Populazzi (11 page)

I'd promised my parents I'd be home by dinner Sunday so I could "get a good night's sleep" before school, but as I knelt on Claude's bedroom floor rolling up my sleeping bag, something huge and heavy slammed down in front of me. It was the giant yellow binder with
THE LADDER
written on the front.

"It's time," Claudia said. She sat cross-legged on her bed like a guru.

"Seriously? Haven't we had this discussion? Didn't we determine I was done with the Ladder forever?"

"In a fit of pique, you made a grandiose statement you didn't really mean. I shan't hold it against you."

"Oh, shan't you?"

"You fail to realize it, but you have already had tremendous success with the Ladder," she said.

There was no clever retort to that; it was so beyond the realm of sanity, I couldn't do anything but gape at her for several seconds. She was unmoved. Was she really going to make me spell this out again?

"Here were Archer's choices," I said. "A: endure a single kiss from a reasonably attractive girl, or B: risk severe head trauma to both himself and said houseguest, who could conceivably then sue his family for everything they have. Guess which one he chose?"

"That means nothing. We've established that he's probably gay, remember? If a gay man doesn't want to kiss you, it only means you're not masculine enough for him. To me, that's a compliment."

It was an argument she had used before, and it wasn't entirely wrong—i/Archer was gay. Which I doubted.

"Even if he's not gay," Claudia continued, "even if he's just ridiculous and stupid and not interested, there is no denying that by being his close friend, you officially earned a spot on the Popularity Tower. Am I right?"

Of course she was right. I'd noticed it myself when I started hanging out with Archer's friends. Even though I couldn't act to save my life, for a while I'd been an honorary member of the Theater Geek Cubby Crew.

But that was
before.
Now I didn't see them at all. I reminded Claudia of that little factoid.

"Doesn't matter," she said. "It's been, what, a few weeks? That's a blip. Nonexistent. You'll pick up right where you left off the minute you restart your friendship with Archer."

Restart my friendship with Archer?

I wished I'd been middrink so I could give her comment the spit-take it deserved.

"No way," I said. "Can't do it. If I do, he'll think I want him again, and he'll get that sad look on his face because he'll feel like he has to let me down gently and I swear, Claudia, I would rather drink hot glue."

"So the drama!" Claudia raised the back of one hand to her forehead, then grinned and leaned down to me. "He
won't
think you want him, because of the beauty of the Ladder! The minute you hook back up with Archer, you ask for his help getting you someone on the next tier of the Popularity Tower: a DangerZone. Instant fix: immediately Archer knows for a fact you're no longer interested."

"But I
am
still interested," I said.

"Of course you are. But what's the best way to get you
not
interested? A distraction. Actively working to get someone new, exciting, and incredible—not to mention someone who's actually into
you.
Now think about it: Are there any DangerZones you like? Any Archer could help you get?"

I thought about it. I thought about everyone in Archer's circle. They were all Theater Geek Cubby Crew. There were lots of other people who knew and liked Archer from a distance, I supposed. There was everyone who'd watched him perform that poem the first day of school, all the people who'd raved about him in
Cyrano,
and everyone who'd gone crazy over the jazz band concert...

The jazz band concert. There was a guitarist in the jazz band. Nate Wetherill. I remembered seeing him my very first day, stalking down the halls with his guitar case on his back, wafting DangerZone hotness with every step. I'd seen him a few times after that. He and Archer always said hi in the halls. Or Archer said hi. Nate always gave a moody upward nod, which was still a million times more attention than he gave most people in the school. Even then, when I thought Archer and I were basically together, Nate made me stop and stare. But it was the way a hot celebrity would make me stop and stare. It was fantasy. Nate was way out of my league. He wasn't even an option. I had to laugh.

Claudia pounced. "You thought of someone! Who?"

"Nate Wetherill," I admitted. "And he's Archer's friend ... ish."

"That's perfect!"

"It's ridiculous. Nate would
never
be interested in someone like me."

