Awkward was the best word to describe the rest of the school day. About half the teachers took Miss Reinhart’s approach, lecturing on different approaches to receiving your List and trying to emphasize that school rules would still apply even after such a momentous event. Only Mr. Baxter rolled his eyes at the word momentous, but I could tell Mrs. Wooten really wanted to but deferred after a quick mention of Fool’s Day to keep following her syllabus religiously. Then again, they’d been teaching here for as long as anyone could remember, so I guess the magic of Fool’s Day had worn out its welcome. The dismissal was oddly comforting, like an assurance that some things would remain the same no matter if tomorrow fate told me to conquer myself a fiefdom and rule with an iron fist. Mr. Baxter would still teach at Glenbrook High, and Mrs. Wooten would still try to inform dazed students about the causes of the decline of the Ottoman Empire when most of them were imagining the grand destiny that awaited them tomorrow. There would probably still also be death and taxes, but mainly the teachers doing their thing. I was sure that was more constant.

By the time the final bell rung, I was more than ready to flop into bed and let unconsciousness deliver my fate to me. Unfortunately, as I grabbed my bag and got ready to bug Jerry for a ride home, there was one more surprise waiting for me.

“Connie!” I froze, eyes widening, hoping beyond hope that no one was around to hear. Seeing as it was the end of the school day, of course the halls were packed. Resigned to hearing that cursed nickname from every classmate for the next week or two, I turned to meet the insufferably grinning face of my dearest older sister Alyssa. She was really maximizing the effect of those fashion and cosmetology courses she’d stumbled into at the community college, clad in a pastel yellow jumpsuit with a cropped denim jacket, wild brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Normally I wouldn’t say no to my sister giving me a free ride, even if her little beater always left my hoodie smelling like it was dipped in incense and acetone, but that grin promised something was in the offing today, something that I wasn’t nearly awake enough to combat. The gears of my mind clearly weren’t well-oiled, as by the time I’d identified the threat, she was already linking her arm in mine and dragging me off toward the parking lot followed by the bemused glances of my classmates as she chattered on about her classes at the community college to make up for my baffled silence. Even Danielle tilted her head in question as Alyssa whisked me past the entrance, and I pleaded for rescue as my eyes met our student council president’s. She just blinked in response, the traitor. So much for serving the best interests of the student body. Democracy is a scam.

“But that color just doesn’t work with her complexion and holy shit was that Danielle Harp just now?” Alyssa finally paused her motormouth and I gave a nod. “Damn, the building my business class is in is named after her dad. Hey, can you get her to put in a good word for me? Maybe I’ll get extra credit.” The only proper response to that was a flat stare, and she had the audacity to pout. “It was worth a shot, everyone’s a critic, it’s not about what you know it’s about who you-”

“Allie.” I interrupted. “What exactly are you doing here?”

She freed her arm as we reached her faded baby blue Volkswagen Beetle, a car I was half-certain she’d only bought because she figured I’d be too embarrassed to be caught driving it. Joke was on her, I’d stoop to using a Vespa if it got me from point A to point B faster than walking and kept me off the bus. The incense was her latest tactic to maintain full custody, scenting her territory to keep me away. Much to my chagrin, it was working. The pungent smell of patchouli, my only weakness.

“Connie.” Though she persisted with the annoying nickname, her voice was at least serious this time. “Do you think I haven’t been paying attention? My Fool’s Day was only two years ago, and you’ve been getting more and more stressed the closer it gets. I just… there were all these things that I thought of afterward that would’ve made getting my List better for me. So you get to benefit from all my older sister wisdom! Let’s go on an adventure!” She smiled brightly, and I remembered that as annoying as she could be, Alyssa always had my back.

“Thanks sis.” I smiled. “Can this adventure include milkshakes?”

“Brother mine.” She said solemnly, strapping her seatbelt in and starting the car. “There is no such thing as a good adventure that doesn’t include milkshakes. Our quest begins!” She reversed out of her parking spot with entirely excessive gusto, and I was reminded that not all of the nicks and dents had been on the car when she bought it. As if sensing my anxiety, she jabbed the radio button and filled the car with whatever vapid top 40 pop was charting now. I groaned.

“Seriously? Not even a good driving mix? My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined.” Alyssa rolled her eyes at my words even as a smile tugged at her lips.

“Pop in a CD if you want, you big baby.”

