Populazzi

Chapter Five



"Ask me where I am!" I chirped as I drove.

"Why, Cara," Claudia asked, "wherever are you?"

"I am on my first date with Archer!"

"You are?" Claudia cried. "Wait—how are you calling about the date when you're on the date? Is he right there with you?"

"No. We're caravanning." I was keeping Archer in sight but purposely staying several car lengths behind him so he couldn't see me talking on the speakerphone. Wouldn't look cool. "We're meeting at the mall."

"You're meeting at the mall."

"Yes!"

"You're in separate cars, and you're meeting at the mall. Are you stopping at home to change?"

"Why would I stop at home to change?"

"Uh-huh. Is he buying you dinner there?"

"It's four in the afternoon! No, he's not buying me dinner. We're going to get a snack at the food court and do homework."

"Cara, that's not a date."

"Of course it is! Archer asked me to come out with him to the mall. He asked me out. It's a date!"

"It's not a date! A date involves a change in habiliments; the guy providing or purchasing transportation, sustenance, and entertainment; and some form of physical contact, ideally a kiss."

Claudia had been on as many dates as I had—namely, none—so her expertise on this was in question. "Claude, you had to hear him. He wanted my phone number in case we got separated on the way to the mall, and he got all nervous when he asked. I really think it's a date."

"How about we compromise: we'll call it a datelet. When you get the actual date with all the qualifications intact, you'll officially be on Archer's rung of the Ladder."

"The Ladder?"

"The Ladder. You know, your mission for the school year? The whole reason you targeted Archer to begin with?"

Oops.

Honestly, it wasn't that I had forgotten the Ladder; it's just that I'd stopped thinking about it in terms of Archer. I liked him. And maybe the Ladder had made me brave enough to go after him, but if things got to the point where he amazingly, miraculously, hopefully wanted to be my boyfriend, there was no way in the universe I'd drop him for someone on a higher rung, not even for the Supreme Populazzi.

But I couldn't tell Claudia that. She'd worked all summer on the Ladder.

Claudia and I didn't lie to each other. Years ago we had sworn on my mini Liberty Bell that we never would. But it felt like it would be even worse to let her down than to lie. Especially when right now, it didn't make a difference. Ladder or no Ladder, I was still going after Archer.

"Sorry—went through a dead spot," I said. "Got it, though: real date equals first rung of the Ladder."

"Exactly. But this is a good start. Excellent work."

"Thanks. Pulling in now."

"Call me when you're done. 'Once more unto the breach'!"

I hung up and parked my car next to Archer's. He was at my door instantly and opened it the moment I turned off the engine.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? After the buildup you gave the particularly good fries, I can't wait."

We walked toward the mall side by side. Archer whistled. He seemed to look everywhere except at me. Was he uncomfortable? Did he regret asking me along?

He darted his eyes my way and smiled ... then looked away again. The smile was good. I felt better.

I wondered if he'd hold my hand. Should I expect him to hold my hand? I tried to remember if hand-holding was on Claudia's checklist for a real date.

I realized my hands were in my pockets. He couldn't hold one even if he wanted to. Not unless he actively dug it out, which would be weird. He probably thought I was sending him a specific message not to hold my hand.

I took my hands out of my pockets.

The problem is I like having my hands in my pockets. It's my natural position. They felt unwieldy hanging by my sides, as if I was walking like a Neanderthal.

Why was I so bad at this?

I glanced at Archer to see if he could tell how socially inept I was.

He had his hands in his pockets.

I let it go. I wasn't going to get weirded out about hand-holding that maybe should or maybe shouldn't be happening. I might get weirded out about the fact that we'd now been walking through the mall for several minutes and we hadn't said anything to each other. Conversation wasn't usually an issue for us.

Of course, I was basing "usually" on just over twenty-four hours of knowing him.

I really needed to get over myself.

"Is this the food court?" I asked, though it was plainly obvious to anyone with a brain stem that we had indeed arrived at the food court. "I mean, where do we get the fries?"

Archer led me to his stall of choice and bought fries and drinks for both of us. His treat: real date behavior. Ten minutes later we had all our stuff spread out over a four-top table and munched as we bent over our homework.

At least, I was bent over my homework. Archer didn't seem to be. I lifted my head and saw him staring at me, slack-jawed.

"What?"

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"My homework. Precalc."

"No, with your food."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I picked up a fry and swished it through my chocolate milk shake, then took a bite. "I'm eating it. You're right, the fries are really good."

"But you're dunking them in your shake."

"Mm-hm." I held out a newly coated fry. "Want a bite?"

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

"Haven't you ever heard of chocolate-covered pretzels? It's the same thing: salty and sweet."

"A hot fudge pickle is salty and sweet, too. Would you eat that?"

"That's salty, sour, and sweet. There's a difference. I've eaten chocolate-covered bacon, though."

"That's disgusting."

"And this isn't salty and sweet, but sometimes I'll take raw oatmeal—rolled oats; it doesn't work with steel-cut—and mix it up with strawberry jelly."

"Then you cook it?"

"No," I said, pausing for another bite of milk-shake fry, "you just stir it really, really well until every piece of oatmeal is coated with the jelly, then you spoon it up and eat it. It also works with brown rice. You can mix in a little cottage cheese, too, if you want it more pudding-y. But not too much—you want it to stay pretty dense."

Archer looked like I'd poisoned his dog.

"I'm serious! It's good!"

"It's a biohazard! How can you possibly like that?"

I shrugged. "It's a textural thing. I like the feel of interesting things in my mouth."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like Cool Whip with raisins and Grape-Nuts mixed in with a little chocolate syr—"

Archer was staring at me with one eyebrow raised. Only then did I realize what I'd just said. I felt the blush heat my face.

I wasnt saying ... I just mean...

Archer's grin spread wider. He knew what I'd meant. He was just having fUn watching me squirm.

It happened a lot with Archer. We went back to the mall every afternoon that week, and it never failed. My mouth always moved faster than my brain when I was around him, so at some point I'd end up saying something ridiculous or something I'd meant to keep to myself. Like the time he did a goofy voice that was almost exactly like one he'd used in my dream the night before. I was halfway through a long, twisted story about the two of us on this weirdo globetrotting spy mission before I realized I'd admitted I was dreaming about him. Once I got it, I was so embarrassed and flustered and worried about how he'd react that I couldn't even finish. The whole story devolved into incoherent stammers until I just gave up and changed the subject.

It drove me crazy, but Claudia didn't think it was strange at all.

"You like him," she said. "You're not thinking clearly. You're too distracted because you're secretly dying to jump his bones."

"I'm not!"

And I wasn't. I'd only known him five days; bone jumping seemed a little extreme. I just loved being around him. I looked forward to seeing him every morning. My heart gave a little leap when I saw him sitting in the hall across from my locker, waiting for me. Or when I found him at the lunch table, the seat next to him always reserved until I got there. He didn't even ask me after that first time—it was already a given we'd sit together, just like in Mr. Woodward's English class.

But it wasn't as if we were a couple. We hadn't even touched. At least, not intentionally.

Except once. Just yesterday. Archer was making fun of my chocolate-shake fries again, so I gave one an extra-thick dip and ran over to his side of the table.

"That's it! You're trying one! You'll love it!"

"No!" he'd screamed, and grabbed my wrists before I could get the fry anywhere near his mouth. We'd wrestled like that, Archer pushing me back while I'd strained to feed him the french fry. At first it was purely a battle, but as it went on, I became acutely aware of his hands touching my skin and how close our faces were as we struggled.

Archer won the fight. All the shake dripped off the fry until it was just soggy and gross and I agreed to throw it away.

I could still remember the exact feel of his hands, though.

"I'm not saying you want to actually jump his bones," Claudia clarified, "only that you want him. Probably as more than just a Ladder rung."

I winced. Was she upset?

"Maybe," I admitted. "Would you hate me for that?"

"Are you insane? If you really like him and he likes you, that's huge! It's bigger than the Ladder—it's epic! I love it!"

I felt so relieved. Even though I'd been telling her things, I'd been holding back, too, so I wouldn't hurt her feelings. Now I had a million things I wanted to ask her.

"So it's Friday," I said. "Do you think he'll ask me to do something over the weekend? And if he doesn't, is it okay if I invite him to do something over the weekend?"

"Absolutely not. You invite him and you look too eager. If he wants to see you, he'll do the inviting."

That made sense. When Archer and I went to the mall that day, I didn't even mention the weekend. I said neither the words "week" nor "end." I simply channeled all my concentration into the words "invite me," then shot them toward Archer in a continuous beam of psychic energy.

"Cara?" he finally asked.

Success!

"Yes?" I batted my eyes. No, really, I did.

"Are you okay? You're holding your head and your face is all scrunched up. Do you have a headache or something?"

"Oh. No. I just ... precalc. Hard problem. I'm having tangent issues."

So much for psychic energy.

Maybe he forgot it was Friday.

Just before we got into our cars I said, "See you Monday!"

"Yep. Have a great weekend."

So he knew it was Friday, but he still didn't say anything. And yet he opened my door and waited as I drove off, just like a chivalrous prince.

Or a highly competent valet.

This was not a good sign.