Populazzi

Chapter Thirty-Seven



I couldn't believe my first year at Chrysella was almost over. The next week was finals, and I again studied like crazy to try to make up for the damage I'd done to my GPA. I only had to go in for the actual tests, so there wasn't a lot of time for me to be harassed. My locker still seemed to be a diaper magnet, but I hoped summer vacation might change that.

When I was at school, I hung out with Robert Schwarner and Gabe Friedman. Gabe hadn't been keen on the idea at first, but he'd relented when I asked him to teach me his broadsword moves. I hadn't asked him just to be nice. I actually thought they were cool and I wanted to learn. Claudia was amused that I seemed to have found the Happy in the Happy Hopeless.

"Happy" was kind of a stretch for me. Claudia and I were talking constantly the way we used to, but it was different. Karl still wasn't acknowledging me, and I didn't know how long it would last. Mom was speaking to me again, but something fundamental had changed.

Life was supposed to change, I knew that. But this felt off. Like I'd gotten lost somewhere and was still navigating through weird back roads to try to get to the main drag. It had been a long time since I'd made decisions based on instinct, without any angle or strategy, but I was trying to do that now. I tried to really pay attention and be honest with myself. It seemed like it should be simple ... but it was incredibly hard.

The week of the junior prom, I almost expected Robert or Gabe to ask me. Not as a romantic thing. I imagined they'd want to go as a three-person unit: the Fellowship of the Prom. I probably would have said yes. It would have been fun with them ... maybe. Even though I'd feel like I was swallowing glass every time I saw Archer and Sue together.

Turned out Robert and Gabe had long-standing plans for prom night: all six Star Wars movies, in order, back to back. I was invited to join, but they weren't starting the movies until six p.m. That meant they wouldn't get to the three I liked until after midnight, and I had an eleven o'clock curfew. A self-imposed curfew, actually. It felt important to show Mom and Karl I could be disciplined and responsible on my own.

I thought about Archer a lot that week. I only saw him briefly, at the English exam, but that was on purpose. I came in at the last second and left with time to spare, so there was no chance to talk. Not that I imagined he wanted to talk, but I didn't want to take the chance.

Of everything I lost, Archer hurt the most. At least Claudia, Karl, and my mom were still in my life. But with Archer ... now that I was being honest with myself, I wasn't sure I could ever be friends with him. It just hurt too much.

Still, I couldn't help checking up on him. I'd go to his Facebook page and read his posts. They were all about prom. He was taking Sue, of course, and kept trolling for advice. Should the corsage match or complement the girl's dress? Should a good boyfriend open the limo door or let the driver do it? Was it okay to keep his date to himself all night, or was it good manners to let other guys dance with her? He was clearly nervous. It was sweet. My heart broke that he wasn't asking all those questions about me, but I was happy for him.

The Saturday morning of prom, I still hadn't decided what I was going to do. I felt like I had to do something. For a while I'd had sleepover plans with Claudia, but she'd canceled. Pennsbrook's junior prom was the same night, and she'd been shocked when a very cute and very shy Cubby Crew guy asked her to be his date. His name was Henry—like King Henry, which only seemed right. Claudia had never noticed Henry before, but now he was all she thought about. She was smitten in a huge way.

"Is it horrible that I'm bailing on our sleepover to go out with Henry?" she asked me.

"You're not just going out with him; you're going to prom with him. It would be horrible if you didn't bail."

I spent Saturday morning on my bike. I hadn't gone for a ride in my new neighborhood since we'd moved from Yardley, and it felt great to stretch and move my body. I rode past my whole year: past Chrysella, past Archer's house, Wegmans, Nate's house, Eddie's and Robert's houses ... I even rode past the turnoff to Trista Way.

I let the year sift through my head as I pedaled. I'd made so many mistakes. I'd hurt so many people, including myself. And yet ... there were good things that had come out of the Ladder, too. I would never have gotten close to Archer without it. Much as losing him hurt, I wouldn't trade the time we'd had for anything. I loved most of the songs I'd studied to attract Nate and still listened to them all the time. I'd started a new relationship with my dad because of the Ladder, and even though it was demolished right now, he was my dad: one day we'd pick it back up. Probably he'd be the one to make me cry about what I'd done, then maybe we'd be okay. I'd even learned things from Trista that I still used. When it came to clothes and makeup, and caring about myself enough to look my best, she'd been like a big sister to me.

If I really could go back and undo all that, would I?

Maybe I would—probably I would. The bad stuff was still pretty awful. But if I did, I'd lose a lot of things that were now part of who I was.

The year had happened. I couldn't erase it, so I had to embrace it. Celebrate it, even.

And all of a sudden I knew exactly how I wanted to do that. I pedaled hard to get home as quickly as possible. I showered, put on makeup, grabbed my purse, gave a little pat to the mini Liberty Bell on my night table, and started out the door ... but something didn't feel right. I felt like I should share the moment with the world, or at least whatever part of the world happened to be paying attention.

I went to my Facebook page. Mine, not Cara Leonard Is a Great Big Whore, which had grown a life of its own and expanded to comment on other "whores" at schools around the country and the world. Quite a legacy I was leaving.

