Populazzi

Chapter Twenty-Eight



"Oh my God, it's Titus Andronicus. Don't eat anything she cooks in The Hole; it'll be made from the bodies of the scratched-out List girls."

I was on my way home from Trista's, and I'd just told Claudia about the shoulder-digging moment.

"I know!" I said. "But she was only like that for the one second. The rest of the time was amazing. And I'm kind of okay with the threatdown thing. It's like the Mafia: I'm family now, so I need to remember who's Boss. It's weirdly cool."

"How are you getting the ID money?"

Claudia so knew my life. I've never had a job. Karl believed the school year was better spent studying. During summer vacations, he felt volunteering at the animal shelter, taking creative writing courses, and traveling with the family would look better on my Northwestern application and give me more personal essay material than slinging popcorn at the movies or waiting tables.

The only downside to this was that I never had more than about twenty dollars in cash. It hadn't been a problem before: Mom and Karl always gave me what I needed; I just had to ask for it first. Call me crazy, but I had a feeling that asking for fake ID money wouldn't go over well. I could lie, but it had to be a lie where the only answer was a hundred dollars in cash. If they told me to put whatever it was on my credit card, I was sunk.

Luckily, I had thought this through before Claudia asked.

"Only answer: Mom's stash."

"My thoughts exactly."

Mom had no idea I even knew about her stash. She kept it balled up in an old lopsided ceramic cookie jar I'd made for her in third grade and which now sat on a high shelf in the back of her closet. The stash was a huge wad of hundred-dollar bills, which she'd secretly peeled off Karl's casino winnings. Mom didn't need the money; she and Karl had a joint account. Claudia and I figured she tucked it away so she could feel a little bit independent.

We'd raided the stash before. Never more than one bill, and only for really important things, like the matching birthstone necklaces we once got for each other at the exact midpoint between our two summer birthdays. Mom never noticed. The wad was big enough that a single hundred here or there made no difference. She wouldn't miss the one I'd use for the fake ID.

The next day at school I was a wreck. Not about the money and the ID—I was petrified about the Populazzi girls coming over. I'd asked Mom and Karl about it at dinner the night before, and they'd agreed immediately. The mere mention of Trista appearing on our doorstep was enough to get Karl to toss aside his newspaper for the rest of the meal. Mom was just as excited and grilled me about delicacies Trista, Kristie, and Renee would most enjoy.

I suppose I should have been happy about their enthusiasm, but it only made me more nervous. Honestly, I didn't know what worried me more: super-rich Trista's horror at our average-size lifestyle or Karl finding some fatal flaw in one of the girls that would make him ban them from my presence.

I should have had more confidence in Trista. She spent all our free time that day pumping me for added information about Mom and Karl. Thus armed, Trista, Kristie, and Ree-Ree made it impossible for my parents not to fall even more in love with them. First they hung out with Mom in the kitchen. Mom was making her signature turkey chili, and Kristie dove in to help, chatting about her own favorite "cold-weather recipes" while gushing over the genius of Mom's.

"This recipe actually reminds me of one of my favorite chefs," Kristie said. "Have you ever heard of Cat Cora?"

"Are you kidding?" my mom asked. "Here, I want to show you something."

Mom flung open the cabinet in which she kept all her cookbooks and pulled out everything Cat Cora had ever written. Of course, I'd already told Kristie Mom had those books, just like I'd told her Cat Cora was mom's culinary role model and the main reason she never missed an episode of Iron Chef America. Yet Kristie's interest had sounded so genuine, Mom didn't question it.

"I've been to her restaurant at Disney World," Ree-Ree said as she and Trista bustled to set the perfect table, which was arranged around a beautiful floral centerpiece they'd brought along themselves.

Ree-Ree had never been to Disney World. With the exception of a few vacations with Trista's family, Ree-Ree had never left the tri-state area.

"Oh, Kouzzina! I've been dying to go there!" Mom said. "How did you like the food?"

Ree-Ree wasn't much of a student, but she'd clearly studied the restaurant review Trista had e-mailed her. She didn't miss a beat discussing its ins and outs.

