Populazzi (22 page)

Once I was inside the building, I found a corner, sat against a wall, and waited for the bell to ring. I had my English exam this morning, and I was ready, but at the moment my mind was completely empty. I had no idea how long I sat before a booming singing voice caught my attention.

"
When I was younger, just a bad little kid
My mama noticed fUnny things I did...
"

I recognized the song: "Dentist" from
Little Shop of Horrors.
Tom was playing the character in Chrysella's version, and he was the one singing. Ember, Sue, Doug, and Archer were fanned out behind him, all grinning as they sang backup. I guessed the rest of their group wasn't around because they didn't have a morning exam today.

I should have kept my head down, but I didn't. I looked up—and straight into the eyes of Archer. He did an actual double take at the sight of me. I knew I should smile so he could see everything was fine, but I didn't have the energy. I just stared blankly.

Archer broke from the group and knelt beside me. "Cara? What happened?"

"Archer, come on!" Ember called.

"Yes, Seymour,
please!
" Sue called in her Audrey voice, heaving out her chest for effect.

"You go ahead; I'll catch up," he told them.

Archer's friends scowled, but Tom had a song to finish, and they were soon on their way.

Archer was plopped on the floor in front of me, even though it put him in the middle of traffic. "Cara..." he said again, and bent to catch my eyes as I tried to look away.

"Cara, I'm serious. Is this ... was it Nate? Did something happen with Nate?"

His voice was strained, and I had the sudden and horrible realization that he was thinking date rape, which only proved that I was now able to mess up without even opening my mouth.

"No. Archer, honestly, no." And since I didn't want to leave him with any doubt on this one, I told him everything, despite the fact that he'd now realize I was so evil and selfish that I had in effect set off a thermonuclear device in the middle of my family.

He stared at me when I was done. I waited for him to walk away in disgust.

"So wait," Archer said, "Karl's
disowning
you because you made a mistake?"

"Because I lied to him and went behind his back, so he can't trust me anymore," I muttered, wondering if this was what it felt like for people who rehashed their sins every week at confession. It felt crappy.

"Yeah, I get that. But
disowning
you?"

"Washing his hands of me," I said, "because I'm a stranger to him now."

"And your mom says you need to be really good to win him back?"

I nodded. "It worked before. It's just hard because he won't even look at me. I think he's staying with my mom, though, so that's good. I just have to make sure I don't do anything to set him off, or he could leave and we'd lose the house, and then..." I thought of Mom breaking down in front of me the night before and shuddered.

Archer leaned in closer. "Cara, listen to me. Your parents are crazy. Your mom's been with Karl for, what, twelve years?"

I nodded.

"So he's your dad. He doesn't get to stop being your dad because he's mad at you. And the whole thing about you having to save their marriage and keep the family together? That's not your responsibility. That stuff is supposed to be a given. I can't even imagine my parents saying the kinds of things yours did."

"But your dad has
always
been your dad. He doesn't need you to convince him he's appreciated. Besides, you're the poster child for Good Kid. Your parents would never get this mad at you."

"Granted. But what about Lila?"

"Lila, your sister in college who's your mom's best friend?"

"Lila, who
before
college spent four years in and out of house arrest. Ask me how many times she was disowned."

"A lot?"

"No, Cara.
Never..
"

"Okay, but unless Ed and Bina want to adopt me, that doesn't really help."

"I believe my mom would love to adopt you, so let's not discount that as an option."

I almost mentioned that it would be a particularly viable option since we'd already established incest wouldn't be an issue, but why ruin a good conversation?

"I'm just saying," Archer continued, "I don't think Harriet and Karl are being fair. At all. You messed up. You lied and you snuck around, and your parents have a right to be really, really mad and give out consequences, but they're punishing you for something you didn't do. You didn't make Karl feel so insecure that he thinks he has to disown you and threaten to leave your mom. You didn't make your mom so scared of being alone that she'd do anything to avoid it.
They
did that. So they have to undo it, not you."

