Populazzi

Chapter Twelve



"NateGate" was the name of our plan. We gave ourselves three weeks to make my transformation: the last week of school before Christmas break plus the break itself. After vacation I'd return to school as the new me and take Nate by storm.

Studying to become Nate's girlfriend took far more effort than studying for any other test I had ever taken, including the PSAT. Even the reading material was more intense, or at least there was more of it, most in graphic novel form. I had to read Watchmen, which Nate had told Archer was pretty much his bible. I also had to read a slew of other graphic novels, none of which involved Spiderman, Batman, or any other superhero I had ever heard of. While some of Nate's favorite books had become movies, I was strictly forbidden by Archer to watch them. Or if I had seen them, I was warned to either forget them or simply feel unclean from the sullying experience.

Then there was music. Music was not surprisingly the most important thing in Nate's life, and he would pretty much discount any girl who was into music that he considered pop and shallow. Music pointed to character. I told Archer I was neither pop nor shallow, and I thought my music choices reflected that just fine.

Archer pressed a preset button on my car radio. An old Britney Spears song blared, and I sang along to every word, bopping in my seat. Archer just looked at me.

"Oh, come on!" I said. "Who doesn't sing along to Britney?"

Archer changed my presets, but radio stations are fickle, and since he didn't want me listening to anything objectionable, he recommended I avoid the radio entirely. Instead he reprogrammed my iPod. Nate's particular passion was emo punk, which included some bands I actually knew from their big hits, like Paramore and My Chemical Romance; and a bunch that I had never heard of, like Jawbreaker, Braid, and Sunny Day Real Estate. Some I liked, some I didn't, but I made my new iPod mix my constant soundtrack, and even read up on the bands so I could speak intelligently about them.

What would be more challenging than changing my interests would be changing me. I was way too happy, well adjusted, and goofy for Nate, Archer assured me, and to prove it, we secretly tailed three of Nate's ex-girlfriends. Honestly, we could have saved time and just tailed one. Archer hadn't lied. Nate had a type, and it wasn't me. While my mane of curls burst out of my head in every direction, Nate's girls had poker-straight hair, with bangs that hung low over one eye. The hair could be dark, blond, or a streak-dyed combination of jet black and green, but the style remained the same.

They also seemed to dress in uniform. They all wore tight jeans with black belts that were sometimes chunky and ornamented. Over that they wore close-fitted tees: concert shirts of bands I knew from my new and improved iPod. All three wore snug zip-up hoodies that looked vintage seventies. One wore black boots, the others flats. Their makeup had some minor variations, but all three of them seemed to use an entire stick of black eyeliner around each eye. Several bangles adorned their wrists, and their nails were painted black.

Then there was the attitude. None of the girls seemed particularly happy. Not that they were actively crying or moaning, but I tend to think if someone saw me going about my daily business, they'd get the idea that I was probably a pretty happy person. Not so much with these girls. Even when they were hanging in the halls with their friends, even when they were laughing with their friends, they had this air of despair, like the moment was just a blip in an otherwise endless sea of malaise.

Could I really pull that off?

"Okay," I told Archer a few days later, "I've got the music, I've got the graphic novels, I've got the look and the attitude ... or at least, I know what the look and the attitude are supposed to be. Do I need anything else?"

"A full brain transplant?" Archer suggested.

I threw a pillow at him. I was sitting on his bed as he packed. Christmas break had begun, and he and his parents were leaving in the morning for a trip to Chicago. Archer wouldn't be back until the night before classes started up again, so the rest of my training would be more of a correspondence course.

As it turned out, this was for the best. The biggest thing I needed to concentrate on now was my physical transformation. That meant tons of shopping, tiny dressing rooms, and honest opinions on whether this or that outfit pooched out my flab in horribly unflattering ways. For that, Claudia was far more helpful than Archer ever could have been.

Two days after he left town, she and I spent an entire day at the mall. We nailed a ton at Hot Topic: skinny jeans in several shades of black, some with added zippers, some pre-ripped, and one with skull designs that made me feel like a particularly ridiculous pirate. We also chose a few short black skirts with several different pairs of leggings. We got creative with the leggings: in addition to all varieties of black, we also found bright purple fishnets and a fuchsia zebra stripe. For shoes we went with one pair of boots, one pair of flats. We grabbed hoodies, tees, bangle bracelets, necklaces, earrings, arm warmers, and wrist warmers. The last two were important for the emo-chick mystique because, even if you've never considered cutting, it's apparently good to look like you have.

