Populazzi (33 page)

"Like it?" I purred.

"Cara..."

"Here—gimme a second."

I leaned forward to work on his jeans again. I had a much better angle and the use of both hands, so I got the button open easily. I pulled down the zipper and tugged at the waistband...

"Um ... this would be easier if you'd lift your butt a little—"

"Cara, don't—"

"It's okay. I want to," I whispered.

I kissed his stomach, then slid down to the top of his boxers—"Cara,
stop!
"

He rolled away, whacking me in the face with his hips.

"
Ow!
"

I'm sorry.

"What is wrong with you? Are you the only guy in the universe who doesn't like a blow job?"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"NO!" I shouted, then lowered my voice to an urgent whisper. "I want to have sex with you, Eddie. Tonight. Now."

I tried to push him back down onto the chaise, but he wouldn't move. Fine. I dove toward his lap, but he grabbed my shoulders and roughly pushed me away.

"Jesus, Cara, stop! I don't want to have sex with you! I'm gay!"

He turned bright red after he said it and wheeled toward The Hang.

"But you're my boyfriend. You can't be gay." "
Shut up!
" Eddie hissed, checking The Hang again. "Look, you can't tell anyone, okay?"

"But it doesn't make any sense. If you're gay—"

"Stop! Stop saying it out loud!" Eddie's eyes were pure panic.

"Oh my God..." I finally realized, "I'm your beard!"

"Again, voice down."

"Stop telling me to be quiet!"

"Then stop saying things so loud!"

"I have no desire to out you, okay?" I whispered.

I suddenly felt very naked in my bra and thong. I pulled the blanket around me.

"You're mad," Eddie said.

"Not that you're gay. I don't care if you're gay. I'm mad that you lied to me! I'm mad that I made an idiot out of myself trying to seduce you when it must have made you completely nauseous!"

"You're not an idiot and it didn't make me nauseous. If I were straight, I'd have been very turned on."

"Now you're condescending."

"I'm trying to make you feel better. Is it working?"

"Eddie, you can't be gay. You kissed me. A lot. How could you do that if you didn't like it at least a little bit?"

"I don't like broccoli either, but I can force it down when I need to."

"Oh, that's really nice."

"I'm just saying, it's the truth."

"But why? Why did you ever go out with me?"

"Gemma," Eddie said. "A week before my party she came on to me and I blew her off. If I hadn't come up with a girlfriend, she'd have told everyone I was gay just to save face."

"So what? Tons of people are gay. Nobody cares about gay anymore."

"Are you kidding? Was your old school in Yardley or the Castro?"

"Where?"

"People say they're cool with gay, but a lot of them really aren't. Especially high school guys. Especially high school athletes.
Most
especially high school athletes whose dad left their family to marry another guy."

"
What?
Who—"

"Brett. He's the worst, but it's not only him. Believe me, it's easier if I'm quiet about it."

"Okay ... so why me?"

"Because I didn't need to be straight to give you what you wanted in a boyfriend."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Cara. Maybe a lot of people at Chrysella don't, but I pay attention. I saw the way you looked when you got here, I saw you hanging out with Archer Jain, I saw you go all emo-girl to get Nate Wetherill, and I saw how excited you got when I invited Nate to my party. You're a climber."

"I am not!" I cried.

Eddie just looked at me.

"I'm not," I insisted. "I may have done some climbing, but I am not a climber. That's not who I am."

"Whatever. I never even asked you out, Cara. You know why? I knew I didn't have to. I knew I could get you in with my friends and you'd go right along with it."

I was so beyond offended that I wanted to scream at him—except he was right. Then I remembered something.

"Okay, fine—then you're a climber, too. Robert Schwarner said you used to be friends. What did you do, dump him to be more popular?"

"You really want to know? Robert dumped
me.
I tried to kiss him in fourth grade and he freaked out."

"Oh."

"Don't get me wrong, Cara. I don't care that you're a climber. I like it. It works for me. It means we can help each other. I am totally happy to keep things the way they are. You keep me looking hetero, and I'll keep you in with Trista and the girls."

