanted to get to Driscoll's department store. They had a boy's section and a big sign that said, 50%
OFF SALE
, which was a good thing since I didn't want to spend too much of my birthday money on Operation Make Squid Look Hot.

On our left we passed kitchen goods, such as blenders and electric woks and cooking pans with a giant photo of one of the Iron Chefs over them saying how much better your food would taste if you used his kitchen stuff.

Squid slowed down to stare at the display. “I've seen that dude on TV. He's awesome.” Squid started to hum the theme song.

“Squid,” I warned. “Someone could be listening.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Sorry.”

As we strolled through the store together, I could hear the ladies behind the makeup counter whispering. One winked at me. What could they possibly think? That I was taking my brother shopping, and they're admiring my big-sister responsibility?

No, that wasn't it. I heard one of them. She mouthed something that sounded like, “Aren't they cute?”

Blech! She thought that Squid and I were a couple. I looked around. Did everyone think that just because two people were the same age, and one happened to be a boy, and one happened to be a girl, that they had to be a couple? What was wrong with those people?

I decided to move ahead of Squid.

Unfortunately, he caught up to me.

Squid was wearing a Daffy Duck shirt. “Are you still wearing your shirts from elementary school?” I asked.

He gazed down at the duck with admiration. “What? It's a classic cartoon. Everything I own is classic. I've got a Godzilla T-shirt collection and all of the movies on vintage VCR. I could probably sell them for at least $10 on eBay, but I want something to pass on to future generations. Future Squids.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And Squidettes.”

“A whole race of you. That's really creepy.”

He put his hand up over his head. “Together, me and my ten thousand children will rule the world and Godzilla, too.”

“Squid, you seriously need help.” I shook my head. “Let's work on upgrading your shirts and jeans, okay? And then later we can look for some new shoes.”

On some racks, after finding out his size, I pointed out some decent long-sleeved shirts without weird sayings, ancient monsters, or cartoon characters. “Try these,” I said.

Squid stood next to me and pulled a shirt out. It said,
SOMEONE STOLE MY IQ
.

“No,” I hissed.

Squid put it up against him. “But it's funny.”

I shook my head. “No writing. Unless it's part of a recognizable brand or logo.”

He pulled down a cowboy hat with little purple feathers around the band. “Howdy, pardner.”

This was going to be one loooong day.

“How about I go over there?” I pointed to the pants that were hanging on racks against the wall. “I'll look for jeans. Things will go a lot faster that way. Just remember. Keep it simple. A black T-shirt, or navy.” I pointed, once again, to the jeans area. “I'm going,” I said. “You look too.”

“Okay, chief. But I want my money first. You promised.”

“Why should I give it you? Can't I just pay later?”

“Because I'm impulsive and have no patience,” said Squid.

“Oh, here.” I dug two ten-dollar bills and a five out of my wallet. “Remember. I'm jeans. You're shirts.”