Jessica Darling's It List

The (Totally Not) Guaranteed Guide to Popularity, Prettiness & Perfection

Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

What happens when EVERYTHING you know about ANYTHING is ALL WRONG?

That's what I'm about to find out.

Today is the last day of summer. I'm supposed to start seventh grade tomorrow. Isay "supposed" to start seventh grade because I don't know if I can show up formy first day so tragically unprepared for Pineville Junior High.

My sister would say otherwise. She'd argue that I'm way better off now than Iwas before I received her big sisterly wisdom. She promises that if I follow hermust-do IT List I won't merely survive junior high—I'll thrive.

And she would know better than anyone what it takes to make it in seventh grade.Ten years ago Bethany Darling was the IT Girl at Pineville Junior High School.All the boys wanted to date her and all the girls wanted to be her. I was only ababy at the time, but I've seen the pictures and I swear her life was as perfectas a shampoo commercial.

My life isn't like a shampoo commercial. But don't feel bad for me because itisn't like the educational films about bullying that we're forced to watchduring Be Kind to Each Other week at school either. I have plenty of friends.And until my sister gave me the IT List, my best friend, Bridget, was the onefreaking out about starting junior high—not me. I guess if I had todescribe myself, I'd say I'm very witty, medium pretty, and a little bit zitty.I'm not the worst off but there's definitely room for improvement.

So when Bethany surprised me this morning by taking time out of her busy socialschedule to give me life-changing advice before my first day of seventh grade, Iwasn't exactly in a position to refuse. Besides, Bridget is in a state of totaldiscombobulation about junior high. I figured I could share any valuableinformation that could help her, uh, recombobulate. If such a thing is evenpossible.

"It must be so hard to have your big sister away at college during such animportant time in your life," Bethany said with a cluck of her tongue and asympathetic shake of her head.

Despite my best efforts, my sister and I have never really been that close.That's what happens when you're born in different decades. When she was my age,I was still wetting my pants. That will put a wedge in any relationship. I'vealways admired my sister from afar in the same sort of way Bridget looks up tocertain celebrities. We see the teensiest bit of ourselves in our idols, buttheir lives are so glamorously out of touch with our boring reality.

"The transition from elementary school to junior high school can't be takenlightly," Bethany continued. "The choices you make during the next two yearsdirectly affect your popularity in high school, which directly affects yourpopularity in college, which directly affects what sorority you get into, whichdirectly affects who you meet and who you marry, which directly affects yourpopularity every day thereafter until you die."

Bethany paused just long enough for the seriousness of her speech to sink in.

"Choices. So many choices."

Then she dramatically took me by the shoulders.

"So many chances to make so! many! mistakes!"

I'm not exaggerating when I say a shiver shot up my spine when she said that andnot just because she grabbed me so hard my back was thrown out of whack.

"And that's why I'm going to share my wisdom with you, my little sister."

Then she patted me on the head, which was kind of funny because I'm already astall as she is and she had to reach up to do it. Then, with the grace of aprofessional game show hostess, she reached into her designer handbag and pulledout a three-by-five card. She teasingly dangled the small piece of paper infront of my grabby fingers before finally letting me have it.

Here! In my hands! The sacred document containing all the secrets to alifetime of awesomeness! I thought.

Until I actually looked at it.

"Uh, your old Pineville Junior High Cheer Team travel schedule?"

"The life-changing advice is on the back," Bethany said with a deep sigh, as ifthis were the most obvious thing in the world.

And when I did the most obvious thing in the world—flip it over tosee the life-changing advice for myself—she slapped my hand away.

"Not now!"

"Ow!" I cried, rubbing my stinging wrist. "Why not now?"

"You need to take in this life-changing advice all on your own, without me thereto spell it out for you." She spoke sagely. "That's part of the process."

I stared down at the card in my hand. What sort of life-changing advice could beon the flip side of a decade-old Pineville Junior High Cheer Team travelschedule? How much could there possibly be to spell out? There's barely enoughroom to spell out G-O, J-E-S-S-I-C-A!

My sister pulled a pouty face.

"Why am I not being embraced with gratitude right now? Why am I not beingcelebrated as the most awesome big sister of all time? Why am I feeling like therecipient of this great life-changing advice does not appreciate the gift I havegiven her?"

"Thank you, Bethany. Seriously. But ..."

Bethany checked the time, already more concerned about leaving than actuallybeing here.

"Hey, has the mail arrived yet?" she asked.

And before I could say yes, she was already at the front door, elbow deep in themailbox. She rifled through the catalogs, bills, and miscellaneous junk, sighed,and then put the whole stack back.

"Are you looking for something?" I asked.

"No!" she yelped. "I mean, yes!" She relaxed and pinched my cheek. "I mean, mindyour own business, Little Miss Seventh Grader!"

