Populazzi (17 page)

"That's it. Inside. Immediately. I need to hear everything."

We went into the living room and flopped onto the couch, each automatically pulling a quilt onto our lap. Claudia's mom was an artist, and one of her favorite projects was creating huge super-cozy quilts. Uniquely disturbing, super-cozy quilts. Claudia's featured scenes from Hieronymus Bosch's
Hell
paintings; mine was a Warhol-esque four-panel image of Charles Manson.

I told Claudia everything, though my mouth was still so dry that I couldn't get anything out before going to the kitchen to grab a giant glass of water and a box of Lucky Charms that Claudia and I now munched by the handful. I was almost done with the story when we heard Claude's mom pad downstairs. Claudia stared at me with alarm.

It took me a second, but then I remembered. I was still dressed and made up like the reaper's bride, a fact Lenore—not Claudia's mom's real name; she'd adopted it because she liked the Poe reference—would absolutely feel the need to share with my parents. I quickly ducked my entire head and body under the multicolored Manson blankie and wondered how I was going to pull this off.

"Morning, girls," Lenore said. I felt her move close to me. "Poor thing. Is your stomach still bothering you, Cara?"

Claudia kicked me under the covers. I remembered I'd spent the night in "gastric distress."

"Ohhhhh," I moaned.

Claudia's barely stifled snicker told me I was nowhere near the actress she was, but Lenore seemed satisfied.

"Think we have any Pepto?" Claudia asked her. "I bet it would help her a lot."

"Hmm. Somewhere we must," Lenore said. "I'll look."

Claudia was a genius. It could take forever for Lenore to dig up the medicine. I heard Lenore head upstairs. I raced into the bathroom and scoured my face, then Claudia slipped me pajamas she'd grabbed from my duffle bag so I could change. Disaster averted. And since Mom and Karl knew I'd be with Claudia all weekend, I'd have the freedom to zip off and see Nate whenever he called.

Except he didn't call. Even though we'd spent most of the night practically locked together and I'd specifically asked him to call in my text. Did he not get my text? But even if he hadn't, wouldn't he have woken up and wondered where I was? And if he'd assumed I'd gone home, wouldn't he have wanted to make sure I was okay?

I wanted to call him, but Claudia wouldn't let me. She dragged me into her room, sat me at her desk, and placed the familiar yellow binder in front of me.

"Please open your text to page one hundred and two," she said.

"I don't know what's more disturbing: that you put together more than a hundred pages or that you actually went through and numbered all of them." I got to the page she wanted. "It's a collage of men in combat."

"Flip forward at your leisure."

I did. More collages spread across the next several pages: men playing football, basketball, hockey, soccer; men wrestling; men boxing; men lifting disturbingly heavy weights at the gym; men at Coney Island scarfing hot dogs as a crowd cheered them on.

"You may cease flipping," Claudia said. Clearly she felt her point had been made, but I had no idea what it was. My blank expression must have said that loud and clear.

"A challenge," Claudia said. "Men love a challenge. You have to play hard to get. It's the only way you'll hold on to Nate long enough to get to the next rung of the Ladder."

Or long enough to help him,
I thought. I kept that plan to myself. I had a feeling Claudia wouldn't appreciate me altering her masterwork.

Claudia did have a point. If Nate didn't seem that anxious to talk, I shouldn't be either. I'd let it go. I'd wait until Monday.

It really wasn't fair how long it took Monday to come around. Staying up most of Sunday night to find a Nate-friendly outfit that screamed "How Can You Not Want More of This?" didn't help any, but it was at least productive. I went hot-casual: a black and white striped shirt with a scooped neckline and a chain-trimmed pocket on the chest, plus tight black jeans ripped along the sides in irregular circles.

I left the house as early as I could without filling Mom's and Karl's heads with questions, hit Wegmans, and made it to school right after the doors opened. Remembering Claudia's gladiator images, I did my best to look for Nate without seeming like I wanted anything to do with him whatsoever.

I had no luck, and there was only so long I could wander the halls looking detached and disillusioned. When I heard a high keening squeal, I had to go check it out.

