through my head as I pedaled. I'd made so many mistakes. I'd hurt so many people, including myself. And yet ... there were good things that had come out of the Ladder, too. I would never have gotten close to Archer without it. Much as losing him hurt, I wouldn't trade the time we'd had for anything. I loved most of the songs I'd studied to attract Nate and still listened to them all the time. I'd started a new relationship with my dad because of the Ladder, and even though it was demolished right now, he was my dad: one day we'd pick it back up. Probably he'd be the one to make me cry about what I'd done, then maybe we'd be okay. I'd even learned things from Trista that I still used. When it came to clothes and makeup, and caring about myself enough to look my best, she'd been like a big sister to me.
If I really could go back and undo all that, would I?
Maybe I would—probably I would. The bad stuff was still pretty awful. But if I did, I'd lose a lot of things that were now part of who I was.
The year had happened. I couldn't erase it, so I had to embrace it. Celebrate it, even.
And all of a sudden I knew exactly how I wanted to do that. I pedaled hard to get home as quickly as possible. I showered, put on makeup, grabbed my purse, gave a little pat to the mini Liberty Bell on my night table, and started out the door ... but something didn't feel right. I felt like I should share the moment with the world, or at least whatever part of the world happened to be paying attention.
I went to my Facebook page. Mine, not Cara Leonard Is a Great Big Whore, which had grown a life of its own and expanded to comment on other "whores" at schools around the country and the world. Quite a legacy I was leaving.
I filled out my status: "Seeking the symbol of my independence. Happy prom night, everyone. "
I hit Update and watched the message appear on my wall. Much better. Now I could leave.
By the time I drove downtown and parked my car, it was almost four p.m. I got lucky: there was one available ticket for the next tour of Independence Hall. I grabbed it. It hadn't changed in the four years since I'd been there last. That shouldn't have been surprising: it had barely changed in the two hundred fifty years before that. I guess since I felt so different from the person I'd been back then, part of me assumed everything else in the universe would have changed, too.
After the tour, I went to the Liberty Bell Center and stared at the enormous version of the bell I looked at every day. It was stunning in person: strong, beautiful, and powerful ... but scarred. Yet without its crack, it would only be a bell. My own scars might not be as visible, but they were just as integral to the person I'd become. The only big difference between us was that even cracked, I still felt like I could ring.
That, and it was a centuries-old piece of molded metal, while I was a human being. But I was waxing philosophical. I let it go.
I stayed with the Liberty Bell until closing time, then walked to my next stop: the Bourse for a nutritious dinner of a soft pretzel and soft-serve chocolate ice cream, excellent for dipping. I also grabbed a pack of Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes for later, then went searching for the perfect table.
That's when I saw him. His back was to me. Black hair cut bluntly at the nape of his neck, the polo shirt, the Gatsby hat.
I briefly wondered if Archer had a twin who'd been given up for adoption, only to be discovered by me right here and now.
No, it was Archer—which seemed even more impossible. I moved closer to his table and saw him dip a french fry into a chocolate milk shake, then plop it into his mouth.
Now that was impossible.
I set my tray next to him at the table. He didn't look at me, just sat there dipping fries.
"You're committing a crime against food," I said, taking a seat. "You're lucky I don't report you to the Hague."
"You wouldn't get out the first word. You're Public Enemy Number One in the Food Crimes division. They'd give