I walked up slowly because I already knew.
I read the list twice, top to bottom, then again, in case my eyes were skipping. Brittany’s name sat there in bold, three lines down.
Mine wasn’t anywhere.
A freshman bumped into my shoulder and apologized. I didn’t move.
I felt sick.
I read the list twice.
Brittany wandered up behind me with two of her friends. She read the list, gasped in the fakest way I’d ever heard, and turned to me with wide, sympathetic eyes.
“Oh no. Halle. I’m so sorry. I mean, I didn’t even try that hard. Weird, right?”
One of her friends giggled.
“You know what they say,” Brittany added, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Some people just have a voice.”
She actually said that. Out loud. To me.
One of her friends giggled.
I walked past her, past the front doors, and sat on the curb behind the gym where nobody could see me.
***
The following afternoon, Miss Garcia called me into her classroom.
She turned her laptop towards me.
“I think you need to see this.”
My stomach dropped.
I walked past her.
Brittany’s submitted essay filled the screen. But it was my essay! Every sentence I’d written about Dad, right down to the burnt pancakes and even his final note.
