Part 12 (1/2)

”Except your version's a little different from Ray's.”

He looked me up and down. I bit my cheeks to stop from smiling.

”I tweaked it a little,” he said. ”You like it?”

He was asking my opinion. I was having a conversation with Nate Wetherill. A DangerZone, a guy far too hot to actually exist in high school, cared what I thought. How cool was that?

”I do like it,” I said. ”A lot.”

Nate smiled-a wide, open smile this time. ”I saw them in concert a couple years ago. Black Parade tour.”

”I read about that,” I said. ”They brought Gerard out on a gurney, right?”

”Yeah.” Nate nodded. ”Very, very cool.”

Uh-oh. Nate was still looking at me, but I was out of things to say. I quickly scoured my brain, but before I hit on anything, he turned back to Archer. ”Thanks for letting me know about Brubeck. See you at jazz band?”

Clearly we were being dismissed.

”See you,” Archer said. He turned to walk off. I fell into step next to him, but before I'd gone two steps- ”Cara,” Nate said. ”Got a minute? I want to play something for you.”

Inside I jumped, screamed, and did a wild touchdown dance. Outside I shrugged. ”Sure,” I said. I gave Archer a silent, thrilled scream before I turned and walked back to Nate.

Nate moved over and tilted his head to indicate the spot next to him. I took it. I noticed Archer still hadn't left. He just stood there, watching Nate and me for a beat. I was sure he didn't approve of what I was doing, but at the same time he'd been a huge part of it. He could disapprove only so much without being completely hypocritical.

Eventually Archer left. He had to; it was almost time for him to meet his friends. I knew I wouldn't see him again before his audition, and I felt bad that I didn't get to give him a final ”break a leg,” but I knew he'd understand.

I stayed with Nate the rest of the period. He wanted me to hear some other tweaks on songs I knew from my iPod list. To be perfectly honest, I was sitting so close to him it was hard to concentrate, but I did my best to look like I was carefully considering every note.

When the bell rang, I stopped the Pavlovian urge to leap to my feet. I had a feeling Nate wouldn't think that was cool. Instead we both sat there a moment, looking at each other. He gave me another body-melting smile.

”This was good,” he said, rising from the rock. ”I'll see you, Cara.”

”See you,” I said.

As he walked away, my head spun with a zillion questions. When would I see him? Did he want to see me? Was that an invitation to try to see him?

”I'll be here tomorrow,” Nate called back.

I watched him until he disappeared. The moment he was out of eyeshot, I ran into the building as fast as I could go. I was late, but that wasn't why I ran. I ran because I was bubbling over with excited energy and if I didn't do something to let it out I'd explode.

Nate Wetherill wanted me to meet him tomorrow. It was practically a date!

Chapter Fourteen.

The next four days were unreal. It's not like I saw a lot of Nate. We only hung out at lunchtime on his rock. I always took my time to get there. Those were Claudia's orders-never be there before him, let him wonder if I'd show. It seemed to work. He always looked a little surprised when I arrived, in a good way. It worked for me, too. Since I was skipping lunch every day, the late arrival gave me time to scarf down the Zone bar and Diet c.o.ke I now bought every morning during my Wegmans change-a-thon.

Nate liked playing for me, and he seemed to honestly respect my opinions. He'd try out new variations on songs we both liked, or he'd play and sing something I'd request. By our third lunch together he even played me an original song.

It felt surreal: I sat two inches away from a guy performing a song he'd written himself. And it was really good. I asked if he had a recording of it so I could play it on my iPod. He furrowed his brows like he thought I might be messing with him, but he let me enter my e-mail address in his cell phone, and when I checked the next morning, he'd sent me the MP3. I wondered if I was the only person other than Nate to have it. I downloaded it immediately and listened to it nonstop.

I couldn't stop talking and texting to Claudia about Nate. It wasn't like we were going out-we were barely even hanging out-but I felt special around him. Nate was a DangerZone. He stood alone. He didn't have friends. He didn't need them. He had his music. He didn't want anything more.

Except now he wanted me.

I don't mean he wanted me, but he wanted me around. Every time we left the rock he'd say the same thing: ”I'll be here tomorrow.” And every time I showed up, he brightened just the littlest bit.

I wasn't the only one who noticed.

The Populazzi did, too.

I was surprised they caught on so quickly. Even though Nate's rock was in full view of the Populazzi Oak and the Senior Slope, January was too cold for the Populazzi. They'd retreated to their indoor haunts. I didn't see them during my fifth periods with Nate, so I thought they didn't see me.

But they're the Populazzi. They see everything.

In precalc Thursday morning, the day I got Nate's MP3, I was getting ready for cla.s.s when I caught a strong whiff of fruity vanilla-jasmine. I looked up. Trista had spun around in her seat.

”Hey,” she said, smiling.

She was looking right at me, but I was sure she was talking to someone else. If I smiled or responded in any way, I'd just call attention to myself and look like a complete loser. So I tried to make myself invisible. I went stone-faced and returned to my notebook.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed Trista kept looking my way. Then she turned back around.

Only then did I realize she'd been saying hi to me. Four months I'd been sitting behind Trista, and now today she'd acknowledged my existence.

I felt a moment of panic when I realized I'd just blown off a Supreme Populazzi. Then I realized it was perfect. I was supposed to be a dark and mysterious DangerZone. If I'd reacted like my normal self, it would have broken the mystique.

For the first time ever, my insecurity had served me well.

I texted Claudia the first second I could. Trista's attention could only be because of Nate. The Ladder was already working.

”Did you know Nate writes his own songs?” I asked Archer. ”He played one for me yesterday.” We were in his bas.e.m.e.nt playing Ping-Pong. Now that we didn't eat lunch together, after school was the main time we hung out-after I stopped at Wegmans to wash my face and change back into my regular clothes. No way could Bina see me in my full emo-gear. She'd be on the phone to my mom immediately.

”Of course I know he writes his own songs. I'm the one who knows him, remember?”

He slammed a shot to the far corner of the table. I had to dive to try to get it. I missed.

”Nice one.” I picked up the ball and blew the long bangs off my eye, but they flopped right back. ”You think Bina has a barrette around? I can't see with these stupid bangs in my face.”

”That's what you get for mutilating your head,” he muttered.

”You really think it's that awful? I like it.” I served the ball. ”Nate likes it.”

”Oh, well, if Nate likes it, it has to be great.”

What was with him? ”You're very p.i.s.sy today, Professor Higgins.”