“Ugh, sometimes I forget how ancient your car is. Who even uses CDs anymore?” Despite my complaints, I sifted through her incredibly eclectic collection. Almost all of them still had the price tags from our local used bookstore, none of them above three dollars. Didn’t matter the genre, if it was below three bucks, Alyssa would buy it. Everything from German hip-hop to forgotten 70s acts to soundtracks of niche documentaries.

“Don’t hate on my compact discs, they’re a hit with retro enthusiasts!”

“You can just say ‘people who can’t afford a newer car’, we were both thinking it.”

She scowled. “I can’t believe this disrespect.” She took one of her hands off the wheel to stroke the center console. “It’s okay, Robin, he clearly has no taste.”

I snorted. “Says the girl who named her car Robin.”

“He’s a delightful shade of robin’s egg blue!”

“And I still say Hercules would have been better. C’mon, a Beetle named Hercules? Classic!”

“Generic, you mean.”

“Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. What would mom say?”

Alyssa hummed. “Probably something about how the immediate family are usually the first suspects in a murder investigation.”

I chuckled. “Dark and entirely on-brand. She watches too many Dateline specials.”

“Hey, you’re not the one she’s given five separate lectures on the dangers of Caribbean island vacations.”

“It’s up to five now?” I popped in a CD based entirely on the crazy hair the man on the cover was sporting. Apparently he was a conductor or composer, as a bright brassy march blared from the car speakers. Not my usual genre, but marginally better than the whims of the radio.

“Apparently they solved one of the cold cases a couple weeks back and she just had to give me the whole spiel again.” She sighed. “It’s like, mom, I love you, but I am also far too poor to afford a vacation to Aruba and this dubious safety advice is taking up space my brain could be using for color theory.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Finishing her complaint with a huff, she pulled into the drive through, slotting in behind two nearly identical obnoxiously large pickup trucks. The brassy fanfare my chosen CD had started with had faded by now to a more solemn, string-heavy section, and the mood seemed to follow the music. Alyssa tapped her fingers on the steering wheel with one hand and reached up to fiddle with her ponytail with the other, a classic nervous gesture for her.

“What?” I asked before she could build herself up any more.

She huffed, side-eyeing me. “Just trying to find the right words, jeez. I’ve had two years to think what I would’ve wanted to hear right before I got my List, what would’ve made it easier.”

It was my turn to give a little huff. “And? I don’t know if you’ve realized, but we’re not exactly the same person. For all I know what you would’ve wanted to hear will make me feel worse.”

She groaned. “Don’t bring that negativity in here! Dashing my good intentions on the rocks of reality, how could you.”

“Pretty sure that’s what siblings are for.”

“I thought it was spare kidney storage?”

“I mean, that too. Are you taking good care of my future organs?”

“Excuse you? As the eldest, obviously you are my organ incubator, not the other way around.”

I laughed. “Right, can’t forget the modern version of primogeniture inheritance.”

“You better not!” She stuck her finger in my face, and I swatted it away. Neither of us were exactly good at serious conversations; they usually devolved into insults and banter within a few minutes. Still, I recognized what she was trying to do, and I wasn’t cruel enough to completely stomp on her advice. Once we’d gotten our milkshakes, she pulled into a parking spot and I took a deep breath to augment my deepest, most solemn voice.

“Please, oh venerable elder, bestow your wisdom upon this unworthy disciple.” The little head bow I gave her was undercut slightly by the slurp on my milkshake’s straw, but it was the thought that counted, right?

“You must search within yourself to your innermost self, for only you yourself can discover what your own self’s destiny shall mean. Yes, it does sound selfish, but it is in fact the most selfless thing we can do for ourselves. Each of us may only live our own lives; you must live for yourself.” She was going for gravitas, but it was somewhat undercut by her growing smirk.

“Were you just trying to see how many times you could use the word self and still have it make sense?” I asked.

“Depends.” She took a loud slurp of milkshake. “Did it work?”

“I mean, it made sense, might even be good advice, but I think you could’ve worked a couple more in there.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I was erring on the side of good advice.” She sighed. “I know we suck at all this sentimental sibling guidance stuff, but I do want you to know that I at least trust you. Mom will worry, Dad will pretend nothing’s changed until he’s forced to see it, but I’ll at least be in your corner no matter what you go haring off to do. Can’t promise much tangible support, but I’ll give as much as I can and you can call me anytime.”