"You're forgetting the rules of the Ladder. There is no 'someone like' you. You find out the kind of girl Nate wants, you
become
that girl, then you burst out of your Chrysella chrysalis transformed and blow him away! You'll get together, you'll move to his tier on the Popularity Tower, and most important, you'll be so completely distracted that you'll finally get over Archer."

Getting over Archer sounded great—exactly what I needed to make Chrysella bearable again. Getting over Archer by hanging out with him and getting his help with the Ladder? That sounded like the craziest kind of reverse psychology ever, which is what I told Claudia.

Claudia climbed down from her bed and sat in front of me. She took my hands and looked me in the eye. "Archer does not want to be your boyfriend," she said mercilessly.

I cursed myself for feeling tears spring to my eyes.

"Know it," she continued. "Believe it. Be cool with it. If you can do that, not only will you get to be with someone who
does
want to be your boyfriend, but you'll also get back a guy who had become a really close friend. Don't you want that?"

The tears dried up before they ever spilled over. Once again, Claudia knew exactly what to say. I did want that. I wanted it badly.

"Okay," I finally agreed, "tomorrow morning I climb back onto the Ladder."

I left Claudia's house feeling strong and decisive. She was right—climbing back onto the Ladder was my key to getting over Archer. After all, I tried to convince myself, it's not as though I was in love with him or anything. How could I be? We were never even together. So it couldn't be heartbreak that had my stomach in knots at the very idea of being around him again. It had to be simple embarrassment. Yet if I stepped back and looked at the big picture, was what happened between us
that
hideous? No, not terribly. It could even be funny one day, months and months from now, when I was happy with someone new.

But that would come later. If Archer and I were going to be friends again right now—something I really did want—there was only one way to make it work.

I let my car idle in the school parking lot and listened to the drum of the downpour outside. I concentrated on the sound and took deep breaths, letting the noise drown out every negative thought in my head. I knew exactly how I wanted this to play out, and I didn't want anything to throw me.

Finally I raced inside, ditched my coat in my locker, grabbed my books, and zipped into English class less than a minute after the bell rang.

"The Hyacinth Girl!" boomed Mr. Woodward as I walked in. He pointed the Bat at me, stopping me in my tracks, then fixed me with a knowing glare. "Do you know
why
I'm calling you the Hyacinth Girl, Cara?"

"Because I'm late, my arms are full, and my hair is wet?" I said, remembering the passage from T. S. Eliot's
The Waste Land.

Mr. Woodward smiled. "I see the tryptophan didn't stop
someone
from doing her reading over vacation. Well done."

He lowered the Bat and let me pass. I walked straight to my old spot next to Archer as if the past several weeks had never happened, and I reclaimed my old perch on top of the table.

"A continental shift," Mr. Woodward noted, then continued with the class. Archer, however, sat in his chair with his jaw hanging open. He looked up at me as if for an explanation, but I didn't give him one. I didn't ignore him, though. Not even remotely. I smiled down at him every time Mr. Woodward or someone else in the class made us all laugh. I rolled my eyes to him whenever someone said something ridiculous. I made sure he was one of the people I looked at whenever I spoke up to make a point.

I expected it to be harder than it was. But any time I looked at Archer and felt a pang, I heard Claudia's voice saying, "Archer does not want to be your boyfriend." It wasn't fun hearing it over and over in my head, but it was effective. And while I didn't exactly get over him in that English class, I started to feel like maybe one day soon I could. Plus I had a new incentive: just interacting with him the littlest bit in class reminded me how much I missed hanging out together. Getting that back without all the pain was totally worth a few harsh reality checks.

But I knew I couldn't really be around Archer without some ground rules, so when class ended, I fell into step next to him.

"Cara, I—" he started, but I held up a palm and silenced him.

"Just answer me one question: do you want to be friends again?"

"I never wanted to stop being friends. Look, can't we—"

"Please-please-please, just say yes or no. Do you want to be friends again?"

I could tell he was struggling not to say everything he wanted. I appreciated the effort.

"Yes," he said. "Of course I want to be friends again. I just—"

"
Please!
" I begged. "I do, too. But first I need you to promise me something."

