Populazzi

Chapter Fourteen



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.

Nate didn't want to talk. He played the Ruse's CD to prep us for the show. It was perfect for me: I knew nothing about the band. I didn't exactly fall in love with them on the drive, but I loved watching Nate listen to their music. He tapped the beat with one hand and drove with the other, and sometimes he'd unconsciously work the guitar fingerings. There was an intensity to it all, like he wasn't just listening to the music but inhabiting it. I was positive he was the most passionate person I had ever met.

The Works was an all-ages club, and packed with people. We maneuvered ourselves to a good spot, then Nate leaned close so I could hear him over the roar of the crowd. "Want a beer?"

"What?" I shouted. Clearly I'd heard him wrong. I thought he'd asked if I wanted a beer.

"A beer!" he repeated. He leaned his head back and mimed tipping a bottle into his mouth. "Want one?"

Ah. So I hadn't heard him wrong. But we were only sixteen. At least I was only sixteen. Maybe he was older than me. Still, no way was he twenty-one. "How?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "Do you want one?"

I'd never had a beer. With the exception of four sips of Manischewitz at last year's Passover Seder, I'd never touched a drop of alcohol. Okay, there was the time Claudia and I were twelve and tried to get smashed on a box of amaretto cordials we'd found deep in the back of her freezer, but I'm pretty sure the all-night giggle fest that followed was more of a sugar rush than anything else.

What if we got caught and arrested for underage drinking? Isn't that the kind of thing that lands on your transcript and keeps you out of college? Nate didn't look worried about that, but maybe Nate wasn't interested in college. Nate did look a little impatient, which meant that I really should answer and soon. Did I want to have a beer?

Big Picture, this seemed to land in the "don't look a gift horse in the mouth" category. After all, I didn't have to actually drink the beer.

"Sure!" I said.

Nate gestured for me to wait where I was. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Claudia, but I thought it would look really lame if he came back before I was done.

I shouldn't have worried. It took him a half hour. By the time he got back, the show was about to start.

"Long line." He handed me a bottle with a lime stuffed in the neck. "Corona okay?"

"My favorite." My favorite? What was I saying? And how did he get the beer? Did he have a fake ID? Did they not card at the bar? Did he have someone else buy it for him? Had anyone else noticed? Were we about to get busted?

Nate pushed his lime all the way into the beer bottle and took a big swig.

What else could I do? I followed suit. I pushed in the lime, tipped the beer into my mouth...

...and nearly snarfed it out my nose.

I didn't realize it would be so bubbly! People don't warn you about these things!

I somehow held back the snarfing reflex, but to avoid a coughing fit, I needed liquid. And the only liquid I had?

I took another sip.

I didn't love the taste. It was a little bitter. But it wasn't awful. It was cold, though, and that felt great; the club was stifling.

I drank some more.

The lights went down and the Ruse took the stage. Nate chugged the rest of his bottle and cheered wildly. As the Ruse started playing and the whole room reverberated with sound, I took another long drink. The stuff wasn't bad once you had enough of it.

Was the room supposed to be swimmy? It wasn't unpleasant or anything, just ... swimmy. And a little fuzzy. And a little...

Wait a minute ... was that Robert Schwarner?

I saw him off in a corner several feet ahead and to the side of me. He was wearing that BeastSlayer cloak and nodding to the music. He turned and saw me with my beer, then lifted his chin and raised his Coke can in a toast.

I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it. When I opened my eyes the crowd had shifted and Robert was gone.

If he had even been there. Maybe the beer was giving me hallucinations. Could beer do that? I didn't think so, but maybe...

I took another long swig. I felt really good. Who cared if everything was swimmy and fuzzy and hallucinatory? I was happy. I was really happy—until I tried to dance. I tripped sideways into a short girl in a low-cut, fitted tank top, and spilled the last of my beer right down her cleavage.

She was not pleased.

"What the hell?" she screamed. "Are you insane?"

"I'm so sorry!"

"Not good enough! This top is new! It's silk!"

The swimminess ended. Everything came into sharp focus as Silk Tank Top grabbed a huge handful of my hair and yanked it—hard. Was she on steroids or something? She was strong! And she wouldn't stop. She just kept pulling and yanking me in crazy-fierce tugs.

"Ow! I'll buy you a new shirt! Just stop!"

Either she didn't hear me or she didn't like the offer, because she kept pulling. She'd buried her other hand in my hair now, too. I was doubled over, staggering through the crowd as I tried to claw her off me.

Finally a bouncer came over. "Hey—break it up or you're both out of here."

The girl finally let go. She flipped me off, then disappeared back into the crowd.

I tenderly put my hand to the back of my head, convinced it would be gushing blood. It wasn't, but I had an unbelievable headache. Each beat of the music made me feel like I was being yanked across the room all over again.

Where was Nate? I didn't see him anywhere. Panic rose in my chest as I struggled to work through the ocean of dancers.

"Nate! Nate!" I cried. It was no use. Unless he was right in front of me, he'd never hear me. Oh God. I'd lost him. I was alone. I had no ride. I'd have to call my parents. How could I call my parents? I'd had alcohol; they'd smell it on my breath. And look at what I was wearing! And look at where I was! I was supposed to be at Claudia's! I couldn't call my parents. I was on my own.

"Nate!" I screamed.

"Hey!" he said.

He was right in front of me. I'd somehow stumbled back to where I'd started.

"Great show, right?" he shouted over the music, then turned back to the stage.

Great show? Did he not know I'd just been wrestled across the room and nearly scalped by a midget with biceps as big as her boobs?

No. Nate had no idea what had happened to me. He was only interested in the music. I may as well not even be here, as far as he was concerned. I felt like an idiot. I never should have come. Nate didn't care about me at all. I should just call a cab and take it to Claudia's. It couldn't cost that much money, could it? Maybe a cab would take a credit card...

I was halfway through approximating the cost of a cab ride from Philadelphia to Yardley when the Ruse swung into their first ballad of the night: a cover of My Chemical Romance's "Disenchanted." Three notes in, Nate sidled behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and leaned his head next to mine.

"It's our song," he murmured into my ear. Then he kissed my neck. My brain melted into nothingness.