I looked at Archer and was suddenly both incredibly grateful for and incredibly angry at Claudia and the Ladder.

My gratitude was simple: Without the Ladder, I might never have had the guts to get close to Archer. And without the Ladder as a crutch, there was no way I'd have ever been able to be friends with him again after That Night—which would have been a horrible waste, since it was so clear that outside of Claudia, I had never had a friend as good as Archer Jain.

My anger came from the realization that I was more tragically in love with Archer than ever, and in about four hours I'd no longer have any other boyfriend distracting me from that pain.

My numb features clearly weren't broadcasting any of this, because Archer looked at me worriedly.

"Cara?" he asked. "Is everything okay? I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be harsh. They're your parents. I just—"

I threw my arms around him, wrapping him in a huge hug that toppled us both onto the floor as the bell rang.

"Well, this is
much
more exciting than giving a final," Mr. Woodward said. "If only I could grade you on your floorshow rather than the exam. I'd so love to see what happens next."

Archer and I both blushed, but I took a second to give him a quick peck on the cheek and whisper "thank you" in his ear before I rolled off, sprang to my feet, and raced to the exam room, beating both Archer and Mr. Woodward inside.

What Archer had said changed everything. He was right. I was responsible for what I'd done. I'd own up to it and accept the consequences. I was not responsible for other people's irrational reactions to what I'd done, even if those people were my parents. I would
not
keep eviscerating myself to try to make them feel better.

I'd concentrate on my own issues now. First and foremost: breaking up with Nate. This time I wouldn't let anything get in my way. Right after the English exam, I found him at his rock, planted myself in front of him, and said, "We need to talk."

Nate glanced up from his guitar to look me up and down. "What are you wearing?" he asked. "And what's up with your face?"

"This is what I look like," I said. "This is how I dress. I think it's kind of obvious ... we're not right for each other. I don't think we should be together anymore."

"Hold up," Nate said, pausing his song. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Had I not been clear? I thought I'd been clear.

"Yes," I said. Then, just to be extra clear, I added, "I'm breaking up with you."

"Huh," Nate said. He didn't move, he didn't say anything more, but his eyes bore into me, studying my face and my clothes. I wasn't surprised. It was no secret that the real me was pretty much the opposite of anything Nate would ever want.

Yet no matter how much I knew Nate wouldn't be into me without my costumes and makeup, I could take only so much of his Silent Stare of Disgust. After a full minute of it, I was starting to feel like a fetal pig midway through its dissection.

"Okay," I said. "So ... I guess I'll, you know ... see you around."

No response. More staring.

I flashed him a friendly smile.

Nothing.

So much for closure.

"Right, then. Bye!"

English was my only exam that day, so I went right to my car and called Claudia. "'I have done the deed,'" I said.

"You sure you want to go with the Scottish play on this one?" Claudia asked. "Things didn't go so well for him after that little proclamation."

Claudia had a point, but Macbeth had disturbed the natural order, while I'd just restored it. And even though Claudia kept reminding me that my choice would make the climb up the Ladder much more difficult, I still felt great about it. Not even Karl could spoil my mood. With Archer's voice ringing in my ears, I followed the letter of my punishment. I went right home, remained downstairs only for my lunch, then ran up to my room, where I stayed until dinner.

Unsurprisingly, Karl ignored me during the meal. He remained buried behind his newspaper, lowering it only to ask my mom to pass him condiments that were right in front of me, including the salt I was actively using at the time. When I handed it across to him with a friendly "Here it is, Karl," he just continued staring at my mother. "Lo-Lo? The salt?"

I knew from the plaintive looks Mom kept shooting me that I wasn't doing my job. I was supposed to be extra solicitous to Karl, apologize several more times for my awful behavior, and wax rhapsodic about what an amazing dad he was to me and how much I owed and loved him. As of this morning, that had in fact been my plan. But Archer was right: making amends for my mistake was my responsibility; fixing my parents' psyches was not.

