While there was a lot of privacy surrounding the specifics of individual Lists, the most well-documented feature of receiving one was the instinctual knowledge. Usually right after waking up on Fool’s Day, the newly fated would just know the first point of their List. The wording might be vague and unclear, but the knowledge was anything but. By all accounts, it was like suddenly recognizing you had a new limb, and the words of your first point described something just as if not more essential to you than an arm or a leg.
I was greeted instead by blearily opening my eyes to my incessant phone alarm, a song that I used to love but had associated with mornings so much that hearing it outside of that context now was jarring. Waking up slowly, I dragged myself through my usual morning routine: shut off the alarm, use the bathroom, wash my face, and it was at the check my messages and email step that I realized something had gone horribly wrong.
Fool’s Day Orientation for Seniors was the email subject line that violently startled me out of my stupor. That’s right, this wasn’t a normal morning, this was the day everyone who’d turned eighteen since last April had been waiting for. This was the day that I’d been losing sleep over, debating over in class, getting lectures and advice about. This was the day that marked my passage into real adulthood, the reason for last night’s celebration, the day when the rest of my life would begin with a vaguely worded guideline and the dream of ticking it off my List.
My List, the one that didn’t exist.
Surprisingly, the panic didn’t set in immediately. There were a good five minutes where I stood completely frozen, still holding my phone at the same angle as the screen shut off and reflected my utterly blank face. I didn’t know what to think, so I just didn’t for a while. It was impossible, right? I’d never heard of anything like it before. Some people only got three points on their List, but to have none at all? No List, completely overlooked by fate, unmoored from the guideposts of destiny, forsaken by the future. Nothing to strive towards. No phrase to puzzle out the meaning of, to ruminate and try to achieve until a tick mark showed I was on the right track after all. Nothing to tether me here or send me away. Nothing.
My phone slipped from limp fingers to thump on my bedroom floor, and I wasn’t far behind in sinking to my knees. This couldn’t be happening. There was a numbness spreading from my core, like my whole body was falling asleep while my mind whirled around on the teacup ride at the amusement park, circles within circles, each spinning faster than the last. I could feel my breaths getting shorter and shallower as blackness encroached on the edges of my vision. This was a nightmare, and any second now I would wake up for real and laugh at how much I’d freaked out over nothing in a dream. Any second now.
It wasn’t this second. Or the next, or the one after that. It wasn’t until my backup alarm chirped that I started to emerge from my dissociation and half-panic attack. Never had I been more thankful to be so hard to rouse in the morning, I had no idea how I would have explained why I was having a full-on meltdown on what was supposed to be a joyous day. I’d hugged my knees to my chest at some point, and I set about disentangling myself as I tried to banish the static from my mind and limbs. First things first, no one could know. At best, I’d be pursued by every researcher, government agent, and overenthusiastic psychic this side of the Mississippi so they could poke and prod at what made me so different. At worst, I’d wake up and find myself handcuffed to a radiator as an insane Fulfiller ranted at me about making their life’s work meaningless or an overzealous Fatebreaker heralded me as a sign of the end times. As soon as word got out, I’d never have any semblance of a normal life again.
Not that I had a remotely normal life ahead of me anyway. Give it a couple years and people would be asking a lot of uncomfortable questions about my lack of tick marks. Maybe I could pay some shady tattoo artist to give me a fake one? But then someone would know, and real tick marks didn’t look exactly like tattoos in the first place. It would only work for the most cursory of examinations, and the odds of finding a perfectly discreet artist willing to do the tattoo without asking the uncomfortable questions that sort of tattoo was meant to deter was slim to none.
I blinked and found my body had gone on autopilot while I was ruminating on the logistics of faking a tick mark in the future. I had transferred over my school supplies to my new backpack, packing them around the emergency kit. That gift had just moved up in my personal estimation; the contents of the kit probably couldn’t help me out of my current emergency, but I had a hunch this crisis was going to snowball before too long. I donned the full outfit Alyssa had made for me, briefly breaking out of my stupor to marvel over just how comfortable clothes made to your exact measurements were. It was a dangerous thing to experience; never again would I be truly satisfied with off-the-rack clothing like some kind of peasant.
It was time to face the music, or at least my family. And school. I shivered. Things were going to be chaotic, hopefully my attitude wouldn’t garner too much attention. I could just pretend to not be super thrilled with my List, say that it was something obscure I was having a hard time puzzling out. Points like that did pop up from time to time, though usually after someone already had a couple of tick marks. A difficult first point might be odd enough to be notable, and I did not want to be noted. I was thinking in circles. There were only so many ways to play this, and a confusing first point made the most sense.