I filled out my status: "Seeking the symbol of my independence. Happy prom night, everyone. "

I hit Update and watched the message appear on my wall. Much better. Now I could leave.

By the time I drove downtown and parked my car, it was almost four p.m. I got lucky: there was one available ticket for the next tour of Independence Hall. I grabbed it. It hadn't changed in the four years since I'd been there last. That shouldn't have been surprising: it had barely changed in the two hundred fifty years before that. I guess since I felt so different from the person I'd been back then, part of me assumed everything else in the universe would have changed, too.

After the tour, I went to the Liberty Bell Center and stared at the enormous version of the bell I looked at every day. It was stunning in person: strong, beautiful, and powerful ... but scarred. Yet without its crack, it would only be a bell. My own scars might not be as visible, but they were just as integral to the person I'd become. The only big difference between us was that even cracked, I still felt like I could ring.

That, and it was a centuries-old piece of molded metal, while I was a human being. But I was waxing philosophical. I let it go.

I stayed with the Liberty Bell until closing time, then walked to my next stop: the Bourse for a nutritious dinner of a soft pretzel and soft-serve chocolate ice cream, excellent for dipping. I also grabbed a pack of Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes for later, then went searching for the perfect table.

That's when I saw him. His back was to me. Black hair cut bluntly at the nape of his neck, the polo shirt, the Gatsby hat.

I briefly wondered if Archer had a twin who'd been given up for adoption, only to be discovered by me right here and now.

No, it was Archer—which seemed even more impossible. I moved closer to his table and saw him dip a french fry into a chocolate milk shake, then plop it into his mouth.

Now that was impossible.

I set my tray next to him at the table. He didn't look at me, just sat there dipping fries.

"You're committing a crime against food," I said, taking a seat. "You're lucky I don't report you to the Hague."

"You wouldn't get out the first word. You're Public Enemy Number One in the Food Crimes division. They'd give you thirty lashes with a licorice whip before you even opened your mouth." Archer nodded to his shake and fries. "This is really very good. You should try it sometime." Then he frowned at my tray. "You're not going to defile that soft pretzel, are you?"

I broke off a piece of pretzel and dipped it. Delicious.

"No," Archer said. "That's not just a crime against food; that's a specific crime against Philadelphia. You can be deported to Jersey for that."

I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. I must have fallen asleep after the bike ride and only imagined my whole trip to Philly, because there was no way Archer and I would be here together, talking and laughing like the past six months had never happened. I didn't know if that could ever happen, but it certainly wouldn't be happening tonight.

"How are you even here?" I asked him.

"Let's see ... my mom and dad met in New York, many years ago—"

"Archer ... it's prom night. You're going to the prom. It starts in an hour."

"It does start in an hour, but I can't go without a date. I mean, I could go, but it's not generally done."

"You have a date. You're going with Sue. You got her a corsage that complements her dress, you're letting the limo driver open the door for you, and you're letting her dance up to half the dances with guys you know are just friends."

"You've been reading my Facebook page."

I blushed. "Maybe."

Archer dipped another french fry. "Sue broke up with me. She saw me carrying around this Ping-Pong paddle and got upset because she thought it meant I'd rather be with somebody else."

My heart started thumping wildly, but I somehow managed to sound calm. "A Ping-Pong paddle? That is a strange thing to carry around."

"Not when you're as good a Ping-Pong player as I am."

"Of course."

"So this Ping-Pong paddle," Archer continued, "it was pretty unique. It had a message written on it. It said, 'I hate horror movies.'"

"Curiouser and curiouser."

"Exactly. But the person who gave it to me had asked me to watch a horror movie with her."

"Weird. Was the movie any good?"

"I wouldn't know," Archer said, meeting my eyes for just a moment. "I wasn't really able to concentrate on the movie."

"Archer..."

"I want to talk about it, Cara. What happened?"

Hadn't he been there? Was he really going to make me relive it? I took a deep breath and concentrated on pulling my pretzel into bite-size bits.

"I liked you," I said. "A lot. And I thought maybe you liked me, too ... but then I tried to kiss you and you ran away screaming ... so I knew you actually didn't."

"Oh," Archer said to his fries. "Because I actually did like you ... a lot ... but I don't exactly have a lot of ... experience. I panicked a little and felt like the biggest loser in the universe ... and everything got very horrible very fast."

"You... did like me?"

"I do like you, Cara," he said. "I wanted to tell you, but you said never talk about it again, and I figured you were so completely turned off and disgusted by my freak-out that you weren't interested anymore. I thought that's what you liked about Nate and Eddie. They knew what they were doing."

"No! Archer, Nate and Eddie were ... they were different. I never liked them the way I liked you. I only went out with them because ... It's stupid and ridiculous, but I swear I never would have gone out with either of them if I thought you were even remotely interested in me."

"So ... if things had been different that night..."

"Everything would have changed."

Archer looked up and met my eyes when I said this, and my insides started shaking. I wanted so badly to believe what it seemed like we were both saying. I couldn't take it if I was wrong, but if there was even a chance...

