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Sometimes when I finished a longer article, I’d send it to Maisie for her to look over. Sometimes. There were times I didn’t. Like when it was on a topic I knew she’d roll her eyes at—and that was usually when I covered things involving someone’s love life.
She nodded, but before she had a chance to respond, her boyfriend made a noise. “So, you’re starting up your tutoring? We’ve only been in school a week. Who needs tutoring already?”
Maisie barely glanced over at him. “I told you I was Friday at lunch.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“She did,” I said, turning to my phone screen in an attempt to stop my eye roll. “How else would I have known?”
I wasn’t Alex’s biggest fan, but it was a secret that I strived to keep, for the most part. Telling Maisie that I didn’t approve wasn’t going to help anyone. And it wasn’t like Alex was a bad person, but he was more caught up in himself than Maisie. Which, when you’re in a relationship, the scales should be a bit more balanced.
Or at least that’s what I thought. Not that I had any experience of my own. Lately, I’d come to the conclusion that relationships were…messy. Scary. I didn’t really want one, anyway. The butterflies in my stomach were practically mummified, and I was okay with that.
Before I had a chance to presspost, sending the football article to the unsuspecting eyes of Brentwood society, my phone buzzed. The telltale staccato vibration of a new Babble submission. With a tilt to my head, I opened it.
And then sucked in the world’s loudest gasp.
The four words in the subject line wereeverythingwhen it came to all the jaw-unhinging, world-stopping, “drop everything and share to your top three closest friends” sort of blog posts. And someone submitted it tome.
The Most Likely To List
Here’s the link to this year’s MLT list. Wanna post?
Everyone at my table—and even the table beside ours—stared at me. The gasp I’d pulled in was startlingly loud. I was surprised I wasn’t hyperventilating yet. “Someone sent me the link to the Most Likely Tos. To Babble. The submission asked if I could post it.”
Rachel latched onto my arm with a screech, craning her neck to peer at my screen. “Post it, post it, post it!”
I didn’t even waste a second of this golden opportunity, and with my heart practically seizing in my chest, I sent the link school-wide. A cascade of musical chimes echoed through the cafeteria and a burst of pride swelled within me, knowing those people had notifications turned on for my website.
The Most Likely To list was one of the most exciting things about the back-to-school season. It was a list of superlatives decreeing who in the student body was most likely to do certain things. Most Likely To: Get Held Back. Most Likely To: End Up Alone.
The list usually consisted of seniors, since their names were more easily recognized, but there were a few underclassmen trickled throughout the fifty labels. Anticipation and dread mixed in my chest, causing my fingers to tremble as I clicked the submitted link.
No one really knew who created the list, though everyone suspected it was the Top Tier—the popular clique of Brentwood High. The jocks never got a label on the list and were never subjected to that kind of negative attention.
However, I had to admit, whoever created the webpage this year definitely could’ve used some pointers from me; their graphic design was a mess. Horrible color palette, ugly fonts, corny clipart. And dear God, was that Comic Sans?
Despite its ugliness, I was an eager bobcat, ready to clamp down on the fresh meat. The list meant that my week of Brentwood Babble content wasmade.
With hungry eyes, I scoured the lines, screenshotting the most shocking ones. I stopped when I got to the next name, the next tag. My stomach dropped when I read the label first, knowing that one did not go without the other.
Most Likely To: Marry A Math Book
Maisie Matthews
My first instinct was to play it off, to not tell her. But I didn’t even have a chance to decide. Alex passed his phone to her, and Maisie looked at the screen with a scowl that would’ve sent a kindergartener running. Her eyebrows ducked down beneath the rim of her black glasses, lips pressed into a line.
That was Maisie, though. This kind of stuff didn’t hurt her feelings—it made herangry.
If I was being honest, I didn’t really get why. Gossip was fun to read about, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. It rarely lasted beyond the week. It wasn’t anything to get that upset over.
At least, I thought so until I saw my name.
I’d scrolled past it before it registered.Ava Jenson.The realization came accompanied by a swift stab in the stomach, one that almost sent my cell tumbling.
Most Likely To: Never Have Their First Kiss
Ava Jenson