"I don't like that you think I'm that shallow," I said.

"You don't like that I think it or that I
see
it?"

"God, you don't even like me, do you?"

"Of course I like you. I wouldn't want to hang out with you this much if I didn't like you. I might not respect you, but I like you just fine."

That was it. I needed to get away immediately. Not that I had a lot of options. I was too drunk to drive home, and The Hang was occupied. I slid off the chaise, keeping the blanket wrapped around me.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Cara, it's freezing. You're only warm because we have heaters."

I needed shoes, but I couldn't bear to stuff my feet back into heels. "I'm taking your sneakers," I told Eddie as I shoved them on.

"You'll swim in them."

"I'll deal."

Eddie was right, of course. His sneakers were several sizes larger than my feet. Walking in them was like strolling in flippers. I basically had to shuffle and covered all of an inch at a time.

"You still haven't told me," Eddie said as I attempted to move. "Are we still together? 'Cause believe me, you might think the girls are your best friends, but if we break up, you're history to them."

I didn't want to believe him. I wanted to scream at him that he was wrong, that the girls weren't just my friends, they were my sisters. I was one of them, and I would be whether or not Eddie Riegert deigned to call me his girlfriend.

But then I remembered the List and the other columns with owners scratched out of existence. Maybe the Populazzi girls would keep me in their circle ... but maybe they wouldn't. Did I really want to risk it? Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and Gemma were now my only friends at Chrysella. If they dumped me, where would I be?

"Cara?" Eddie prodded.

"Yes," I said softly, hating myself for being just what he said I was. "We're still together."

"So you'll keep my secret?"

I glared at him. I'd hoped it went without saying that if I was going to keep acting like his girlfriend, I wouldn't advertise that he was gay.

"I need you to say it, Cara."

I hated him.

"I'll keep your secret."

"Good."

That was the extent of Eddie's concern. He lay back on the chaise and curled under the blankets as I trudged over the snow-covered ground. It
was
freezing, and I had no clue where I actually intended to go ... until I looked up to the main house. Someone had left the lights on in the large basement room that led out to the pool, and through a glass sliding door I could see Riley, my favorite dog, curled up on a couch.
That's
what I needed. I turned and started the long, slow trek to the house. I had no clue if the slider was even unlocked, but I didn't care; I'd crawl through the dog door if I had to.

Clutching the blanket tightly around me, I slogged up one hill, around the pool, and up another hill. With each step, snow tumbled into my giant clown sneakers and froze my feet. They were soon numb, and I slipped, lost hold of the blanket, and slid down several snowy feet on my bare butt. Could the night get any better? I didn't think so. Finally I neared the main house, and Riley's right ear pricked up.

"Hey, boy," I cooed. He must have heard me through the glass because he lifted his head and gave me a tongue-out doggie smile that for one moment made everything in the world all right.

The sliding door opened when I tugged on the handle. Leaving it unlocked seemed like the height of irresponsibility, until I remembered the whole property was gated, so a few open doors probably weren't a big deal.

The warmth of the room melted me, and I closed my eyes a moment to let it seep into my frozen pores before I kicked off Eddie's shoes and staggered to the couch.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Riley's tail beat happily against the cushions as he waited for me to get comfortable.

"Okay, boy, come here."

Riley obeyed, bounding onto my lap so he could lick my face while I scratched his fuzzy black body. I gently grabbed his little head and kissed him right on his snout. Riley took this as a sign that we were now on intimate enough terms that he could roll over and present his belly for some serious rubbing.

As I scratched, I looked around the room, which seemed like a giant finished basement made for casual entertaining. On the vast brown-shag-covered floor sat not just the couch on which Riley and I cuddled but also two love seats and a couple recliners—all of which gathered around a large plasma TV with the works. Across the room to my right was a bumper pool table. Off to the left was a 1950s-diner-style kitchenette with lots of steel, Formica, and red leatherette. The lights in that area were all off, but someone had been there earlier. I saw a huge pile of Tastykakes wrappers, empty soda cans, and an empty pint of ice cream. They were strewn on the carpet, as if a bunch of people had feasted on the floor. I knew Trista had a twelve-year-old little sister. Maybe she'd had a slumber party with her friends and they hadn't bothered to clean up.

