Part 15 (1/2)

We went into the living room and flopped onto the couch, each automatically pulling a quilt onto our lap. Claudia's mom was an artist, and one of her favorite projects was creating huge super-cozy quilts. Uniquely disturbing, super-cozy quilts. Claudia's featured scenes from Hieronymus Bosch's h.e.l.l paintings; mine was a Warhol-esque four-panel image of Charles Manson.

I told Claudia everything, though my mouth was still so dry that I couldn't get anything out before going to the kitchen to grab a giant gla.s.s of water and a box of Lucky Charms that Claudia and I now munched by the handful. I was almost done with the story when we heard Claude's mom pad downstairs. Claudia stared at me with alarm.

It took me a second, but then I remembered. I was still dressed and made up like the reaper's bride, a fact Lenore-not Claudia's mom's real name; she'd adopted it because she liked the Poe reference-would absolutely feel the need to share with my parents. I quickly ducked my entire head and body under the multicolored Manson blankie and wondered how I was going to pull this off.

”Morning, girls,” Lenore said. I felt her move close to me. ”Poor thing. Is your stomach still bothering you, Cara?”

Claudia kicked me under the covers. I remembered I'd spent the night in ”gastric distress.”

”Ohhhhh,” I moaned.

Claudia's barely stifled snicker told me I was nowhere near the actress she was, but Lenore seemed satisfied.

”Think we have any Pepto?” Claudia asked her. ”I bet it would help her a lot.”

”Hmm. Somewhere we must,” Lenore said. ”I'll look.”

Claudia was a genius. It could take forever for Lenore to dig up the medicine. I heard Lenore head upstairs. I raced into the bathroom and scoured my face, then Claudia slipped me pajamas she'd grabbed from my duffle bag so I could change. Disaster averted. And since Mom and Karl knew I'd be with Claudia all weekend, I'd have the freedom to zip off and see Nate whenever he called.

Except he didn't call. Even though we'd spent most of the night practically locked together and I'd specifically asked him to call in my text. Did he not get my text? But even if he hadn't, wouldn't he have woken up and wondered where I was? And if he'd a.s.sumed I'd gone home, wouldn't he have wanted to make sure I was okay?

I wanted to call him, but Claudia wouldn't let me. She dragged me into her room, sat me at her desk, and placed the familiar yellow binder in front of me.

”Please open your text to page one hundred and two,” she said.

”I don't know what's more disturbing: that you put together more than a hundred pages or that you actually went through and numbered all of them.” I got to the page she wanted. ”It's a collage of men in combat.”

”Flip forward at your leisure.”

I did. More collages spread across the next several pages: men playing football, basketball, hockey, soccer; men wrestling; men boxing; men lifting disturbingly heavy weights at the gym; men at Coney Island scarfing hot dogs as a crowd cheered them on.

”You may cease flipping,” Claudia said. Clearly she felt her point had been made, but I had no idea what it was. My blank expression must have said that loud and clear.

”A challenge,” Claudia said. ”Men love a challenge. You have to play hard to get. It's the only way you'll hold on to Nate long enough to get to the next rung of the Ladder.”

Or long enough to help him, I thought. I kept that plan to myself. I had a feeling Claudia wouldn't appreciate me altering her masterwork.

Claudia did have a point. If Nate didn't seem that anxious to talk, I shouldn't be either. I'd let it go. I'd wait until Monday.

Chapter Seventeen.

It really wasn't fair how long it took Monday to come around. Staying up most of Sunday night to find a Nate-friendly outfit that screamed ”How Can You Not Want More of This?” didn't help any, but it was at least productive. I went hot-casual: a black and white striped s.h.i.+rt with a scooped neckline and a chain-trimmed pocket on the chest, plus tight black jeans ripped along the sides in irregular circles.

I left the house as early as I could without filling Mom's and Karl's heads with questions, hit Wegmans, and made it to school right after the doors opened. Remembering Claudia's gladiator images, I did my best to look for Nate without seeming like I wanted anything to do with him whatsoever.

I had no luck, and there was only so long I could wander the halls looking detached and disillusioned. When I heard a high keening squeal, I had to go check it out.

The cast list for the spring musical had just been posted, and Archer, Tom, Dinah, Sue, Molly, Ember, Doug, and Noah were all gathered around it. The falsetto screech had been from Doug, and his exuberant vertical leaps would have made him a shoo-in for either the varsity basketball team or the Miss America pageant.

Archer himself had a huge grin on his face. Despite the fight we'd had last week, I was excited for him. I knew what it had to mean.

”Did you get Seymour?” I asked.

Archer wheeled at the sound of my voice. He looked surprised but not angry.

”Yep,” he said with a little bow. ”Seymour Krelborn, at your service.”

”That's great!”

”Yeah, thanks.”

”And what role are you playing?” Ember asked, looking me up and down.

Archer blushed. He didn't look at Ember, just put his hands in his pockets and shuffled a second before he asked me, ”Um ... can we talk a little bit?”

”Sure,” I said.

We walked a few feet away and stood by the wall. I noticed some of the Theater Geeks shooting me dirty looks. Not Sue, actually, but Ember and Tom for sure.

”I was a jerk,” Archer said. ”I'm really sorry.”

I almost said, ”It's okay.” It was reflex, at least for me. People say they're sorry, I want to make them feel better.

But what he'd said wasn't okay. It had hurt. That didn't mean I was going to hold it against him-already I wanted to forget it had ever happened and be cool with each other again-but ”it's okay” wasn't quite right.

”Thanks,” I said.

”And you didn't mutilate your head. Your hair looks good ... kind of.”

I laughed. ”Don't worry-you don't have to like it. A couple months and it'll be totally back to normal.” Unless I needed to keep it this way for Nate, of course-but I didn't say that part out loud.

”Up for Ping-Pong?” Archer asked.

”Bring it. How about this afternoon?”

”Oooh, can't. First rehearsal. How about over the weekend?”

If things went well, I'd be with Nate over the weekend.

”Maybe. I'll e-mail you; we'll figure it out.”

”Great.”

We stood there a moment, smiling-but without anything else to really say.

A high-pitched, breathy voice squealed from down the hall. ”Seymour! Seymour! We need you!”