Mom could have spoken to the Populazzi all night, but the moment Karl came downstairs for dinner, my brilliant friends turned all their attention to him. Kristie asked a million questions about Northwestern, which she and Trista both said they'd decided was their first-choice college. Ree-Ree told story after story about her grandfather, whose high-roller exploits at the Atlantic City blackjack tables were legendary. Trista commiserated about the Philadelphia Eagles' devastating Super Bowl loss and discussed exactly what "their" team needed to do to get back on its feet.

I was in awe. By the time they left and Trista gave me a final wink, Karl would have been more than happy to let me move in with any of them.

"I am very impressed, Cara," he said. "I like your new friends quite a bit. You're an excellent judge of character."

Actually, Trista was the excellent judge of Mom's and Karl's characters, but it netted out to the same thing: total freedom. I went right to Trista's every day after school. On Friday, I brought an overnight bag—I'd be staying for the whole weekend. Kristie and Ree-Ree were, too. They almost always did on weekends. Now I'd have the same regular routine.

We didn't do anything special on Friday. Since we didn't have to drive, Trista made all kinds of concoctions in The Hole and we drank them up. They tasted much better than either the beer or the champagne I'd tried. Trista used so much juice that everything was fruity and delicious. I wouldn't have even known I was drinking alcohol until everything got so swimmy that I had to lie on a beanbag and wait for the room to stop spinning. It wasn't a horrible feeling, though—as long as I didn't try to stand up, I could still laugh and have fun.

Saturday we didn't wake up until the middle of the afternoon. I'd never slept in like that unless I'd had a high fever. I did have a little headache but nothing too terrible. Trista hadn't let me go to bed before I'd had a full bottle of water and a couple Tylenol: hangover protection, she'd said.

We were all starving, so Trista called over to the main house and begged the housekeeper to make and bring over mass quantities of pancakes, bacon, and coffee. At three in the afternoon, the four of us were sprawled out all over The Hang, still in our pajamas and stuffing ourselves with piles of greasy, salty, syrupy deliciousness as we laughed and watched lame shows on TV. It was the first time I felt completely relaxed and at home with the Populazzi. As if they really were my sisters.

We got dressed and lazed around for several more hours, until it was time to get ready to go out. Saturday night was club night. Trista had been right: my fake ID had taken no time at all to arrive. I'd had it sent to Trista's house. Just before I'd ordered it, I realized my parents would attack any nondescript envelope addressed to me. Even though we were on good terms now, they'd still either open it or assume it was junk mail and shred it. When I explained the situation to Trista, she said her parents wouldn't even see the envelope. The housekeepers sorted anything addressed to Trista out of the family mail right away and delivered it to her little house.

The first time I saw the ID, I was shocked by how perfect it looked. I held it up next to my real license, searching for inconsistencies. If anything, my fake ID looked better, since I'd uploaded a slightly nicer picture. Not too nice, though, since Trista had said that could make bouncers suspicious.

The guys were supposed to meet us before we all went out, but Trista wouldn't even let them on the property until we were all ready and looked good enough to pass her inspection.

Per her request, I'd brought several options so she could choose my outfit for the night. I laid them all out on her bed: the best of my new casual chic options plus a few cute dresses that I loved.

Trista looked concerned. "Hmm."

"What? You liked those, remember? You picked them out."

"I like them for school. We're going clubbing."

"How about this?" I asked, fingering my favorite dress. "It looks really cute on."

"Try it."

I changed into the dress and spun around for Trista, Ree-Ree, and Kristie.

"It's okay," Ree-Ree said.

"It's cute!" That was from Kristie.

"It is cute," Trista said. "But you want to look hot. Let me see what I've got."

She rummaged through her closet and came out with a handful of options. As I took off my dress to change into the first one, Trista stopped me.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute: bra check."

"Bra check?" I asked. I was wearing my best white silky bra, the same one I'd worn for my ill-fated attempted makeout session with Archer. I'd put it on specifically for the occasion.

"You definitely need a better bra."