The cast list for the spring musical had just been posted, and Archer, Tom, Dinah, Sue, Molly, Ember, Doug, and Noah were all gathered around it. The falsetto screech had been from Doug, and his exuberant vertical leaps would have made him a shoo-in for either the varsity basketball team or the Miss America pageant.

Archer himself had a huge grin on his face. Despite the fight we'd had last week, I was excited for him. I knew what it had to mean.

"Did you get Seymour?" I asked.

Archer wheeled at the sound of my voice. He looked surprised but not angry.

"Yep," he said with a little bow. "Seymour Krelborn, at your service."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, thanks."

"And what role are
you
playing?" Ember asked, looking me up and down.

Archer blushed. He didn't look at Ember, just put his hands in his pockets and shuffled a second before he asked me, "Um ... can we talk a little bit?"

"Sure," I said.

We walked a few feet away and stood by the wall. I noticed some of the Theater Geeks shooting me dirty looks. Not Sue, actually, but Ember and Tom for sure.

"I was a jerk," Archer said. "I'm really sorry."

I almost said, "It's okay." It was reflex, at least for me. People say they're sorry, I want to make them feel better.

But what he'd said wasn't okay. It had hurt. That didn't mean I was going to hold it against him—already I wanted to forget it had ever happened and be cool with each other again—but "it's okay" wasn't quite right.

"Thanks," I said.

"And you didn't mutilate your head. Your hair looks good ... kind of."

I laughed. "Don't worry—you don't have to like it. A couple months and it'll be totally back to normal." Unless I needed to keep it this way for Nate, of course—but I didn't say that part out loud.

"Up for Ping-Pong?" Archer asked.

"Bring it. How about this afternoon?"

"Oooh, can't. First rehearsal. How about over the weekend?"

If things went well, I'd be with Nate over the weekend.

"Maybe. I'll e-mail you; we'll figure it out."

"Great."

We stood there a moment, smiling—but without anything else to really say.

A high-pitched, breathy voice squealed from down the hall. "Seymour! Seymour! We need you!"

"Sue got Audrey." Archer explained the voice.

Of course. The female lead opposite Archer. Sue must have been over the moon. I felt a pang of jealousy, but I told myself that if Archer were really into Sue, they'd be together already.

"You guys'll be great. I know it. Congratulations."

I wrapped my arms around him for a hug.

Bad idea.

Hugging Archer felt really good. Not like hugging Nate. A hug from Nate was an electrifying prelude to everything daring and sexy and exciting. Hugging Archer just felt
right.
I still wanted so badly for him to feel the same way, but I knew he didn't. I was suddenly a giant, hollow ache.

If I stayed in his arms, I'd start to cry.

I needed an escape.
Now.

I saw one stalking the halls in a
BeastSlayer
cloak. Perfect.

"Oh! Gotta run," I told Archer. "See you in English!"

I trotted over to Robert, who seemed very busy pretending to be part of a SWAT team. He slinked between classrooms, then leaped into each doorway, shooting invisible energy jets from the ends of his outstretched hands.

At least that's what it looked like. I'd say it was odd, but this was Robert Schwarner.

"Robert, wait up!"

"'I take orders from just one person! Me!'"

"
Star Wars
?"

"A
New Hope.
Han Solo."

He stalked down to another classroom and jumped into the doorway, shooting more invisible bolts. I followed.

"Come on, stop for just a second. I want to ask you something."

Robert turned to me, folding his hands into the long sleeves of his cloak.

"Okay, this might be a weird question," I said, "but ... were you at the Works in Philly on Friday?"

"Do gerbils juggle in your retainer case?" he asked.

Okay, now he'd lost me. "What?"

"
That's
a weird question. Yours wasn't at all. I
was
at the Works. I saw a great show. And the Ruse was good, too."

He grinned, but a second later his
co-BeastSlayer-cloak-
wearing friend, Gabe Friedman, leaped from a classroom with a wild howl and zoomed out of the building. Robert scrambled after him, leaving me stunned.

Did Robert Schwarner just give me crap?

I was pretty sure he did—and I had to admit I was kind of impressed.

The bell rang, which meant I wouldn't see Nate until lunch. The hours until then? With the exception of seeing Archer in English, I figured they'd pretty much be a wash.

