Part 8 (1/2)
”Oh G.o.d! Are you okay?” Archer leaped up and held out his hand to help me, but physical contact with him was now the last thing I wanted.
”I'm fine! I'm fine!” The soda plastered my thin s.h.i.+rt to my body. When I stood, the sticky liquid drained down my legs and into my boots. Then I felt the soda seep into my underwear. Perfect.
”You're soaked. I'm so sorry. Here, I...” Archer grabbed a bunch of napkins and reached out as if he was going to dab me dry, but he just waved the napkins in front of my drenched skirt and s.h.i.+rt, clearly too mortified to dream of actually touching me.
He didn't have to worry; he had nothing on me in the mortification department. ”It's fine,” I said, taking the napkins and uselessly blotting the mess.
”Cara, I-”
I couldn't bear an explanation.
”No, stop,” I said. ”Please. I'm okay. I just ... I need to go.”
I grabbed my purse and raced up the stairs, but he stopped me halfway.
”Cara, wait!”
I winced. I swear I didn't want to hear how much he hoped we could still be friends. Reluctantly I turned and looked at him. The soda had spilled all over him, too. He looked wet and miserable. Of course he was miserable. The idea of my lips touching his had repelled him so much that he chose to risk concussion rather than let it happen. I could see it in his eyes: he thought I was pitiful.
Cara...
I was going to cry. If I had to hear him try to make it better, I was going to cry, and crying in front of him was the one thing that would make this even worse. I gripped the railing, curled in my lips, and bit down on them, fighting back the tears.
”You're, um, forgetting the movie,” Archer said. The tone of his voice had changed. It was flatter. Good. He must have decided not to explain. There was a chance I could survive. I realized he was holding out the DVD and I s.n.a.t.c.hed it, making sure our hands didn't touch.
”GreatThanksBye,” I said. I raced upstairs, out of the house, and into my car. I got there just before the tears started rolling down my cheeks. I was such an idiot.
Back home in my room, I peeled out of my wet clothes, put on my thickest pajamas, and crawled into bed. My skin was still sticky from the soda, but I didn't even care. I just wanted to get under the covers, close my eyes, and forget the day had ever happened.
It was nice in bed. With the covers pulled close around me, I could tune out everything else. I felt warm and safe. I guess there's a reason they call it a comforter.
I determined to stay right there for the rest of my natural life.
Chapter Nine.
Whatever happened to taking to one's bed? Virginia Woolf once took to her bed for eight weeks. I barely got eight hours before Karl was banging on my door.
”Cara, wake up! Family const.i.tutional!”
”Idonwannafamlyconstooshnl.” I tried to sound incoherent and ill, just this side of my deathbed.
”You love a family const.i.tutional. Come on!”
How did Karl speak deathbed? I tried another tack. ”I'm tired!”
”You were home before us, and we're wide awake!”
Oh, that was a great way to make me feel better. Remind me my parents have a better social life than I do.
”I'm staying in bed!”
That did it. I heard the heavy tread of Karl's feet moving down the hall. Good. Now I could go back to sleep and dream I was someone with an easier life than mine. Like a leper.
Two minutes later I heard the return of Karl's heavy tread. ”Make sure you're decent!” he called.
Oh G.o.d, really? Was he really going to come in here? I willed myself to lie perfectly still so he'd think I was asleep.
He opened the door. I could hear him at the side of my bed. He was waiting for me to move and blow my cover. Wouldn't happen.
”You leave me no choice, Cara,” he said.
He gently poured a Dixie cup of water on my head.
”KARL!” I screamed, bolting upright. ”Are you mental?”
When I was six, the Dixie cup of water on my head had been funny. At sixteen? Not funny. And after last night's drenching? Especially not funny.
Karl didn't seem concerned. ”Ah, so you are awake! Come on, get out of bed. Family const.i.tutional time. We're leaving in twenty minutes.”
He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Infuriating. But he won. I took a quick shower, pulled on some clothes, and twenty minutes later I was out the door for a family const.i.tutional. It was really just a walk, but Karl liked the more proper sound of ”const.i.tutional.”
It was nice, actually. Karl was in a good mood. He and Mom had lots of funny stories from their party. It was warm for October, and the air smelled like freshly mown gra.s.s. For maybe five minutes I could almost forget last night's disaster.
Then we got home and my cell phone was beeping and of course it was Claudia and of course I told her everything.
”So what do you think?” I finished. ”Think our parents will mind if I move in with you and go back to Pennsbrook?”
Claudia sighed. ”We already asked, remember? They turned us down flat. So barring that, the next best move is clear: you rise like the phoenix from the ashes-or like the kitty cat from the ashes-and you go to tonight's Halloween dance.”
”Oh, Claudia, there's no way.”
”You have to show him this didn't break you. 'The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; / He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.'”
”I know that one. Oth.e.l.lo. It's a tragedy. Everyone dies at the end.”
”Not the duke, and he's the one who said it,” Claudia noted. ”You don't have to go for long. Just put in an appearance. The cat costume looks amazing on you. Archer will wish he'd wanted you. At the very least he'll see you're not pining over him. And if you really put your mind to it, you might even find your next rung on the Ladder.”
I didn't even want to think about the Ladder, but I did like the idea of Archer seeing me in the cat costume and maybe regretting his decision. And I really liked the idea of him knowing I had better things to do than pine over him.
So I went to the dance. I went late. I wanted Archer to be there already, and I knew he and his friends liked to make an entrance. Plus I wanted extra time to make sure I looked hot-which I did. The costume was basically a sleek black leotard over densely woven fishnet stockings. The neckline was just low enough to show a little cleavage and trimmed in fuzzy black fur. With a thin black ribbon choker around my neck, the headband ears pulling back my curls, the tail pinned to my b.u.t.t, a little bit of eyeliner to make my blue eyes pop ... I looked really good. If I had turned myself down the night before, I'd see me walk in and know I had made a horrible mistake. I pulled on a pair of heels, promised Mom and Karl I'd be back before my midnight curfew, and took off for Chrysella.
The dance was in the gym, and I could feel the deep ba.s.s thrum of the music from my car as I pulled up. I fully intended to do just what Claudia had said: strut in, show my stuff, make a round, maybe dance one song just to pound home the fact that I was well beyond okay, then leave. I honestly don't know what changed my mind-a small voice of self-preservation?