Populazzi

Chapter Seventeen



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.

"Nice coat," Nate said as I perched next to him. He had barely looked up from his guitar, but a sly smile played on his face. I was still trying to figure out if he was being genuine or sarcastic, when in a single motion he slid the guitar to his side, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me in for a kiss.

Did I say "a kiss"? That didn't do it justice. Our lips seemed to melt together, and his tongue rolled over mine in a way that made me dizzy.

A beautiful eternity later the kiss ended, but Nate still held me and my blanket of a coat tucked close under one arm. "I had a great time Friday," he said.

"Me too."

Do not ask why he didn't call, I screamed inside my head. Don't do it. Do not ask why he didn't call.

"I was kind of surprised you didn't call, though," I said.

WHY? Why did I say it? No good could come of that statement!

"Whatever," Nate said.

He peeled his arm off me, spun his guitar back around, and started playing.

"Not that I would have answered if you had," I said, trying to dig my way out. That sounded mean, though, so I added, "Not that I wouldn't want to talk to you—it's just that I was away from home and I forgot to pack my phone cord, so I couldn't charge it up after it ran out of power, which it did pretty much right after I saw you..."

What it really came down to was that I couldn't be trusted to function on my own as anything close to a normal human being. Nate hadn't moved since I'd started babbling, but I could feel him pulling further and further away. I thought about Claudia's football players and hot dog eaters and realized I had only one hope to save this encounter.

I let the silence take over for a few minutes as Nate strummed, then casually stepped away from the rock.

"I'm gonna take off," I said. "See you around."

Nate stopped playing. "Why?"

I shrugged, lifted my hand in a bored farewell, and turned back toward the school.

"Wait. Stay," Nate said. "I want to play you something. I wrote it Saturday. I was thinking about you."

Hold up—he wrote a song because he was thinking about me? This was huge! I couldn't show it, though. I folded my arms and silently dared him to impress me.

"I don't have the words yet," he said. "It's just a melody."

He started playing.

It was the most beautiful song I'd ever heard. Of course it was—it was the first song I'd ever had written for me. And writing a song wasn't a quick thing, was it? If he had been thinking of me when he'd written it, he must have been thinking about me a lot. I imagined him sitting in his room, strumming his guitar as he replayed every second of our evening together.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," I told him. I sat next to him on the rock again. "Thank you."

"I meant getting high," he said. "I could tell you really liked it. That's what I was thinking about when I wrote the song: your trip. I've never seen anyone get so high that they couldn' t move. You must have some kind of super-sensitivity. It was incredible, right?"

"It was ... you know." That was the best I could do. Terrifying, horrifying, the-closest-thing-to-being-buried-alive-I-ever-want-to-experience were all more accurate, but I was pretty sure they weren't what Nate wanted to hear.

"Yeah, I know." He smiled.

He started playing again, and I felt so sad for him, because I got it. Of course being so overcome by pot that you couldn't function sounded like heaven. Look what he had to deal with when he functioned. This was the perfect time to start helping him, to talk about everything he was masking with his DangerZone persona.

I put an understanding hand on his thigh. "You know," I said gently, "I've been thinking about your mo—"

"Shhh," he said. "This is my favorite part."

Nate shushed me. I had never been shushed by anyone but Karl. Was he shushing me because he knew what I was going to say, or was he really just that into his song?

I wasn't sure, but I shushed. When he finished the song, the bell rang.

"I'll be here tomorrow," he said. It was his usual line, but I thought I picked up something else in it this time. Like he knew he'd see me tomorrow and was looking forward to it.

"Actually," I said, "I thought maybe we could study together after school. You know, with finals next week and all."

This was off-script. I had a feeling it might be a little aggressive for Claudia's taste, but I couldn't help it. If Nate and I were going to be together, I wanted more of him. I wanted to get to that easy place I'd had with ... well, with Archer. Except it would be better with Nate, because Nate was attracted to me. He and I would have something deeper than Archer and I ever could.

"Sure," Nate said. "You know the place. Come by after school."

I was a little worried when I called Claudia on the way to Nate's place. She wasn't one to hold back when she disapproved. She surprised me, though: she didn't seem bothered by the plan.

"It's so beautiful," she said, sniffing back fake tears. "Baby's First Booty Call."

"Shut up! I'm going there to study!"

I was not going there to study. I had all my studying props: texts, notebooks, a six-pack of Diet Coke, and my iPod with the noise-canceling headphones. With a stash like that, I could spend a whole night studying.

But I wouldn't.

I pictured Nate and me in his room, all our books and papers spread out in front of us. Nate would sneak looks at me while we pored over the books. I'd feel his eyes on me and smile up at him with a coy "What?"

Then he'd pounce. And though there was something cinematic about us rolling around on all our books and notes, I did still need them to study, so maybe we'd push them out of the way first. We wouldn't go crazy far. We'd just make out until at some point we'd get tired or need a break to breathe. Then I'd lie in Nate's arms, he'd play with my hair ... and he'd start talking.

He'd open up about what he was really feeling: his anger, his hurt, his fear—he had to be terrified all the time. What if his dad left for good? What if his mom never woke up? What if she did but she wasn't the same? What if she didn't recognize him or Thackery—and what if his dad left for good then?

