as if with a pool cue; they'd whack the ball while leaping through the air. Putter use wasn't required; at one hole Tom executed a perfect pratfall and "tripped" over the ball, which went flying into the hole. Noah did a handstand, then swatted the ball in without losing his balance. Sue, who had until now struck me as a little shy and proper, placed the ball in her cleavage, then leaned down and squeezed her breasts together so the ball popped out and rolled into the hole. She won that round.
It was easily the weirdest afternoon I'd ever spent in public. I was sure I'd die of embarrassment when a group of senior class Penultimates got caught behind us and started making cracks. Archer and his friends weren't bothered at all. They just ignored the seniors and kept doing their thing, and eventually the group jumped past us and kept playing.
Once I stopped caring what everyone around us thought, I attempted a few tricks of my own. I tried a one-handed putt; I swatted a putt backwards between my legs. I even tried to bat one in with my head, like in soccer, but that just hurt.
Still, I had no hope in this crowd. Even with their sympathy points, I lost by double digits.
"Cara pays for ice cream!" Doug crowed.
"You don't have to," Archer said.
"Of course she has to!" Sue said. "She lost; it's the rule!"
"I'm happy to pay," I said.
And I was. I'd had a lot of fun—way more than I'd thought I would. I was even okay with the ride to Friendly's, their ice cream spot of choice, as long as I could sit buckled into the passenger seat. I genuinely felt like part of their group, and even though the Ladder had nothing to do with my real reasons for being around Archer, I saw how well it could work. I'd gone from being a complete no one to a solid Cubby Crew member. Sure, it was a lower-level Cubby Crew and miles away from the Supreme Populazzi, but it was a position I could build on and work my way up. Theoretically, I could do that. In practice, nothing sounded worse. If it meant being Archer's girlfriend, I'd embrace my inner Theater Geek forever.
Monday morning I came to school with a huge box of the peanut-butter-cream-cheese-Cap'n-Crunch apples. To me they're among the ultimate comfort foods, and Archer and his friends needed comfort. The Cyrano cast list was going up before the first bell rang, and each second of nervous anticipation was torture for them. Sue was pretty grossed out by the apples, but everyone else really liked them, and they all munched anxiously as they waited for Mr. Gates, the director. When they saw him, they gripped one another in a Gordian knot that included me.
Mr. Gates was brutal. As I understood it, he was pretty much the faculty advisor of the Theater Geeks and had been a huge part of their lives for the past two years. As he moved closer and closer, I saw each member of the group scan his face, searching for some kind of clue—a smile of approval, a sigh of sympathy. But he gave them nothing. He wouldn't even make eye contact.
Without releasing one another, we tiptoed close to read the list. There it was: Archer was Cyrano.
"You got it!" I screamed, and threw my arms around him.
He hugged me close and said "Thanks" softly in my ear. For a second I completely forgot we were in the middle of the school hall. We were in his basement again, all alone, and any moment he'd pull back and bring his lips to mine...
"Come to me, my darling!" Ember screamed. She ripped Archer away and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. I checked the cast list. She was Roxanne, the female lead and the love of Cyrano's life. As she and Archer hugged, I noticed Sue looking at them wistfully. I knew she had also wanted the part of Roxanne and had to be disappointed, but I could have sworn there was something else in her eyes...
Maybe I was crazy, but I was suddenly very happy that Ember was cast as Archer's love interest and not Sue.
Rehearsals started that very afternoon and would severely impact Archer's and my Ping-Pong schedule. Archer made me promise we'd play on weekends. Of course I said yes, and we easily settled into a new routine. Saturdays we'd do things with the gang.