I felt the couch shake. While I scanned the room, I'd stopped scratching Riley, and he pumped his front paws up and down, begging for more. I laughed and went back to work.

Huuuuuuullllllll!

I froze. It sounded like someone was gagging. Riley didn't seem to notice. It was odd, since his little radar ears usually perked up at anything unusual.

Huuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

That time the noise ended in a painfully scratchy croak. More silence, then the punched-in-the-stomach sound came again, this time followed by a splash.

Now I got it. I winced and hoped that someone was actually sick, since the alternative was that Trista's sister or one of her friends was already making herself throw up at age twelve. I probably would have to tell Trista tomorrow. She should know.

I heard the sink running and several moments later heard the knob turn. I considered hiding just to save the kid some embarrassment, but that didn't seem right. She should be aware someone knew, especially if I planned to say something to Trista. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself and watched as the door opened and a figure dressed in a bulky, knee-length sweatshirt padded out. She was hunched over and looking down. A curtain of lank chestnut hair obscured her face.

Then she lifted her head.

I gasped. I couldn't help it.

"Trista?"

At the sound of my voice, Trista snapped up to her full height and her red, watery eyes and nose flared as they focused in on me. It was like I'd unleashed a demon from hell.

"Are you
spying
on me?"

"No, I—"

"You've been plotting, haven't you? You've been
looking
for something to use against me. You came here on purpose because you
knew!
"

"No!"

"I swear, if you say one word about this to anyone—
anyone—
Ree-Ree, Brett,
a-ny-one,
I will destroy you. Remember how quickly I made you one of us? That's how fast I can make you the biggest pariah Chrysella has ever known. You're nothing without me, Cara Leonard. You're no one. You're dirt. You
need
me."

Wow. Here I'd been about to tell Trista I would never dream of using this against her because she was my friend, and her first instinct was to destroy me. And I'd thought Eddie and I were friends, too, but he was only using me. I'd even thought Nate and I had had a real connection, but that turned out to be a complete disaster.

And Archer? My supposed best-friend-outside-of-Claudia? What was that he'd called me? Oh, yes. Gross. He'd said I was gross. Even my parents were a misstep away from turning their backs and disowning me. And what had I done that was so horrible? I'd climbed the Ladder, yes, but I hadn't done it callously. I had done it by finding friends, real friends, people I cared about and who I thought cared about me.

Except they didn't. None of them.

And in that moment, with Trista's fiery vomit-breath burning my face, I realized that my motives didn't matter. If trying to be genuine and make real friends got me to the same place as being a soulless social climber, why open myself up for heartbreak? I had only one step left if I wanted to reach Claudia's goal of Supreme Populazzi and Brett Seward's date for the prom. Twenty-four hours ago—twenty-four
minutes
ago—I wouldn't have dreamed of deposing my friend and stealing her boyfriend, a guy in whom I had no romantic interest whatsoever.

But now? Now I
wanted
to do it, just to prove that the girl they all shoved aside and didn't care about could rise up and be queen of the school.

This was the new me, and I'd start living her life right now by grabbing the golden opportunity Trista was presenting me.

"Actually, Trista," I said, "
you
need
me.
You can destroy me if you want, but then I'll tell everyone your secret, and it sounds like you don't want that."

Her eyes lost focus for a moment. I was sure she'd expected me to cower and grovel, but I wasn't playing that anymore.

"So what are you saying?" she asked. "What do you want?"

"I want to be you."

"You can't be me;
I'm
me."

"Not anymore. We're going to switch places."

"Oh, really? How do you think that'll happen?" she asked.

"Basic transition of power. First you'll teach me everything I need to know to be like you. Then I step forward, while you fall back into the shadows."