Populazzi (14 page)

"Except your version's a little different from Ray's."

He looked me up and down. I bit my cheeks to stop from smiling.

"I tweaked it a little," he said. "You like it?"

He was asking my opinion. I was having a conversation with Nate Wetherill. A DangerZone, a guy far too hot to actually exist in high school, cared what I thought. How cool was that?

"I do like it," I said. "A lot."

Nate smiled—a wide, open smile this time. "I saw them in concert a couple years ago.
Black Parade
tour."

"I read about that," I said. "They brought Gerard out on a gurney, right?"

"Yeah." Nate nodded. "Very, very cool."

Uh-oh. Nate was still looking at me, but I was out of things to say. I quickly scoured my brain, but before I hit on anything, he turned back to Archer. "Thanks for letting me know about Brubeck. See you at jazz band?"

Clearly we were being dismissed.

"See you," Archer said. He turned to walk off. I fell into step next to him, but before I'd gone two steps—

"Cara," Nate said. "Got a minute? I want to play something for you."

Inside I jumped, screamed, and did a wild touchdown dance. Outside I shrugged. "Sure," I said. I gave Archer a silent, thrilled scream before I turned and walked back to Nate.

Nate moved over and tilted his head to indicate the spot next to him. I took it. I noticed Archer still hadn't left. He just stood there, watching Nate and me for a beat. I was sure he didn't approve of what I was doing, but at the same time he'd been a huge part of it. He could disapprove only so much without being completely hypocritical.

Eventually Archer left. He had to; it was almost time for him to meet his friends. I knew I wouldn't see him again before his audition, and I felt bad that I didn't get to give him a final "break a leg," but I knew he'd understand.

I stayed with Nate the rest of the period. He wanted me to hear some other tweaks on songs I knew from my iPod list. To be perfectly honest, I was sitting so close to him it was hard to concentrate, but I did my best to look like I was carefully considering every note.

When the bell rang, I stopped the Pavlovian urge to leap to my feet. I had a feeling Nate wouldn't think that was cool. Instead we both sat there a moment, looking at each other. He gave me another body-melting smile.

"This was good," he said, rising from the rock. "I'll see you, Cara."

"See you," I said.

As he walked away, my head spun with a zillion questions.
When
would I see him? Did he
want
to see me? Was that an invitation to
try
to see him?

"I'll be here tomorrow," Nate called back.

I watched him until he disappeared. The moment he was out of eyeshot, I ran into the building as fast as I could go. I was late, but that wasn't why I ran. I ran because I was bubbling over with excited energy and if I didn't do something to let it out I'd explode.

Nate Wetherill wanted me to meet him tomorrow. It was practically a date!

The next four days were unreal. It's not like I saw a lot of Nate. We only hung out at lunchtime on his rock. I always took my time to get there. Those were Claudia's orders—never be there before him, let him wonder if I'd show. It seemed to work. He always looked a little surprised when I arrived, in a good way. It worked for me, too. Since I was skipping lunch every day, the late arrival gave me time to scarf down the Zone bar and Diet Coke I now bought every morning during my Wegmans change-a-thon.

Nate liked playing for me, and he seemed to honestly respect my opinions. He'd try out new variations on songs we both liked, or he'd play and sing something I'd request. By our third lunch together he even played me an original song.

It felt surreal: I sat two inches away from a guy performing a song he'd written himself. And it was really good. I asked if he had a recording of it so I could play it on my iPod. He furrowed his brows like he thought I might be messing with him, but he let me enter my e-mail address in his cell phone, and when I checked the next morning, he'd sent me the MP3. I wondered if I was the only person other than Nate to have it. I downloaded it immediately and listened to it nonstop.

I couldn't stop talking and texting to Claudia about Nate. It wasn't like we were going out—we were barely even
hanging
out—but I felt special around him. Nate was a DangerZone. He stood alone. He didn't have friends. He didn't need them. He had his music. He didn't want anything more.

Except now he wanted me.

I don't mean he
wanted
me, but he wanted me around. Every time we left the rock he'd say the same thing: "I'll be here tomorrow." And every time I showed up, he brightened just the littlest bit.