By the time I pulled up to the mansion, I was practically in tears; I was so full with Nate's pain. I almost expected him to read it on my face and dive into my arms, crying tears of relief and joy because someone finally understood.

Instead he opened the door and blew a cloud of smoke in my face.

"Sorry. I was gonna wait for you, but you know..." As his voice trailed off, he gestured to my overstuffed messenger bag. "What's that?"

I was still blinking my way out of the smoky haze. "Books, soda, music: study stuff."

"Right. Study stuff. Let's leave that right here." He eased the bag off my shoulder, then leaned his body against mine and kissed me, long and deep. I didn't like the taste of the smoke clinging to his mouth, and I almost pulled away, but then I felt a bulge in his jeans pressing into my hips.

Whoa.

It actually took me a second to realize what it was. I mean, I knew that's what happens when guys get excited, but only in an intellectual way, not an is-that-a-Maglite-in-your-pocket-or-are-you-just-glad-to-see-me way.

The bulge was flattering, right? It meant he really liked me. I just worried that it was poking me with an expectation I wouldn't be able to fulfill.

Then Nate kissed my neck ... and my ear ... and then came back to my lips, and I stopped worrying. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my body into his and knew I'd be blissfully happy if we never moved from this spot and just stood here making out, not two inches from the front door.

Nate pulled his lips from mine and stared into my eyes. "I want to introduce you to someone," he said.

I froze. Was it his dad? Was his dad right there in the next room while Nate and I devoured each other in the doorway?

But wait—Nate had been smoking when he'd answered the door. Was his dad okay with that? Maybe he was. Maybe a man who cheated on his comatose wife and pretty much abandoned his kids didn't live by a whole lot of rules.

Nate took my hand and led me to a long table. On it sat a large, beautiful, light purple glass tube.

"Tonight we blaze with Purple Haze," he said. "Watch and learn."

Ah. "Purple Haze" was a bong—a bong with a name. I watched as he lit it, then sucked on the top of the tube. The water inside gurgled. The whole thing looked and sounded ridiculous, but I wouldn't let myself laugh.

With his eyes closed, Nate gently pulled away from the bong, held his breath ... then slowly blew another plume of smoke into my face. "Sweet," he said. He offered me the bong. "It's easy."

I didn't doubt it was easy, but it wasn't tempting. Not after Friday night's paralysis party.

"I'm gonna pass," I said.

"Why?"

"No reason. I'm just ... not that into it."

"But Cara, you get so high. That's a gift. Wasting that, that's like ... like Superman saying he doesn't want to fly."

Sorry.

I worried this would be the end of the date, but Nate shrugged it off.

"Come on," he said.

He grabbed the bong and led the way to his room. He plopped on his bed, turned on the music and the screen saver, and gently placed Purple Haze on his night table. "We'll leave her here in case you change your mind."

I made a mental note to tell Claudia the bong had both a name and a gender.

Nate pulled me down next to him and kissed me, then pulled away, laughing.

Laughing?

"What? What did I do?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was just remembering you from last time. You just ... stopped. And your face: total perma-grin. You really couldn't move at all?"

Seriously? Were we seriously still talking about this? Did we seriously stop kissing to talk about this?

"No," I said. "I couldn't move at all."

"A baked coma," he said dreamily.

Coma? Did he say "coma"? My next words were vital. I wanted him to know I understood what he meant, that he could tell me even more and I'd be there for him. But I had a feeling that if I pushed, he'd stop talking.

"Yeah," I said, trying to echo his dreaminess. "Maybe if that's what it's like, it's not so bad."

It was a ridiculous thing to say, especially since the coma experience for me had been hell on earth. But I figured it would make sense to Nate, and maybe give him a little comfort.

"Cooooh ... ma," Nate singsonged. "Koooooh ... na. Coooooh ... la." He laughed, then rolled to face me and look me up and down. "Nice pocket," he said, his fingers reaching out to touch the chain trim on my shirt. "Can I try it?"

I wanted to steer the conversation back to his mom, but the next second he had slipped two fingers into the pocket and I gasped. Nate smiled and pulled me in for another kiss. This time he didn't laugh.





"Oh my God, Claudia—I think I'm a nymphomaniac!" It was an hour later and I was in the car, incinerating the speed limit to hit Wegmans and still get home in time for dinner.

"Don't you have to 'nymph' before you can be maniacal about it?"

"Define 'nymph,'" I hedged.

"You had sex with him?"

"Nooooo," I said, clearly implying more to the story.

"Were you naked?"

"Not entirely ..."

"You whoreson trollop!" Claudia crowed.

"I know! I know! It's crazy! He just looks at me in this way ... this 'You Are the Most Gorgeous Creature Alive and I Want to Devour You' way ... and my brain melts. Gone. Completely. Claude, if I hadn't had to get home, he could've gone further. I don't think I would've stopped him."

"You wouldn't have had sex with him." It was a statement, not a question.

"No!" I said. "I mean, unless maybe he had something ... you know, like a condom..."

"Cara!" Claudia cried.

"I know! And it's not like I'm in love with him! What is wrong with me?"