“Oh my God you look awesome!” Alyssa was far too loud and energetic for this early in the morning, but I guess it’s not every day you see someone wearing a full outfit of clothes that you made. “Happy Fool’s Day bro! You look ready to kick fate’s ass!”
“Language, Alyssa.” Mom chided lightly, undercut by her smile. “Though you do look quite handsome, Connor.”
I scratched the back of my head and gave a small smile. “Thanks! It might be a little warm for the jacket, but it didn’t feel right to not wear it all together, you know?”
Alyssa nodded rapidly. “Totally. It’s the start of your Fool’s journey, and just as importantly, you’re representing my fashion prowess to the population of Glenbrook High! All shall know my mad skills and despair.”
“Terrifying.” I deadpanned. “Have mercy. We are unworthy.”
“Shush you. Let me have this.”
“Only if I can have that croissant.”
“Offer considered.” She took a big bite out of the pastry. “Offer refused.”
“I shall never trust again.” I intoned solemnly, scanning the kitchen for the bakery box. Alyssa had, of course, taken the superior almond croissant, but a plain one got the job done alongside a cup of coffee. Mom kept the conversation light enough that I could almost pretend it was a normal morning, even though I knew my sister was brimming with curiosity. Mom probably was too, but she’d never bring it up lest I find myself overheard by Soviet-era bugs leading to my abduction and eventual murder by a former Russian spy posing as a mail clerk. Dateline tonight, only on NBC.
Alyssa had an early class and the community college was in the opposite direction of the high school, so Mom got to keep up her steady stream of chatter and gossip and I made all the appropriate noises of attention while providing exactly none as she drove me to school. Each stoplight that passed heightened my nerves. Today was going to be every kind of uncomfortable mixed together and baked at 350 until golden brown or a toothpick inserted into my brain came out clean. But it wasn’t like I could beg off and feign sickness, that would only delay the inevitable. Today at least I had a decent chance to blend in with the other seniors, everyone’s emotions running high after the buildup and anticipation. Hopefully there were at least a few who had an anxiety-inducing destiny. I felt terrible thinking it, but it would be really convenient for me.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Glenbrook High was a barely contained madhouse in the mornings most days, and today that containment had been breached. It was like the first days of school again with how many people were driving in or being dropped off, parents clearly unused to the parking setup but seeing their kids off like they were going to college or camp. Fool’s Day was a milestone, the beginning of official adult life, but it did seem a little much to extend that to something as mundane as going to school. I checked the email I’d received about the orientation this morning as we waited in the stop-start traffic. There was yet another speech scheduled, this one by the principal in one of the rare times he was ever seen outside of his office and school sporting events. Jerry would probably be taking bets on how many hamfisted sports metaphors he managed to squeeze in. No matter what the topic, the safe bet was always the over.
Finally I was able to disembark, throwing a distracted goodbye over my shoulder to Mom as I joined the throng headed to the auditorium. Some people I vaguely recognized as members of the soccer team were laughing and jostling each other with cocky grins. Behind them, a mousy-looking girl looked like someone had just kicked her dog and asked her to thank them for it. I tried to school my expression into something pensive, but probably looked more constipated and confused than anything.
“Girl, fuck off, I’m not telling you of all people! The whole school would know in an hour!”
“Oh, get over yourself, I bet it’s not even that interesting.”
“Shut up! It’s fantastic, bitch.”
“Love you too, slut. Meet me for the research group after this lame-ass speech?”
“You’ve never researched anything in your life.”
“And I’m not gonna start now! But that’s the one meeting in the computer lab, and you know Mr. Hawkins doesn’t care if we actually do anything productive.”
“Ugh, yeah, guess it’s the best option.”
The two gossiping girls walked briskly past me in a wave of perfume and I fought the urge to cough. They did have a decent point, I didn’t want to test my improv skills to the point of talking about my fake List just yet. There were discussion groups both for those who wanted to reveal their points and ask advice and those who wanted to keep it private and awkwardly talk around it. The rest of the day after this opening speech could be spent in those groups, waiting for a private meeting with a guidance counselor, or in one of the private research groups. The choice was clear, though in the interest of avoiding loudly gossiping girls I’d see if the library was open before trying the computer lab.
As I shuffled through the crowd keeping an eye out for Jerry, I spotted another familiar face looking somewhat out of sorts. Much like the tiny hint of jam on her collar from yesterday, it wasn’t obvious that Danielle was anything other than her usual ultra-composed ice queen self. But her posture was just a little too stiff, her normally sharp eyes a little distant. On anyone else, hardly worth noting. On someone as in-control as Danielle? Practically a cry for help.