After dinner I zipped back to my room without being asked. It wasn't such a bad deal, really, especially since Mom had given me back my computer. Even without it I had plenty to do: my AP U.S. history final was the next afternoon, and I could use the parental-distraction-free study time. At one point I heard Karl and Mom rumbling about me downstairs, but Mom had also returned my noise-canceling headphones.

Bliss.

The next day I kept studying until the last possible second, so I didn't get to school until right before the exam. I planned to quickly drop my bag in my locker on the way there, but what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Strung through the hoop of my combination lock was a single wilted red rose. A sheet of lined notebook paper was attached to it. Scrawled across the top of the page were the words "WHY CARA LEONARD IS SATAN," followed by a long list of exactly why I was indeed the Dark Lord.

The list wasn't easy to read. It had been scratched onto the paper with no regard for the lines on the page. Some words were huge, others tiny. Sentences curved up or curved down. Letters were randomly capitalized or lowercase. It looked like the mad rant of a psychopath.

Adding to the confusion was the fact that the dead rose had been speared through the paper, obliterating several of the words. Among the items I could actually make out were "Because she ripped out my still-beating heart and stepped on it," "Because she vomited derision on the musical proclamations of my soul," and "Because she seared my sweet, searching spirit with the satanic spit of her sneering scorn."

This was weird.

I didn't have time to think about it, though, because the bell rang and I was late for my exam. It took effort to push Nate Wetherill's Unabomber Manifesto out of my mind and concentrate on U.S. history, but I thought I did okay.

I would have loved to see Archer and get his opinion on the missive, but I knew he had rehearsal. Besides, I had rules: I had to get home the minute school was over. So I called Claudia from the car and nearly hit several pedestrians as I squinted through Nate's scrawls at forty miles an hour.

"'The course of true love never did run smooth,'" Claudia said.

"Since when did Nate and I have true love? We didn't even have
untrue
love."

"Maybe he felt more deeply than he let on. Maybe all the heartache with his parents forced him to build a protective veneer of indifference, under which boiled the soul of a poet."

I quoted him: "'She seared my sweet, searching spirit with the satanic spit of her sneering scorn'?"

"I didn't say he was a very
good
poet."

"What he wrote doesn't even make any sense! How did I 'vomit derision on the musical proclamations' of his soul? I loved his music! I listened to him play every day! I downloaded his song onto my iPod!"

"I won't deny that it's strange," Claudia said, "but I don't think you'll know what it's really about unless you ask him."

I tried asking him. I called, texted, and e-mailed, but he didn't answer and he didn't write back.

While going incommunicado wasn't exactly strange for him, it made me wonder:
Did
he have deeper feelings that he hadn't been able to show? It seemed impossible, but so did Nate putting dead roses on my locker. I guess I'd been pretty cavalier about the breakup, but that was only because I was sure he wouldn't care.

The next day was Thursday. I had my physics final in the morning and my precalc final in the afternoon. I didn't know Nate's schedule, but I hoped he'd be around for lunch so I could find him at the rock and talk.

Instead, I found him right away at my locker. He was covering it with pink construction paper hearts that had been crumpled and ripped into pieces. They looked like old, trashed valentines.

This was very, very weird.

He didn't see me at first, so I approached him gently. "Hey, Nate," I said in my sweetest voice, "I got your note yesterday. And now these ... I swear, I had no idea you felt like this. I was hoping maybe we could talk and—"

"Right," he scoffed, cutting me off. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Act like nothing happened.
So
Cara."

"Um ... actually, I was just
talking
about what happened. I was saying we should—"

"What do you want me to do, Cara?" Nate screamed, leaning back in agony and gripping his hair with his fists.

Everyone in the hall stopped to stare. I wondered if Claudia would be happy that the whole school now couldn't help but know my name. "You want me to run my heart through a meat grinder and watch you dance flamenco on the pulp as it struggles to keep beating?"