Bethany gets all jumpy when she's in Pineville for too long, and I could tellshe was beyond eager to head back to campus before my parents even realized shewas home. Bethany loves college so much that she's taking a fifth year tograduate.

"I just can't imagine how whatever is on the back of this card is going tochange my life."

Bethany tossed all her blond hair over from one shoulder to the other.

"Are you questioning my authority? I was voted Most Popular, Prettiest, and MissPerfect in the Pineville Junior High yearbook. If I'm not an expert on suchmatters, then who is?"

She had a point there. I followed her off the front porch, followed her down thedriveway, and followed her to her boyfriend's convertible. At that moment Iwould've followed her anywhere. Bethany has that effect on people. If I followher rules, will I have that effect on people? Is that what it means tobe popular?

"Didn't you keep a diary that, I don't know, explains how ..."

My sister cut me off with knowing laughter.

"Popular girls don't keep diaries, because they're too busy being popular towrite about being popular," she said, opening the car door and sliding inside."Which is a shame because popular girls are the ones with juicy stuff worthreading."

I'd actually considered buying a diary to document the momentous occasion thatwas the start of seventh grade. Bethany just saved me $1.99.

"Just follow my advice and remember who you are," Bethany said with familiarfinality as she fluffed her hair in the rearview mirror. "You're a Darling."

"I'm a Darling," I repeated.

"Darlings aren't dorks!"

Then Bethany slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and backed out of thedriveway.

The irony is this: I wasn't at all worried about being a seventh-grade dorkuntil my sister said that.

Bethany Darling's IT List

The Guaranteed Guide to Popularity, Prettiness & Perfection

1. Wear something different every day.

2. Make the CHEER TEAM!!!

3. Pick your first boyfriend wisely.

4. Stick with the IT clique.

That's it.

That's IT?

Twenty words (I'm counting "!!!" as its own word) written on the back of aPineville Junior High CHEER TEAM!!! travel schedule in smudged scarlet lipliner? It reminded me of Bridget's disastrous eyebrow-plucking tutorial: sosimple and yet totally impossible to follow without scarring myself in somepermanent way.

I only had about ten seconds to wrap (warp?) my brain around the IT List beforeI heard my best friend's footsteps kicking up gravel in our driveway. I quicklyhid the old schedule inside a copy of The Outsiders. That's the novelthe entire incoming seventh grade was supposed to read over the summer. I'dalready read it once, but I wanted it to be fresh in my head. I've heard thatteachers give quizzes on the first day of school to find out right away who's astar and who's a slacker. I bet there won't be any slackers in the seventh-gradeGifted & Talented classes, though. You don't get into G&T by being a slacker.

Anyway, The Outsiders is set in the 1960s and it's all about cool versusuncool kids, which goes to show you that people have been preoccupied withpopularity since the olden days, an idea that has already taken on whole newsignificance in my life since my sister decided to TOTALLY MESS WITH MY HEAD ONTHE LAST DAY OF SUMMER BEFORE I START SEVENTH GRADE.

This was also Bridget's last day to freak out about starting seventh grade andshe was going to make the most of it. Her pale skin screams red when she's underemotional duress so she came careening across the yard like a fidgety zinnia infull-bloom freak-out. She barreled through the pleasantries and got right downto business.

"Is it too late for you to change your last name?" she asked.

Did Bridget eavesdrop on the conversation with my sister from across the street?Bethany's voice was loud and clear in my ears.

You're a Darling. Darlings aren't dorks!

Bridget nervously braided and unbraided her waist-length white-blond hair as shebabbled on.

"I was thinking that you could change it to something that starts with theletter M so we can at least be in the same homeroom!"

Whew. Bridget hadn't overheard my sister after all.

"Jessica Marling has a nice ring to it!"

The thing about Bridget is that I've known her my entire life and I still cannever be sure when she's kidding or not.

"Why don't you change your last name?" I asked.

Bridget's last name—Milhokovich—is never pronounced correctly.Bridget has heard it so many ways (Mill-HOCK-O-vitch, Meel-HOE-KOE-vitch, Mill-HOCK-O-LOOGIE)that she answers to all of them. I'm not sure she even knows theright way to say it anymore.

"My mom just got this monogrammed for me."

She pulled her backpack off her shoulder and thrust it in my face forinspection: BMB embroidered in pale pink on hot pink canvas.

"Sooooo ... what do you think? New school, new name, new you!"

Bridget grinned hopefully, and I pretended to be blinded by sunlight bouncingoff her braces.

"SHUT MOUTH. TOO BRIGHT."

I rolled myself into a ball to shield myself from the killer orthodontic glare.She retaliated by kicking me in the butt. It was all silliness for a few secondsbefore Bridget got dead serious.

"What if we don't have any classes together, Jess?" she worried. "I wish Iwasn't so stupid!"