Before I could even think about trying to approach, her eyes refocused and found mine. I was pinned in place by the sheer frustration I could see behind those blue eyes. It only lasted a moment as I watched her master herself in real time, gaze morphing to something still stern but less weighed down and posture still upright but casting off the unnatural stiffness. She arched an eyebrow in wordless question, and I really hope my less expressive bulbs managed to convey back that I hadn’t seen anything, and if I had, my lips were sealed. Danielle must have been satisfied, as she gave a nod that was barely a few millimeters of movement before turning back and entering the auditorium.
I had been expecting Jerry to catch up with me at some point this morning, but he must have been either incredibly early or running late, as I found a seat without catching a glimpse of him. Maybe he was skipping today in protest of all the List hoopla, and I briefly wished I’d been the vocal one about that rigamarole to have such a ready-made excuse. As Principal Winston tapped the microphone and called for quiet, I was already mentally checking out.
Fifteen minutes and thirty-seven sports references later by my count, there was tepid applause as Principal Winston stepped away to be replaced by Mrs. Absher, the head guidance counselor.
“We will now break into smaller groups as detailed in the orientation packet you picked up on the way to your seats. Those of you who would benefit from a larger mixed social environment, the gym will be open until lunch and you are welcome to drop in between other sessions. The guidance office will be open all day, but please sign up for a time at our table just outside the auditorium rather than just dropping by. If you would like to discuss the details of your List with some of your peers, rooms 311 to 315 will be holding discussions moderated by your senior advisors. Rooms 322 to 328 offer the same discussions but with no details or revelation of the specific wording of your list. The computer lab and library are both open for independent research, though we ask that you respect the library rules and keep disruptions to a minimum as students from other grades may also be using it.” She gave a warm smile as she reached the end of her instructions. “Welcome to the wider world, may your Fool’s Journey be fruitful.”
There were a few scattered cheers and a lot of shuffling as hundreds of antsy seniors all tried to make their way out of the auditorium at once. A few minutes later I finally had elbow room again and set off for the library. With any luck I’d get there early enough to snag a computer in the corner where I could pretend to be engrossed in researching something. I really needed to come up with a fake point to obliquely refer to, I couldn’t afford to get called out on any inconsistency. Something that wasn’t obvious at first glance, but wasn’t dire or completely incomprehensible. There was precious little by way of material to work with, as Lists changed with the sentiments of the time. For a while in the Roman Empire, it had been fashionable to have all the points you’d managed to tick off your List recorded and inscribed to pass on to your surviving family and display as a memorial. But not only could I not speak Latin, but the available translations were unclear, thought to be in local dialect and occasionally including slang. It made sense, an individual List only ever needed to be understood by the one person carrying it out.
I managed to slip into the library ahead of most of the crowd as people stopped to check in with their friends or peeled off to sign up for one of the counseling slots. I’d distractedly smiled and nodded at a few people I was friendly with but not particularly close to, and with more interesting things going on it wasn’t worth it for any of them to try to pull me into their group. The computer I claimed was a tad more exposed than I would have liked, the good corner one already taken by a junior working on a genealogy project I remembered doing last year. Still, unless someone was really interested in self-help books, I didn’t think anyone would be prowling the shelves right behind me. It was the work of a few moments to log in and pull up everyone’s favorite source that somehow wasn’t school approved: Wikipedia.
Of course, this left me the conundrum of what exactly to pretend to look up. I clicked the random article button a few times, but after landing on articles for a Kentucky politician, a defunct Scottish soccer team, and a Ugandan hydroelectric power plant, I wasn’t exactly feeling lucky anymore. Maybe it was best to work from a big topic down and try to find something general that could work. The history of animal domestication it was.
The thing about semi-mindlessly browsing Wikipedia is that what starts as an attempt to find a cover story for your nonexistent list can quickly spiral into ten open tabs and a budding interest in a topic you’d never thought about in depth before. It was a potent combination, leaving me musing on if those early humans had a list with such points on it as offer the wolf a bone. It was impossible to know, but it made me smile. Because some hunter-gatherer followed that bizarre urge thousands of years ago, now we had the doge meme. Truly the mark of societal progression.
I probably wasn’t paying as much attention to my surroundings as I should have been. After the computers had filled up, I figured I was safe to kill time probably until lunch. I’d clicked to a few other articles on goats and sheep and was now devouring information on the history of cockfighting, as the last article I’d read on chickens theorized that cockfighting was one of the big reasons for their domestication and spread across the world. I didn’t hear someone browsing those self-help books I’d mentally disparaged a few minutes before. I didn’t hear that same someone stop and presumably start reading over my shoulder. I did hear the question they whispered in a bemused tone.
“Why exactly are you reading about cockfighting?” Danielle Harp asked, and I froze.