"Did you come here to find me?" I asked.

"I saw your Facebook update. I remembered."

I pulled my chair closer to his. Our knees touched, and we both leaned forward ever so slightly. Only inches separated us.

"Archer ... I want to kiss you now, but I need to know you're not going to run away.

"I promise."

I took a deep breath and saw that he did, too. Then we both leaned forward—and bumped foreheads.

"Ow," he said.

"We are so not good at this," I said. "I hope it's not some kind of a—"

He took my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine.

I was wrong: we were soooo good at this. Kissing Archer was nothing like kissing Nate or Eddie. Kissing Archer was exactly what I'd always dreamed it would be. It was as if everything inside me had been clenched since that one night, and now I was bursting, so filled with happiness that I couldn't even contain it all. Tears welled in my eyes, and when we eventually pulled away, I let out a sound that could have been a sob or a laugh.

"Let's go to the prom," Archer said.

Now I laughed. "Next year? Sure. It's a date."

"No, tonight. I want you to come to the prom with me. I have tickets. We can leave now and be right on time."

"We're not dressed for the prom."

"I think you look beautiful. Do I look okay?"

I smiled. "You're perfect."

"Great. Let's go."

"Archer ... I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not easy to be around me these days. People don't like me."

"I like you. I don't care about anyone else. Do you?"

That was easy. "No. I don't. Let's do it."

Archer was right—even with a quick stop to drop my car at his house, we got to the prom just in time. Everyone stared when we walked in. In a sea of gowns and tuxes, we were dressed for a day at the park. It only made it more fun. We giggled like little kids as we got our official photos taken, making goofy faces and posing as if we were playing football instead of standing for a formal portrait. When the Cara Leonard Is a Great Big Whore contingent tried to shun us from their tables, we grabbed napkins and made a picnic area on a corner of the floor. We danced all night long, and when Trista and Brett were voted prom queen and king, we jumped up and down, hooting and cheering louder than anyone.

By the time the last song played, Archer and I were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, exhausted and revved up at the same time, and I for one was happy. Truly happy. The only thing that could stop me from grinning like crazy was to leap up on tiptoe and melt into his kiss.

"Cara?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to slaughter you at Ping-Pong when we get back to my house."

"No way. Kissing does not preclude degradation, my friend. You are going down, and you are going down hard!"

A couple dancing next to us glared, and I realized I'd once again managed to make something innocent sound dirty.

"Just ... stop me from talking, okay?"

"My pleasure," said Archer. He leaned in to kiss me, and as we swayed together to the last notes of the song, I felt myself turn back onto that main drag. It wasn't the same spot where I'd first veered off, but I felt like from here, I'd finally be able to find my way.





Acknowledgments



First and foremost, the hugest thank-you imaginable goes to Samantha McFerrin, editor extraordinaire. Sam, you are a true genius for looking at what I had when we began this process and seeing what it could one day become. Your wisdom and insight have been invaluable to me, and this book would not be what it is without you.

An equally huge thank-you goes out to Fonda Snyder of Alchemy Ink, without whom this book never would have happened. Fonda, you have always believed so strongly in me and my work, and you've always steered me in the right direction. You are a true friend, mentor, and champion, and I'm so thrilled to be working with you.

Thanks to everyone at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt who helped bring this book to life, including managing editor Amy Carlisle, associate art director Carol Chu, publicity manager Jennifer Groves, senior marketing manager Jennifer LaBracio, and legal counsel David Eber.

To Annette Van Duren, my wonderful agent, thank you for always being in my corner. You are the best.

Big thanks to Crystal Patriarche, PR wonder, and to Betsy Cohen, whose Web design and teaching skills are beyond compare.

Thanks to all of my earliest readers, including (but not limited to—I can all but guarantee I'll mess up and forget someone) Jen Klein, Jule Selbo, Myra Zerr, Jennifer Nellis, Elizabeth Towns, and Marisa Cody. Your input and support helped me tremendously.

Thank you, Mom-Mom Eva and Mom-Mom Sylvia, for your unconditional love; and thanks to Pop-Pop Irv and Pop-Pop Nate, who are gone but always remembered.

Thanks to Deborah Kaminsky for keeping me (reasonably) sane, and to Helen Vitaris for loving my daughter almost as much as Randy and I do.

To the past and present members of the Debutante Ball, and the amazing bloggers and writers I've met through the site: I can't thank you enough for your wisdom and support. There were mountains of things that as a first-time novelist I didn't know. Thank you for helping me navigate.

To Randy and Maddie: Maddie, I am blessed to be your mommy. I'm so proud of you, and I love you with all my heart. Randy, I would not be who I am, or do what I do, without you (I mean that as a good thing). You love me through sleeplessness, stressiness, and mind-like-a-sieve-iness. I love you beyond any words ... and you know how much I love words. Love to Riley too. And give that dog a treat—he's starving!

Finally, thank you to everyone reading this book. It's a privilege to share it with you, and I so appreciate your willingness to pick it up and dive in.