The day was insanely fun. It was like Claudia and I were playing dress-up. We'd both try on what were for us the most bizarre outfits imaginable, and even though we'd send several to the counter to be held, I didn't really comprehend that these would be my new wardrobe. Nor did I have any concept about how much I'd actually be spending—until I was rung up and I felt my head go swimmy. Claudia later told me that I grew so pasty white that I drew jealous sneers from several of the vampire wannabes in the store. Claudia slipped an arm around me to keep me upright.

"It's okay," she whispered in my ear. "You never use your credit card. Spread this over the past two and a half years and it's inconsequential."

She did have a point. My parents had given me a credit card on the first day of high school, and it was a matter of pride that I could count on one hand the number of times I'd actually used it. Still...

"We should just go," I said.

"What the hell! Are you kidding me?" asked the goth-faced girl behind the counter, who'd just spent an eternity ringing up my massive pile of merchandise.

"Give us a second," Claudia said. She pulled me a few feet away. I shook my head, completely overwhelmed by the absurd futility of what we were trying to do.

"We shouldn't be doing this. It's crazy. It's never, ever, ever going to work. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing; a guy like Nate Wetherill would never go for someone like me. He's totally out of my league."

"You mean he's better than you?" Claudia asked.

It sounded stupid when she said it out loud, but yeah, kind of, that's how it felt. I mean, I knew Big Life Picture he wasn't, but I didn't live in Big Life Picture. I lived in high school, and high school had a hierarchy that couldn't be ignored.

"Cara, ask me how things are going at Pennsbrook," Claudia said out of nowhere.

"Okay ... how are things going at Pennsbrook?"

"'Hell is empty, / And all the devils are there,'" she quoted.

I shook my head. "I don't know that one."

"That's okay. It's The Tempest, and I changed a word, but you get the idea. Pennsbrook is hell, Cara. I'm a Cubby Crew of one, with no chance to reinvent myself because I'm surrounded by zombieheads who made up their minds about who I was before I even knew. I would give anything to have the opportunity you have now. I'm just as interesting a person as the Supreme Populazzi—so are you—but I'll never have the chance to prove it."

Claudia's eyes bore into me, finishing her thought without saying it. I did have that chance. After ten years I was finally away from everyone who had labeled and categorized me and put me in a cubby—and now I was doing the same thing to myself.

"Pretty fancy speech just to get someone to dress like the undead," I said.

"Did it work?"

I walked back to the girl at the counter and handed her my credit card. "We're ready now."

Of course, Hot Topic was only our first stop in the day's transformational odyssey. From there we went to Sephora and grabbed several soft black eyeliners, thick black mascaras, smoky-colored eye shadows, and black nail polish. This time I didn't hesitate. I presented my credit card with a smile.

The next stop was more difficult. After we pulled into the parking lot, I had to close my eyes and breathe deeply to still my pounding heart. Claudia put her hand on mine. "You don't have to do this part, you know. It's okay if you can't."

I took another long, deep breath, then opened my eyes. "No," I said. "I want to."

We walked inside the shop. I strode the three steps to the front desk and smiled at the perfectly coiffed and painted woman behind the counter.

"Hi. I'm Cara Leonard, and I have an appointment for a hair relaxing."

I couldn't imagine myself without curls. From the time I was three years old, they'd been my trademark feature. I could wear them up, I could wear them down, I could tuck them behind a headband, but they were always there. People I hadn't seen in years would recognize me on the street because of my hair. My curls defined me; even my personality was curly, bouncy, springy, and playfully twisted.

But the look I wanted didn't include curls, and a simple blow-out wouldn't get me the style I needed. If I was going to go for it, I had to really go for it. Claudia had done tons of research on the best curl relaxers in Philadelphia and found Yumiko, the guru of the field. She used only a special relaxer from Japan that wouldn't damage the hair and wore out after two to three months.

I must have looked terrified when I sat in Yumiko's chair, because after she ran her hands through my curls, she looked at me in the mirror and gave me a big hug. "I promise you," she said, "you'll love it."

I had absolutely no reason to believe her, but I did. I took a deep breath, smiled, closed my eyes ... and didn't open them again until she was completely finished.

"Cara," I heard Claudia say, "it's over."

I didn't want to open my eyes, but I did ... and found a complete stranger staring at me in the mirror. She had the same wide, amazed expression I knew I was wearing, but otherwise she was totally alien to me.

Claudia bent down next to my face and looked that strange reflection in the eye.

"Claudia?"

She shook her head, then a smile broke across her face. "I love it. It's a whole new you."