"Okay ... what?"

"We never speak of it again." I said it very clearly, with no emotion.

Archer looked confused. "But Cara—"

"No. That's the deal. It's like it never happened. Can you be cool with that?"

Archer opened his mouth to speak ... but he didn't. He looked frustrated, concerned, even angry. Finally he sighed and shook his head.

"Fine," he said.

I felt a rush of relief so huge, I almost wanted to hug him—then I let Claudia's words scream out in my head again.

"Is there still a seat next to you at lunch?"

I was suddenly sure he'd say no, that Sue now sat next to him every day. It was a land mine I hadn't thought of until now.

"There's a seat. I'll save it for you."

"Great! See you then!"

I walked off to precalc feeling lighter than I had in weeks. This was going to work. There'd be rough patches, but it would work.

 

Dealing with Archer's friends turned out to be one of the rough patches. For once Claudia was wrong—they weren't happy to pick up where we'd left off. They were nice enough; they were just distant.

The lunch seating had changed, too. Sue and Doug were back at the table; Noah and Molly were gone. I got the feeling it was a keep-your-enemies-close thing for Sue. By now I was pretty sure she had a crush on Archer. I think she wanted to keep me off her turf. If I had been feeling more charitable, I could have told her she had nothing to worry about. I was actually surprised she didn't already know. Maybe Archer hadn't told them everything that had happened between us.

Things with Archer himself went fairly smoothly. We'd been such good friends, it was impossible not to fall back into our easy rapport. It wasn't long before we were grabbing fries together at the mall, and soon after that we even started playing Ping-Pong again. I was happy to see he had never taken down the giant wall chart, even though it gave me a romantic pang I had to quash.

In the meantime, I dedicated myself to the Ladder and filling my mind with Nate Wetherill. It was a little weird. I had gone after Archer because I really liked him. I was attracted to Nate—anyone would be attracted to Nate—but I knew nothing about him. I had to
work
at liking him, as if he were a school assignment. Sometimes it bothered me that I was being so calculating, but then Claudia would remind me of the alternative—permanent Archer obsession—and I'd get over it.

So I studied Nate. And I looked for things to like.

Nate was very broody. He frowned like he was constantly tortured with deep, troubling thoughts. That wasn't really my thing.

He didn't seem to have a lot of friends. Any, really. Also not my thing.

He did have the attention of the Populazzi. I saw it when I was in the halls between classes. Just like everyone else, Trista Camello stepped aside and stared when Nate walked by. Even the Senior Populazzi noticed him. If I were his girlfriend, part of that mystique couldn't help but rub off on me.

It was cool to think about, but it still wasn't enough to make me like him.

Then one day I was late coming in to lunch, and I saw him. He sat outside on a rock, strumming his guitar and singing softly.

I stopped to listen, then moved closer, staying behind him and far enough away that he wouldn't see me.

He was incredible.

I didn't recognize the song he played, but it was beautiful. I wondered if he'd written it himself. His broodiness seemed melodramatic when he walked through the halls, but it was perfect for the song. Just watching him, I could tell how serious he was about his music. He seemed to pour his entire soul into what he played, and seeing it happen right in front of me ... I was awed. I wanted to sit at his feet and listen all day.

Talent and passion:
those
were my thing. Those I could fall for.

From that moment, I tried to watch Nate as often as possible while he was playing guitar. It wasn't that challenging: any spare moment he had, he used it to play. I just had to slip outside or look through the right window and I'd get to see the show.

Nate was hot no matter what, but when he played, his hotness went off the charts. His spiked hair fell across his left eye as he bent over his guitar. Shadows played over the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, which were so distant normally, filled with emotion.

The more I watched Nate play, the more fascinated I became not just with his music but with him. I followed his fingers moving over the guitar strings, and I imagined running my thumb over their calluses. I listened to his songs and imagined he was singing them to me. I imagined the two of us cuddled together on a couch somewhere, Nate strumming chords and making up lyrics to try to put into words everything deep and wonderful he felt about me.