I wasn't the only one who noticed.

The Populazzi did, too.

I was surprised they caught on so quickly. Even though Nate's rock was in full view of the Populazzi Oak and the Senior Slope, January was too cold for the Populazzi. They'd retreated to their indoor haunts. I didn't see them during my fifth periods with Nate, so I thought they didn't see me.

But they're the Populazzi. They see everything.

In precalc Thursday morning, the day I got Nate's MP3, I was getting ready for class when I caught a strong whiff of fruity vanilla-jasmine. I looked up. Trista had spun around in her seat.

"Hey," she said, smiling.

She was looking right at me, but I was sure she was talking to someone else. If I smiled or responded in any way, I'd just call attention to myself and look like a complete loser. So I tried to make myself invisible. I went stone-faced and returned to my notebook.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed Trista kept looking my way. Then she turned back around.

Only then did I realize she'd been saying hi to
me.
Four months I'd been sitting behind Trista, and now today she'd acknowledged my existence.

I felt a moment of panic when I realized I'd just blown off a Supreme Populazzi. Then I realized it was perfect. I was supposed to be a dark and mysterious DangerZone. If I'd reacted like my normal self, it would have broken the mystique.

For the first time ever, my insecurity had served me well.

I texted Claudia the first second I could. Trista's attention could only be because of Nate. The Ladder was already working.

"Did you know Nate writes his own songs?" I asked Archer. "He played one for me yesterday." We were in his basement playing Ping-Pong. Now that we didn't eat lunch together, after school was the main time we hung out—
after
I stopped at Wegmans to wash my face and change back into my regular clothes. No way could Bina see me in my full emo-gear. She'd be on the phone to my mom immediately.

"Of course I know he writes his own songs.
I'm
the one who knows him, remember?"

He slammed a shot to the far corner of the table. I had to dive to try to get it. I missed.

"Nice one." I picked up the ball and blew the long bangs off my eye, but they flopped right back. "You think Bina has a barrette around? I can't see with these stupid bangs in my face."

"That's what you get for mutilating your head," he muttered.

"You really think it's that awful? I like it." I served the ball. "Nate likes it."

"Oh, well, if Nate likes it, it has to be great."

What was with him? "You're very pissy today, Professor Higgins."

"Don't call me that."

"How about Doctor Frankenstein? Either way, you should be proud. Your creation is a huge success!" I slammed the ball with a little topspin and won the point. "Yes!"

"It is
not
my creation," Archer said. "What you're doing is all your idea."

"But you were my enabler. I couldn't have pulled it off without you. That makes you just as responsible."

I thought I was being light and playful, but Archer turned serious.

"Okay," he said. "If I'm responsible, then I have a say. I say you stop.

"Stop ... what?"

"Stop everything! Stop the clothes. Stop the hair. Stop hanging out with Nate. Just ... stop!"

I couldn't believe we were having this conversation. "Are you seriously telling me who I can and can't hang out with?"

Archer thought about it for a second, then crossed his arms and glared at me defiantly.

"Yes, I am," he said. "I'm telling you I don't want you hanging out with Nate."

I felt angry tears burning behind my eyes. Archer had already made it absolutely clear he didn't want to go out with me. That still hurt so much, but I'd made myself cool with it so we could be friends again. Now I was finally starting to get over him—which was still hard—and he was acting like a jealous boyfriend? No. That was completely unfair.

I was shaking, and I fought to keep my voice steady. "We're not going out, Archer. You don't get to tell me stuff like that."

He didn't say anything for a long time.

"I have to do homework," he finally said. "You should go."

"Yeah, I should."

I got out as fast as I could and cursed myself for letting him get to me again. A couple tears slipped out, but I wiped them away. I cranked Nate's song on my iPod full blast and screamed along with the lyrics as I drove home.

The next day was Friday. I sat in my usual spot in English, but I didn't even look at Archer. I don't know if he was trying to look at me. I wouldn't let myself pay attention.

I was still so upset about what had happened that I was distracted all through fifth period with Nate. Didn't really matter. He was never up for talking much. He just wanted me to listen while he played.