I looked at myself in the mirror. "What's wrong with my bra?"

"It's just sitting there. It's not doing anything."

I had no idea my bra was supposed to have skills. "What exactly is it supposed to do?"

"Check it out." Trista peeled off her shirt to reveal a skin-tone lacy bra. "See what this is doing? It has structure. It's pushing me up and in and giving me shape. Free-floating boobs are great when you're naked, but under clothes you need structure. What are you, B-cup?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so. Rees and I are Cs. Kristie, do you have another bra here?"

"Sure." Kristie pulled one out of her overnight bag and handed it to Trista. It was pretty, but at the same time it was far thicker and more substantial than any bra I owned. It almost looked like it could stand up by itself.

"Perfect," Trista said. She held it up to show me. "See this? Pushup and padded. This will do something for you. Put it on."

I did, then Trista had me reach into each cup and scoop the boob so it sat the right way on the padding. She tightened the straps a little, then broke into a huge smile.

"See? Two-second boob job—you look amazing!"

She spun me back to the mirror.

"Oh my God..." Trista was right. Just like that, my boobs were a cup size bigger, or at least they looked it. I even had cleavage. I turned side to side, catching the look from every angle. "This is ... wow!"

"Exactly. Now wait till you see how good they look under the right dress."

Trista had me go through several options from her closet. Finally I tried on a flirty blue babydoll with matching heels, and Ree-Ree and Kristie burst into applause. I spun in front of the mirror. I couldn't stop staring: I looked curvy and sexy and fabulous. Trista's one remaining concern was my undies— they showed panty lines. Luckily she had several brand-new, tag-still-on thongs, so I changed into one of those.

Perfect.

"Now, ready for hair and makeup?" Trista asked.

I'd assumed I'd do my hair and makeup the Trista-influenced way I'd been doing for school, but apparently not. Trista worked on both for me, talking me through every step so I could do it next time on my own. By the time she was done I looked amazing—and about five years older than I actually was.

The guys must have called three times while she was getting me ready, and three more while she did up herself. I apologized for slowing everyone down, but Trista wouldn't hear it.

"You have to stop thinking that way, Cara," she said. "You're worth the time. We all are."

She said it as though it were obvious, but the words startled me. I had always been taught that making someone wait—especially making Karl wait—was the ultimate sign of disrespect. But maybe that wasn't always true. Maybe I was worth the time.

I took a deep breath and stopped stressing about the clock. I felt incredibly grateful to be under Trista's wing.

When we were all ready, I kept staring at the four of us in the mirror. I remembered seeing these girls hanging out in their tree, as the p-ssy Posse at Halloween, and on the dance floor at Eddie's party. They had seemed like another species then, beautiful creatures far outside my reality. But if anyone looked at us now, they'd have no idea I was new to the group. I fit in perfectly.

I couldn't wait for Eddie to see me. It was funny: we'd been a couple for a while now, but we really hadn't been that involved in each other's lives. We hung out at lunch and in The Heap, but after school he had practice, and weekends had been out since I'd been grounded, so we didn't see each other that much. And he wasn't big on e-mail and Facebook like the girls, so we didn't talk a lot either.

That was okay—it had given me time to cement my place in the group. Now Eddie and I could start having a normal relationship, and it would begin the minute he saw me in my perfect outfit.

I was sure it would be like in a cartoon, where his tongue would pop out of his mouth and roll onto the floor. These were pretty much Brett's, Marsh's, and Eric's reactions when they saw their girlfriends. They all immediately took the girls into their arms, kissing and ogling them as if they couldn't get enough.

Eddie was the last one to get to Trista's. "He has to get all dolled up," Marsh explained, which I didn't realize was a joke until Eddie came in wearing the same thing he always wore: jeans and a T-shirt. Today's tee was black and white, which I supposed made it formal. It featured two braces-wearing penguins who had kissed and stuck together, and the caption read COLD FUSION. In deference to going out, he'd tossed a casual blazer over the ensemble.

I didn't care. Guys could get away with that kind of thing. Besides, the more dressed down he was, the more I'd stand out next to him.