"Bridget!" I protested for the bazillionth time. "You aren't stupid!"

"Fine," she settled. "I'm not stupid. But I'm two points shy of Gifted andTalented and that's enough to keep me out of all your classes."

Sigh.

Bridget and I both took the entrance exam that determines which students getaccepted into Pineville Junior High's Gifted & Talented program. I got in.Unfortunately Bridget missed the cutoff by two points. Two points! Mrs.Milhokovich called the school hoping they'd make an exception, but the spacesare limited so, no.

That two-point deficit was one of the biggest reasons why Bridget was freakedout about seventh grade.

I've tried not to be too bummed about it because I've never had problems makingfriends and that's kind of the point of junior high, right? To make new friendsand keep the old? Isn't that what I learned in Girl Scouts before I was asked toleave the organization because one too many orders of Thin Mints were deliveredwith a poorly taped-up box top and a missing cookie sleeve?

(In my defense: Thin Mints are delicious and my mom is always on a diet.)

"What if no one talks to me?" Bridget worried. "Who will I talk to?"

When I heard that tiny voice, I knew it wasn't time for messing around anymore.Plus her whole body was like a sunburn, even though she had joined me in thesafe shade of our oak tree. I wasn't so psyched about tomorrow either, butBridget was my best friend and I was determined to make her feel better.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a role I was born to play. Bridget was the naturalcheerer-upper, not me. Even back in our Pack 'n Play days my mom says thatBridget would offer me her pacifier, her sippy cup, even her beloved stuffedoctopus when I was cranky and crying for no apparent reason. I always tookwhatever she was offering and calmed down. This is pretty much the way ourtwelve-year friendship has always worked.

There's really only been one time in her life when it was my turn to make herfeel better. It was a bit disturbing that starting seventh grade seemed to upsetBridget almost as much as her parents' divorce three years ago. But I had helpedher through that, so I could get her through this.

Right?

"I'll talk to you," I promised. "We'll see each other every morning on the busto school and every afternoon on the bus home."

Bridget smiled, her face cooling to a light pink that matched the BMBembroidered on her backpack. It was working. I was making herfeel better for a change.

"We'll always live across the street from each other, Bridge," I said. "You canshow up at my house uninvited anytime you want."

And then I kicked her in the butt just to show her how much I really cared.

Sufficiently un-freaked-out, Bridget spent the next half hour presenting me withphotos of her first-day-of-school fashion options.

We were in my dad's office, otherwise known as the Techno Dojo. Whatever thelatest bleep-blooping gadget there is to have, my dad has it. He's baffled by myindifference to all things technological. He gets paid to fix computer problemsall day, but I swear he would totally do it for free. I think Dad preferscomputers to people.

Anyway, Bridget was bleep-blooping in front of the largest screen, all thebetter for side-by-side critiques of mix-and-match combinations of hairstyles,tops, bottoms, and footwear.

"So I'm pretty sure I'm almost, like, one hundred percent-ish decided that Ithink I've narrowed it down to these four hairstyles, these four tops, thesefour bottoms, and these four pairs of shoes!"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that math was against her: Just those itemsalone gave her 256 options. And if accessories were involved, her choices couldeasily run into the thousands.

She hadn't bothered asking me what I was going to wear because I pretty muchhave one look: a T-shirt and jeans. Mom took me shopping at the mall and after a"tempestuous debate" (her words) and a "major blowout" (my words) regarding acertain flowered skirt that was "so adorable" (her words) and "so gagtastic" (mywords), we came home with a fresh supply of T-shirts and jeans in Mom-approvedcolors and patterns. That I'm not a fashion person is a great mystery anddisappointment to my mother. Anyway, we all assumed my first-day-of-seventh-gradeoutfit would invariably involve a T-shirt and jeans.

That is, until I remembered #1 on the IT List.

1. Wear something different every day.

Nothing in my closet qualifies as "something different." Everything I own isfrom the mall. Sameness is the whole point of buying stuff at the mall. You buystuff at the mall knowing that lots of other girls will buy the same stuff atthe mall so you won't be ostracized for dressing like a freakazoid. Why would mysister encourage me to wear "something different" unless that uniqueness wouldhave a positive impact on my popularity? Was she actually encouraging me tostand out instead of blend in?

That didn't sound like the Bethany I knew. At all. But she was the undisputedqueen of junior high and I most definitely am not.

"Jess! Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I'm listening," I lied. "That's it! Hair half-up, half-down. Stripedtop. Capris. Slip-ons. Awesome."

That must have been the right thing to say because Bridget blew out a huge sighof relief. Well, at least one of us had solved our first-day-of-seventh-gradewardrobe crisis. I was about two seconds away from blabbing to Bridgetabout the IT List and the possible negative repercussions of my unimaginativecloset when my parents' car honked for my attention.