Part 10 (1/2)

I was suddenly sure he'd say no, that Sue now sat next to him every day. It was a land mine I hadn't thought of until now.

”There's a seat. I'll save it for you.”

”Great! See you then!”

I walked off to precalc feeling lighter than I had in weeks. This was going to work. There'd be rough patches, but it would work.

Dealing with Archer's friends turned out to be one of the rough patches. For once Claudia was wrong-they weren't happy to pick up where we'd left off. They were nice enough; they were just distant.

The lunch seating had changed, too. Sue and Doug were back at the table; Noah and Molly were gone. I got the feeling it was a keep-your-enemies-close thing for Sue. By now I was pretty sure she had a crush on Archer. I think she wanted to keep me off her turf. If I had been feeling more charitable, I could have told her she had nothing to worry about. I was actually surprised she didn't already know. Maybe Archer hadn't told them everything that had happened between us.

Things with Archer himself went fairly smoothly. We'd been such good friends, it was impossible not to fall back into our easy rapport. It wasn't long before we were grabbing fries together at the mall, and soon after that we even started playing Ping-Pong again. I was happy to see he had never taken down the giant wall chart, even though it gave me a romantic pang I had to quash.

In the meantime, I dedicated myself to the Ladder and filling my mind with Nate Wetherill. It was a little weird. I had gone after Archer because I really liked him. I was attracted to Nate-anyone would be attracted to Nate-but I knew nothing about him. I had to work at liking him, as if he were a school a.s.signment. Sometimes it bothered me that I was being so calculating, but then Claudia would remind me of the alternative-permanent Archer obsession-and I'd get over it.

So I studied Nate. And I looked for things to like.

Nate was very broody. He frowned like he was constantly tortured with deep, troubling thoughts. That wasn't really my thing.

He didn't seem to have a lot of friends. Any, really. Also not my thing.

He did have the attention of the Populazzi. I saw it when I was in the halls between cla.s.ses. Just like everyone else, Trista Camello stepped aside and stared when Nate walked by. Even the Senior Populazzi noticed him. If I were his girlfriend, part of that mystique couldn't help but rub off on me.

It was cool to think about, but it still wasn't enough to make me like him.

Then one day I was late coming in to lunch, and I saw him. He sat outside on a rock, strumming his guitar and singing softly.

I stopped to listen, then moved closer, staying behind him and far enough away that he wouldn't see me.

He was incredible.

I didn't recognize the song he played, but it was beautiful. I wondered if he'd written it himself. His broodiness seemed melodramatic when he walked through the halls, but it was perfect for the song. Just watching him, I could tell how serious he was about his music. He seemed to pour his entire soul into what he played, and seeing it happen right in front of me ... I was awed. I wanted to sit at his feet and listen all day.

Talent and pa.s.sion: those were my thing. Those I could fall for.

From that moment, I tried to watch Nate as often as possible while he was playing guitar. It wasn't that challenging: any spare moment he had, he used it to play. I just had to slip outside or look through the right window and I'd get to see the show.

Nate was hot no matter what, but when he played, his hotness went off the charts. His spiked hair fell across his left eye as he bent over his guitar. Shadows played over the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, which were so distant normally, filled with emotion.

The more I watched Nate play, the more fascinated I became not just with his music but with him. I followed his fingers moving over the guitar strings, and I imagined running my thumb over their calluses. I listened to his songs and imagined he was singing them to me. I imagined the two of us cuddled together on a couch somewhere, Nate strumming chords and making up lyrics to try to put into words everything deep and wonderful he felt about me.

I was a good student. I was totally falling for Nate Wetherill.

Eventually Archer noticed. We'd be talking and I'd see Nate out of the corner of my eye and lapse into fantasyland, losing track of our conversation entirely. Sometimes Nate would look our way and nod or even give a sly half smile. I'd melt a little, imagining the look was for me ... but of course it was meant for Archer. Archer always caught me when I got dazey like that, and he'd scrunch his face at me, but I'd snap out of it pretty quickly. I didn't want to let him in on my plan until our friends.h.i.+p was rock solid again.

It took about two weeks.

”Archer,” I said as we split a ma.s.sive sundae at Friendly's, ”we're friends, right?”

”Only if you let me have the peanut b.u.t.ter cup,” he said.

”Done.”

He plucked it out and took a bite.

”And friends help each other,” I said.

”I believe that is indeed part of the Webster's definition, yes,” he said after another bite of the candy-which looked really, really good.

”You're totally giving me the last bite of that, right?”

He pondered a moment, then handed it over. I popped it in my mouth, looked around to make sure no one from school was in earshot, then leaned across the table. ”I want you to help me go out with Nate Wetherill.”

Archer grimaced like I'd just told a bad joke. ”What! Since when do you like Nate?”

”Shhh!” I looked around again to make sure no undercover gossip hounds were texting this information to the entire school. ”I just do,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. ”He's ... you know ... hot. Like ... rock-star hot.” Yeesh, that sounded lame when I said it out loud.

Archer thought so, too. ”'Rock-star hot'?”

”Whatever. I like him.”

”So, what, you want me to tell him or something?” Archer asked, digging back into the sundae.

”No! You can't tell him. Not until I'm ready.”

”Ready? Ready how?”

Ugh, how was I going to explain this? I couldn't tell him about the Ladder. There was no way he'd ever understand.

”You spend time with Nate in jazz band,” I said. ”You know him. You know what he likes to talk about, where he likes to go, what he likes to do ... maybe even the kinds of girls he's into.”

”Yeah. Not girls like you.”

”Ouch. Blunt much?”

”You asked.”

”I did. For a reason. That's why I need your help. I want to know everything about Nate. Everything he likes-especially everything he likes in a girl. Then once I know it, I can become it.”

”Kind of Fatal Attraction meets The Talented Mr. Ripley. Cla.s.sy.”

”Archer...”

”What? You don't turn yourself into someone else to get a boyfriend. If it's the right person, it's supposed to just happen naturally. You meet, you click, you hang out...”

Did he not realize what he was saying? That's what had happened with us, and it had ended in disaster.