"Save the beerst for last," he said, mitigating his late arrival with a six-pack he'd pulled from his fridge at home. The guys pounced on it.

I'd been standing back in the shadows. I wanted to make a moment out of Eddie seeing me. My heart was pounding. It felt like stage fright. For the first time ever, I was playing the role of hot girl, and I was about to step out of the wings.

I walked toward Eddie, a shy smile on my face. "Hey."

Eddie looked me up and down. I waited for his reaction. I could barely stand it. Finally he smiled. "You fit right in."

I practically jumped up and down. He'd hit it exactly. It was just what I'd been thinking myself. I thought he'd kiss me, but instead he gave a roar and darted behind me, grabbed my waist, and plopped us both down into a beanbag chair. I squealed happily. It wasn't exactly the reaction I'd expected, but maybe Eddie wasn't as comfortable as the other guys with a lot of kissing in public. Besides, I was still in his arms, so I was good.

The limo came about a half hour later. The guys grabbed their beers, we girls each grabbed a freshly Trista-made cocktail, and we piled in. Trista wasn't trying to be ostentatious with the limo. Her parents required it. They knew we'd drink, and they didn't want any of us even to think about driving.

During the ride, Trista told me the key to getting into clubs without getting carded was confidence. "That, and looking CHIW, which we do."

I believed her, but when we actually got out of the car, I was glad we'd been drinking. The now-familiar fuzziness would make it easier to act confident and unafraid as I actively tried to break the law and walk into a twenty-one-and-over dance club.

There was a huge line to get inside, but Trista strode right to the front, Kristie, Ree-Ree, and I at her heels. The guys hung behind. Trista called the bouncer by name and gave him a close hug and major eyeful of her cleavage. Then she and the girls chatted with him like old friends.

"And this"—Trista put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me forward—"is Cara."

The bouncer slowly ran his eyes over my body. If I hadn't been tipsy it might have made me uncomfortable, but instead I stared right back at him. He was mountainously tall and muscular, but he was cute. And young. Could he have been in college? From movies and things, I imagined bouncers to be older, unsmiling, and intimidating, but he wasn't that at all.

"Cara, huh," he said. "Do you care-a if I stare-a?"

I burst out laughing. Had he really just said that? I imagined telling Claudia about it and laughed even harder. But then I heard Trista clear her throat and realized I wasn't exactly being alluring and flirtatious. I pulled it together as best I could and looked up at the bouncer with what I hoped seemed like genuine admiration. "You are so funny!"

As I said it, I placed my hand on his chest. It was a lot like leaning against a wall. A really fuzzy wall. What was his blazer made of? I started rubbing it. "You guys, you have to touch his jacket—it's so soft."

Trista, Ree-Ree, and Kristie joined me in petting the bouncer's chest. We all agreed the material felt insanely good.

"I love it," I said. "I just want to cuddle up with it."

I blushed when I realized how that sounded, but the bouncer only smiled. "I like your new friend," he told Trista. "You guys can go inside."

He gave me a wink, and I wondered if Eddie would get jealous.

Trista linked her arm through mine. "Impressive," she said as we made our way to the door. "You had me worried for a minute, but you pulled it off. You're a natural."

Nothing felt better than a Trista compliment. I practically floated into the club.

Clubbing with the Populazzi was a million times different from going to the Works with Nate. Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and I all danced together, losing ourselves in the beat and the flashing lights. Marsh loved to dance and was almost always out there with us. The other guys floated in and out, sometimes dancing, other times watching from the bar.

We kept ordering drinks, but I was sure I was sweating out the alcohol as fast as I was drinking it. My fuzziness never grew. I felt just soft enough at the edges not to worry about how I looked and let my body move any way the music pushed it.

We stayed until the club closed. We were all starving afterward, so we had the limo stop at Denny's for a late-night breakfast. It was almost five in the morning when we got back to Trista's, so of course we were all staying over.

