I'd admitted I was dreaming about him. Once I got it, I was so embarrassed and flustered and worried about how he'd react that I couldn't even finish. The whole story devolved into incoherent stammers until I just gave up and changed the subject.
It drove me crazy, but Claudia didn't think it was strange at all.
"You like him," she said. "You're not thinking clearly. You're too distracted because you're secretly dying to jump his bones."
"I'm not!"
And I wasn't. I'd only known him five days; bone jumping seemed a little extreme. I just loved being around him. I looked forward to seeing him every morning. My heart gave a little leap when I saw him sitting in the hall across from my locker, waiting for me. Or when I found him at the lunch table, the seat next to him always reserved until I got there. He didn't even ask me after that first time—it was already a given we'd sit together, just like in Mr. Woodward's English class.
But it wasn't as if we were a couple. We hadn't even touched. At least, not intentionally.
Except once. Just yesterday. Archer was making fun of my chocolate-shake fries again, so I gave one an extra-thick dip and ran over to his side of the table.
"That's it! You're trying one! You'll love it!"
"No!" he'd screamed, and grabbed my wrists before I could get the fry anywhere near his mouth. We'd wrestled like that, Archer pushing me back while I'd strained to feed him the french fry. At first it was purely a battle, but as it went on, I became acutely aware of his hands touching my skin and how close our faces were as we struggled.
Archer won the fight. All the shake dripped off the fry until it was just soggy and gross and I agreed to throw it away.
I could still remember the exact feel of his hands, though.
"I'm not saying you want to actually jump his bones," Claudia clarified, "only that you want him. Probably as more than just a Ladder rung."
I winced. Was she upset?
"Maybe," I admitted. "Would you hate me for that?"
"Are you insane? If you really like him and he likes you, that's huge! It's bigger than the Ladder—it's epic! I love it!"
I felt so relieved. Even though I'd been telling her things, I'd been holding back, too, so I wouldn't hurt her feelings. Now I had a million things I wanted to ask her.
"So it's Friday," I said. "Do you think he'll ask me to do something over the weekend? And if he doesn't, is it okay if I invite him to do something over the weekend?"
"Absolutely not. You invite him and you look too eager. If he wants to see you, he'll do the inviting."
That made sense. When Archer and I went to the mall that day, I didn't even mention the weekend. I said neither the words "week" nor "end." I simply channeled all my concentration into the words "invite me," then shot them toward Archer in a continuous beam of psychic energy.
"Cara?" he finally asked.
Success!
"Yes?" I batted my eyes. No, really, I did.
"Are you okay? You're holding your head and your face is all scrunched up. Do you have a headache or something?"
"Oh. No. I just ... precalc. Hard problem. I'm having tangent issues."
So much for psychic energy.
Maybe he forgot it was Friday.
Just before we got into our cars I said, "See you Monday!"
"Yep. Have a great weekend."
So he knew it was Friday, but he still didn't say anything. And yet he opened my door and waited as I drove off, just like a chivalrous prince.
Or a highly competent valet.
This was not a good sign.
Chapter Six
I called Claudia on my way home from the mall, and she tried to talk me down. While she agreed the lack of a weekend invitation wasn't ideal, she didn't think it was a disaster. She invited me to spend the next two nights at her house, where we could sift through every second of my first week with Archer and see if we could figure out ways to maybe adjust my approach and get better results. We didn't come up with anything brilliant Friday night and had just woken up Saturday morning when my phone chirped.
"Imagining your breakfast.." read the text from Archer. "Cotton candy dipped in Tabasco?"
"He texted me!" I screamed to Claudia. "He's been thinking about me!"
She and I debated far too long over my answer before I texted back, "That's lunch. Breakfast a chocolate-chip-and-swiss omelet.