I let her words sink in for a moment. It was about the best I could ask for. Tomorrow at least would be much more certain, actually having a List and a vague first point to chase after. For now, just the promise of support in whatever form would best suit my nebulous future destiny did wonders to calm my nerves. It wasn’t the firm rock that Dad tried to be that so often ended up too firm and static to be comforting, it wasn’t Mom’s overactive worrying leading to smothering, it was an offer to let me decide what Alyssa’s support would look like.

I gave a soft, genuine smile, so unlike our usual teasing grins. “Thanks, sis. I thought I’d be cooler about this, but I guess you only get your destiny revealed to you once, eh?”

“You’re doing great, Con.” She mirrored my smile. “I know you’re probably freaking out on the inside, but it’s gonna be fine. This time tomorrow we’ll probably be laughing about it. If you want to tell me. No pressure, though I can’t really promise to shield you from Mom. You know how she gets.”

“Can you imagine her face if I tell her my first point is steering me towards the Caribbean?”

Alyssa shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that, bro. She’ll put together a full lecture course and you’ll be lucky to keep any shreds of your sanity.” She took another sip, then shrugged. “Plus, your first point is almost always super vague, at least from everyone I’ve talked to.”

I snapped my head to stare at her. “And you just go around asking people what their Lists say?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not, but there’s this thing called alcohol that’s pretty popular at college parties. Drunk people are not the best secret-keepers.” She snorted. “Besides, most of them I’ve heard are super boring and vague. Be a friend is sweet, but so generic. Choose for yourself, that’s just an oxymoron when it’s on your List. Maybe the only people who spout their points out carelessly are the kind with those boring generic ones, but I think almost all of them are like that. Just little phrases that could mean almost anything.”

I leaned back in my seat, digesting her words. Of course I’d looked up a bunch of information about Lists and average first points on them this week, it was what messed up my sleep schedule so badly. But it was hard to filter reality from fiction on the internet, and every article was framed by some self-help guru or another, promising increased chances of fulfillment by following their advice that so coincidentally involved paying for a comprehensive course in divining the whims of fate. There wasn’t much historical data to sift through, either. No one could be obligated to share their List, and even when various totalitarian states had tried that in the past, there was absolutely nothing to stop those questioned from lying. If you lived in North Korea, you sure as hell weren’t gonna tell the government that the first point on your List was something like resist oppression unless you were feeling particularly suicidal.

Alyssa’s summary of the situation was, like most of this day and week, equal parts frustrating and relieving. Frustrating that an event that was so hyped up for most of my life would probably end up leaving me just as frustrated in a different way on the other end of it. On the other hand, it was relieving to hear that at least in the sample size of drunk community college students, no one had a firm grasp on their List. Of course movies and TV weren’t the most reliable sources, but the constant inundation of media where every character seemed to know exactly what their List was telling them (unless it was being obscured for plot-related reasons) had an effect over time. I took another sip of milkshake, letting the cold chocolate malt cool off my thoughts until there was just one burning question that refused to extinguish itself.

“Hey Alyssa?” She hummed in reply, mid-sip herself. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off if this is too personal, but how do you feel about your List now. I know… I know things weren’t great when you first got it, especially with Dad. Has it gotten better?”

“Hundred percent, yes.” She answered firmly. “Look, every kid wants adventure, and every teen on Fool’s Eve thinks that their List will be the different one, the one leading them into a grand, world-changing destiny. I guess I got a little caught up in the hype, and to have my first point come out as stay close by, that was a bummer. Dad doesn’t do sudden adjustments well, for all I know one of his points is something like stay the course. Naturally, we were gonna clash a bit over me staying here and going to community college. I was a little pissed too, because what self-respecting teen doesn’t want a little distance from their parents after high school? But now?” She grinned. “It’s honestly great. I’ve got all my gen-ed credits so I can transfer as soon as this point gets ticked off, and I had enough time left over to take some cosmetology courses and they were great! I’d never have thought to do that if I’d shipped off to college, and to use the cliche, I feel like a more complete person now that I have. Dare I say,” Her grin turned sly. “Fulfilled?”

I groaned. “That was bad and you should feel bad. But for whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you stuck around too. Wouldn’t have been the same here without you.”

I would have continued, but a faint glow on Alyssa’s left forearm thoroughly scrambled my thoughts. She gasped, dropping her thankfully empty milkshake as she grabbed her elbow with wide eyes. There, in front of the two of us in a fast-food parking lot, Alyssa Blakely received her first tick mark, the black check slowly pushing all the light around it outwards as it claimed a spot a couple inches below her wrist. Fate has a strange sense of humor.