The Hang was too small to offer any real privacy, but we did the best we could. Trista and Brett got the bed and buried themselves in a sea of covers. Kristie and Eric pulled several oversize pillows and their sleeping bags into the closet and blocked the entrance with beanbag chairs. Ree-Ree and Marsh ducked under a heap of blankets in the middle of the floor.

I gave Eddie a nervous smile. I was suddenly very aware that even though we were surrounded by people, this was really the first time we'd been alone since that night at his party.

"I have an idea," he said. He opened the narrow linen closet by the bathroom and pulled down the last of Trista's blankets, then took them out to the patio, where he piled them onto a double chaise. It was freezing, but Eddie turned on the outdoor heaters and crawled under the blankets. I was so cold, I didn't even feel self-conscious about cuddling tightly against Eddie. He put his arms around me and I rested my head on his chest, my leg thrown over his. We were a little island of warmth in the middle of the tundra.

I enjoyed the coziness for a minute, then picked up my head and scooted higher on the chaise to look Eddie in the eye. "I had a great time tonight," I said.

"I'm glad."

He kissed me then—a long, sweet kiss that warmed me even more. I leaned in for another ... but Eddie's mouth opened in a huge yawn.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm what they call a sleepy drunk. Promise you won't hate me if I crash out?"

"I promise." I even crossed my heart. I guessed I was what they call a dorky drunk.

"Great." Eddie kissed my nose, and then he lay back and guided me into cuddle position.

"Mmm, my spot," I said, claiming his chest as my pillow. I could feel him laugh for a second, and then his breath came long and slow.

He was asleep.

I looked out over Trista's yard. Beyond the strings of white lights, everything was cloaked in blackness. I couldn't believe my life. I had spent the whole night dancing with my friends, and I was about to go to sleep cuddled up with my boyfriend. Just before I closed my eyes I saw little flakes dancing in the glow of the Christmas lights. I almost giggled. It was too perfect—I was living in a snow globe.

I snuggled even closer to Eddie and fell asleep.

I woke up to the sun blasting through my eyelids. Eddie was still out, so I gently untangled myself from him. My hot-girl dress felt weird and sticky on my body after sleeping in it, and while Kristie's brilliant bra had been my best friend the night before, it now felt stiff and confining.

I slipped inside The Hang, which was all but silent. Trista and Brett were asleep on the bed, and I felt weirdly like a kid sneaking through her parents' bedroom. There was no way I could stay here without waking everyone, and I didn't feel comfortable roaming around Trista's property by myself. I figured I'd go home. I ducked into the bathroom to quietly wash up and change. I tiptoed around the blanket pile that was Marsh and Ree-Ree as I gathered the rest of my things, and then I wrote Trista a note to thank her and took off out the door. I shot Eddie a quick text as I waited for my car to warm up, so he didn't think I left because anything was wrong.

Over the next week, Trista helped make sure I wouldn't ever get caught again without the proper clubbing attire. We hit Forever 21 and Victoria's Secret to get me a few choice dresses, bras, and thongs. And though Trista was insane-o rich, she was all about a bargain. I spent barely any money, so there wouldn't be any credit card issues.

Two Saturdays later I experienced my first Populazzi holiday: Valentine's Day. I'd never had a boyfriend for Valentine's Day, and I was racking my brain about what to get him, but Trista said there was only one acceptable V-Day gift: lingerie.

"You really think Eddie would look good in lingerie?" I asked.

I was joking, but Trista didn't get it. She looked at me as if I was hopeless. "The lingerie is for you. We'll all go shopping together this week to get it."

She didn't mention where we'd go, a fact Claudia seized on. She was convinced Trista would take us to some crazy-exotic sex shop filled with weird paraphernalia. Every time we spoke, Claude tortured me with more bizarre details of the imagined den of iniquity, and there was no way I was going to be able to handle the outing without turning bright red and hyperventilating over the idea that someone might see me. I didn't even want to think about what I'd do if I had to use my credit card.

"What," Claudia said, "you don't think Karl would be cool with a charge from Priscilla's Passion Pit?"

"Stop."

"How about Lolita's Love Loft?"

"That's it. I'm not going."

"Sexistentialism?"