When the bell rang, I assumed he'd do the same thing as always and tell me he'd be around the next day. Or in this case, Monday. Instead, he asked if I ever checked out the music scene at any of the clubs in Philly.

I quickly calculated my answer: I might look like a loser if I said no, but if I lied and said yes, he'd start asking questions and I'd be caught.

"No." I realized my perfect out. "We just moved here, so..."

I let the sentence dangle. I hoped he wouldn't ask me from where I'd moved, since it was just another suburb of Philadelphia. He didn't.

"The Ruse is playing at the Works tonight. Want to come?"

Was Nate asking me out on a date?

I was glad I'd been distracted. It stopped me from doing anything stupid like jumping up and squealing. I let the question sit before I answered. "Sure."

"Cool. Give me your address. I'll pick you up at seven."

"Cool."

Wait. It was
not
cool. My parents would never let me out of the house dressed for a Nate Wetherill date.

"Actually ... no."

"Okay," Nate said, walking away.

"No!" I'd shown more emotion in that one word than I had in a whole week hanging out. I had to bring it back down. "I mean, no, don't pick me up at my house. My parents, they're freaks. Can I meet you at your place?"

"Sure. I'll e-mail you the address."

The second he walked out of eyeshot, I texted madly to Claudia. "
911! Date w Nate 2nite! Must plan! Call!!!!
"

The plan Claudia and I mapped out that afternoon was simple. I couldn't just ask my parents to let me stay at Claude's place for the weekend. There was a chance they'd say no. Instead, I'd tell them Claudia had just had a terrible fight with a friend and desperately needed a full weekend of my support. They'd never deny her that—and they didn't. Mom even considered whipping up a batch of Claudia's favorite snickerdoodles to make her feel better, but I said there wasn't enough time.

Mom and Karl never even considered the idea that I might be lying. They trusted me so completely that I felt guilty. Not guilty enough to tell them the truth or skip my date with Nate, but guilty. At least it wasn't a total lie. I would go to Claudia' s eventually—just much, much, much later than my parents imagined.

I left the house and drove right to Wegmans. It was a nice change seeing the evening shift. The morning shift had begun to recognize me and my quick-change act. One of the cashiers had taken to calling out, "Hey, Clark!" as I came in and marking my exit with "It's a bird, it's a plane, it's SuperGoth!" This was not only tiresome but inaccurate. There's a
huge
difference between goth and emo, but I never had the time or energy to give a tutorial.

I changed into my dressiest outfit: black lace-up boots with chunky heels, the bright purple fishnets, a short black pleated skirt accented with studs and chains, and a black lace-and-velour corset top with hook and eye closures climbing up the front. I threw on a pair of black fishnet arm warmers, which I was fairly certain wouldn't keep my arms warm at all. A few minutes piling on the makeup and I was on my way.

I punched Nate's address into my GPS and it led me to...

Really?

It was a mansion. Other than my dad's place, it was the biggest house I'd ever seen. Not that I could see it well; it had no outdoor lights at all. Was this the right address? I picked my way across the lawn to the front door and used the light from my phone to look for numbers, but there weren't any. Should I just ring the bell? If I did, would I be disturbing some random serial killer waiting for easy prey? I was about to e-mail Nate to double-check the directions when he opened the front door.

"Hey." He half smiled. "Hi."

"Come on. I'll drive."

He slipped out and I followed him to the driveway. I wondered if his parents were out. Even if he didn't want to introduce me, it seemed weird that he didn't say goodbye to them. Maybe he'd done that before he answered the door.

We slid into his car, and in the moment before he closed his door and the lights went out, he looked me up and down. "You look good."

"Thanks." I gave him my own version of the half smile. "You, too."

It was the biggest understatement I'd ever made. Nate looked
amazing.
He wore dark jeans, Converse sneakers, and a plain black T-shirt. Couldn't have been simpler. But on him it hung perfectly. He looked long and lanky, and he had gelled back his hair in mussed-up spikes that showed off his chiseled cheeks and jaw. I thought I'd be disappointed when he shut the door and the lights went out, but he looked even hotter in the dim glow from the dashboard.