on my own, right? The main reason I was telling Archer in the first place was so he'd know I was totally over him. That mission had to have been accomplished.
"Fine," I said. "You don't have to help me. I just thought it would be more fun that way."
"Fun? How would this possibly be fun for me?"
"It would be fun because it's a project, and we'd work on it together. Like"—I suddenly thought of exactly how I could make him understand—"like a musical! Think of it as My Fair Lady. You'd be Henry Higgins; I'd be Eliza Doolittle."
Archer thought for a moment. "How well do you know My Fair Lady?"
"I know Henry succeeds; he turns Eliza from a flower girl into a lady. You could do the same thing. It's a Cinderella story; you could be my fairy godmother."
"I do look good in a hoop skirt and wings."
"You see? You're thinking about it. You know it would be fun..."
"I know you have a twisted sense of fun."
"Come on. Let's do this together. You said you're my friend. You want me to be happy, right?"
Archer looked at me skeptically. "And you think Nate will make you happy?"
"I told you, I have no idea! But getting the chance to find out will make me very happy. Especially if I get to do it with you."
Archer thought a second, then he burst out in a perfect upper-crust British dialect. "'I'll take it! I'll make a duchess of this draggle-tailed gutter-snipe.'" "You're quoting, yes?"
"Yes." Archer looked me in the eye. "Let's get to work."
Chapter Twelve
"NateGate" was the name of our plan. We gave ourselves three weeks to make my transformation: the last week of school before Christmas break plus the break itself. After vacation I'd return to school as the new me and take Nate by storm.
Studying to become Nate's girlfriend took far more effort than studying for any other test I had ever taken, including the PSAT. Even the reading material was more intense, or at least there was more of it, most in graphic novel form. I had to read Watchmen, which Nate had told Archer was pretty much his bible. I also had to read a slew of other graphic novels, none of which involved Spiderman, Batman, or any other superhero I had ever heard of. While some of Nate's favorite books had become movies, I was strictly forbidden by Archer to watch them. Or if I had seen them, I was warned to either forget them or simply feel unclean from the sullying experience.
Then there was music. Music was not surprisingly the most important thing in Nate's life, and he would pretty much discount any girl who was into music that he considered pop and shallow. Music pointed to character. I told Archer I was neither pop nor shallow, and I thought my music choices reflected that just fine.
Archer pressed a preset button on my car radio. An old Britney Spears song blared, and I sang along to every word, bopping in my seat. Archer just looked at me.
"Oh, come on!" I said. "Who doesn't sing along to Britney?"
Archer changed my presets, but radio stations are fickle, and since he didn't want me listening to anything objectionable, he recommended I avoid the radio entirely. Instead he reprogrammed my iPod. Nate's particular passion was emo punk, which included some bands I actually knew from their big hits, like Paramore and My Chemical Romance; and a bunch that I had never heard of, like Jawbreaker, Braid, and Sunny Day Real Estate. Some I liked, some I didn't, but I made my new iPod mix my constant soundtrack, and even read up on the bands so I could speak intelligently about them.
What would be more challenging than changing my interests would be changing me. I was way too happy, well adjusted, and goofy for Nate, Archer assured me, and to prove it, we secretly tailed three of Nate's ex-girlfriends. Honestly, we could have saved time and just tailed one. Archer hadn't lied. Nate had a type, and it wasn't me. While my mane of curls burst out of my head in every direction, Nate's girls had poker-straight hair, with bangs that hung low over one eye. The hair could be dark, blond, or a streak-dyed combination of jet black and green, but the style remained the same.
They also seemed to dress in uniform. They all wore tight jeans with black belts that were sometimes chunky and ornamented. Over that they wore close-fitted tees: