Populazzi (41 page)

Claude came out and saw my two baskets right away. The first held an assortment of fifteen adorable stuffed deer, all smiling up at her. The second basket held a colander with a big red bow on one of its handles. Inside it, I'd placed a huge pile of snickerdoodles. The top five cookies were each frosted with a single letter and together spelled the word "MERCY."

Claudia looked over the whole spread.

"First of all," she said as if I were right there in front of her, "it is patently unfair to engage the aid of the deer friends, who—judging by their happy little smiles—do not know all the details. Second, these do not look like Harriet Ralston snickerdoodles. Finally, the quotation is 'the quality of mercy is
not
strain'd.' So if you're looking for forgiveness, it would make far more sense to put a bow and cookies on the
absence
of a colander."

"Points duly noted," I said, still crouched in the bushes. "May I have a rebuttal?"

Claudia nodded.

"The deer friends wanted to come," I said, emerging from the bushes and joining her on the porch. "I told them it was a bad idea and might seem manipulative, but they didn't care. As for the snickerdoodles, they're store-bought, though I added the frosting letters myself. Mom and Karl aren't speaking to me, so I didn't think asking for cookies would go over well. As for the last one, I have no rebuttal ... except I'm not sure where on the absence of a colander the bow would stick."

"Points taken."

We just stood there a second. It was terrible. In nearly twelve years, Claudia and I had never had a major fight. Now I felt like there was this giant balloon of awfulness between us, and I had no idea how to pop it and go back to how things had been.

"I did choose them," I said. "It's the worst thing I've ever done in my life. I swear, I would do anything to take it back."

"You can't."

I didn't want to believe it, but I knew she was right.

Claudia sat on the step. "I wish I could take it back, too."

"You?"

"The Ladder was all my idea. I pushed you into it, even when you didn't want to. I felt like as long as we were working on it together, we'd stay connected and I wouldn't lose you."

"Claudia..."

I wanted to tell her she could never lose me, but I'd already proven that wasn't true. I shut my mouth.

"Then when the thing happened with Marsh, I got this idea that both our lives would be magically transformed," she said. "I wanted it so badly. I don't know ... maybe if I were you, I'd have done the same thing."

"You wouldn't have."

"Maybe not ... I don't know. But you wouldn't have done any of it without me. I've been your Lady Macbeth. You were fine with Thane of Glamis, but I pushed you to be king. It's only right I'd get a little blood on my hands."

"Settle for pink frosting?" I asked. I reached into the basket of snickerdoodles and handed her one. The balloon of awfulness was still there, but it was a tiny bit smaller. I didn't know if it would ever go away entirely.

As we sat and ate, I told Claudia everything that had happened since the party: the Facebook group, the video clips, and what I'd done that morning.

"Three hundred people think Cara Leonard is a Great Big Whore?" she asked.

"And growing. I'm quite the cultural phenomenon." Claudia picked up a second cookie and scraped off the icing with her teeth. "So you had the chance to become Supreme Populazzi, and you let it go."

"Yeah. You're not disappointed, are you?" "No."

"Swear on the Bell?"

"I do. I've actually been thinking about it a lot, and I realized something."

"What's that?"

"Thane of Glamis is a wicked awesome position."

"It is," I said, biting into another cookie. "Wicked awesome."

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."