"No. There's no ... Okay, if it was actually called Sexisten-tialism I might have to go inside."

As it turned out, I didn't have to worry. Trista took us back to Victoria's Secret, a place I could enter without a qualm and which would look totally acceptable on a credit card statement. I did feel weird going to the "sexy" section of the store, flipping through filmy, lacy things that required far more confidence and cup size than I actually had.

I couldn't even begin to choose anything to try on, but luckily I didn't have to—what Trista pulled for me was perfect. It was more like a slip than anything hard-core, with thin shoulder straps, a lacy top, and a mesh skirt that came down to the tops of my thighs. It was red, so the mesh was a little see-through, but not so much that it would be embarrassing. It was tasteful and cute—I actually thought I looked pretty in it. Trista and Kristie picked out beautiful and tasteful things as well. Ree-Ree's ... I saw it on the hanger and wondered if they were selling it to wear or to use for cat's cradle. For Ree-Ree it was perfect.

On Valentine's night, we made the guys wait outside until we were ready to reveal our presents. We actually made them wait an extra ten minutes after that. I thought that was a little mean given the freezing weather, but Trista said it built "delicious anticipation."

Finally, Trista had me unlock the door, but I didn't open it. I ducked into the bathroom with the other girls, and then Trista yelled for the guys to come in. Only when they'd shut the door and taken seats did Trista hit the remote to turn on music so we could strut our lingerie-clad selves into the room.

The guys loved it. They hooted and catcalled like wild, Eddie as loud as any of them. The whole night, it seemed as if Eddie couldn't take his eyes or hands off me. He stared at me, whatever I did. When I sat in his lap while we all played drinking games, he kept running his hands up and down my little slip.

The attention made me feel beautiful and sexy ... but also a little scared. Eddie and I had been pretty tame in our makeout sessions so far. I knew even Kristie was doing a lot more. I wondered if he'd take the lingerie fashion show as an invitation to go a little further. Not that a little further was a problem, but a lot further might be. Eddie and I hadn't talked about whether or not he was a virgin. Things might be on the table for him that weren't at all for me.

When we eventually made it out to our chaise and started kissing, it kept nagging at me. Part of me wanted to say something, but stopping a perfectly wonderful makeout session to define things that might not even need defining seemed like the worst turnoff in the world. I did not want to turn Eddie off. But wouldn't stopping things when we were actually getting close to doing something I didn't want to do be even more of a turnoff?

"Eddie," I finally said between kisses.

"What's up?"

"I just want to make sure ... I mean, I don't know how ... how far you wanted to go, but..."

Ugh. I looked away. Was it possible to be any lamer? I didn't think so. I was sure I'd turned as red as my slip.

Yet as my mind raced through ways to convince Eddie not to break up with me, he put his fingers under my chin and tilted my face to his. "Hey ... it's okay. I like you. For real. That's why I want to go nice and slow, okay?"

Relief flooded through me. "Perfect," I said. And I was so happy that I practically tackled him to get back to the kissing, which we did for most of the night before we fell asleep in each other's arms. After the sexual hyperspeed of Nate, it was wonderful to be with a guy who wanted to take things slowly. It meant things with Eddie could stay more innocent and romantic, which I loved.

Back when I was grounded, I'd felt as though I was living only during the week, when I escaped to school. Now that I was a full-time member of the Populazzi, it was the opposite—I lived weekend to weekend. That was when everything important happened. The weekdays were all about planning to make those weekends great. I knew my schoolwork was suffering—I didn't have as much time to study. I supposed there'd be consequences when Mom and Karl got my next report card, but that was ages away.

In the meantime, I had something more pressing to think about: next weekend's winter formal. It would be the first school dance I'd ever attend with a date on my arm. Gemma would still be out of town, but Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and I had an endless list of things to do to prepare: hair appointments, mani-pedis, dress hunting ... Trista even wanted to decorate The Hang with a wintery theme, just to keep the mood going when we all went back to her place after the dance. I was in fact brainstorming ideas to enhance that very project ... when out of nowhere, in the middle of English class, I was brutally ambushed and put on trial.