I was wrong.

As I walked out of precalculus, Trista Camello fell into step next to me.

Just like that.

"So I'm taking a poll," she said. "Is it ruder to tell Mr. Scheller we know he wears a bad toupee or to let him go on wearing it when we're all secretly laughing about it?"

"Mr. Scheller wears a toupee?"

"You haven't noticed? The top and front of his hair are jet black. The sides are completely gray."

I'd never really paid attention to our precalc teacher's hair before, but now that she mentioned it...

I laughed.

"You're totally right—he does wear a toupee!"

"Yes! A bad one! So what do you think: ruder to tell or not to tell?"

"It has to be ruder to tell, right?"

"I don't think so," Trista said. "It's like when someone has lipstick on her teeth. Wouldn't you want to know if you had lipstick on your teeth?"

I suddenly wondered if I
did
have lipstick on my teeth. I stopped smiling, just in case.

That reminded me that I'd
been
smiling. And laughing. All of which had been very un-DangerZone of me. I made a conscious effort to be more disaffected, but it was hard around Trista. Her energy was irresistible.

She bent her head closer to mine and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "So ... you and Nate Wetherill."

She let the statement hang between us.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Are you together?"

Trista Camello, Supreme Populazzi, had just asked me the very same question I'd been struggling with all weekend.

It struck me that Trista would know better than I would if Nate and I were together. She'd probably been in and out of relationships since prepubescence. She was being so friendly, maybe I could just spill everything and get her expert take.

I wanted to do it, but if she decided Nate and I weren't really together, I was sure her interest in me would end. Plus spilling would be way too non-DangerZone.

"Whatever," I said.

I channeled Nate's way of walking and kept my eyes straight ahead and my expression blank. I could tell Trista was still looking at me, seeking more.

Then she gave up. "Got it. See you."

She quickened her pace until she could link arms and fall into step with a Senior Penultimate down the hall.

So I was on the Populazzi's radar. Very, very cool. Claudia would love this. I called her at the start of lunch, once I'd settled into my car, turned it on, cranked the heat, and busted into my daily Zone bar and Diet Coke. That was one of the many beauties of the new me: I no longer needed to eat in my cement-stairs bunker. I wasn't hiding anymore. I was a DangerZone now, and DangerZones were entitled to weird behavior like hunkering down in an idling car to scarf a meal. Besides, it had gotten way too cold to sit outside and eat.

"Work the Ladder and the Ladder works!" Claudia crowed after I'd told her about my Trista conversation. "How's the new coat?"

"You cannot seriously be connecting the word 'new' to this coat."

The coat was a purchase Claudia forced me into over the weekend, after I asked if it was possible to get frostbite on one's rear end. After a week of sitting on Nate's increasingly frozen rock wrapped in nothing warmer than jeans and a hoodie, it seemed as if the answer was yes. Not that I was against it—if I did get frostbite of the buttocks, I imagined the doctors would have to shave off the frozen portion and reshape the rest, perhaps leaving my tush smaller and sleeker—a cheerier posterior.

Claudia, however, didn't see this as the same happy outcome I did. She thought I needed a coat, but one that fit into my DangerZone style. She dragged me to her mom's favorite thrift store, an unsavory hole in the wall where Lenore liked to pick up ragged old clothes and repurpose them as quilting materials. I'd never liked it there. The place reeked of musty despair, which—Claudia reminded me—is the exact cologne in which a true emo girl would ache to bathe herself.

She found it immediately: an old black men's wool pea coat, frayed and tattered in places and worn to shapelessness. Blotches of odd discolorations from God-knows-what Rorschached its surface. Claudia thought it had character. I just hoped it didn't have lice. The very idea of throwing this behemoth over my new outfits seemed like a crime, but Claudia was positive it would enhance my mystique. Plus it was January, and the temperature was due to take another nosedive. We might even get snow.

I'd kept the coat in my car all morning, but I'd promised her I'd wear it to Nate's rock. So after she and I clicked off, I tugged the eyesore around me and trudged to the main building. The icy wind tortured my face ... but the rest of me was cozy. I really should've known by now not to question Claudia's genius.