me. "Perfect," I said. And I was so happy that I practically tackled him to get back to the kissing, which we did for most of the night before we fell asleep in each other's arms. After the sexual hyperspeed of Nate, it was wonderful to be with a guy who wanted to take things slowly. It meant things with Eddie could stay more innocent and romantic, which I loved.
Back when I was grounded, I'd felt as though I was living only during the week, when I escaped to school. Now that I was a full-time member of the Populazzi, it was the opposite—I lived weekend to weekend. That was when everything important happened. The weekdays were all about planning to make those weekends great. I knew my schoolwork was suffering—I didn't have as much time to study. I supposed there'd be consequences when Mom and Karl got my next report card, but that was ages away.
In the meantime, I had something more pressing to think about: next weekend's winter formal. It would be the first school dance I'd ever attend with a date on my arm. Gemma would still be out of town, but Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and I had an endless list of things to do to prepare: hair appointments, mani-pedis, dress hunting ... Trista even wanted to decorate The Hang with a wintery theme, just to keep the mood going when we all went back to her place after the dance. I was in fact brainstorming ideas to enhance that very project ... when out of nowhere, in the middle of English class, I was brutally ambushed and put on trial.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I didn't even realize it at first; I wasn't paying attention. It was Friday, the formal was the next day, and the only thing on my mind was the splash Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and I would make in our spectacular new ensembles. It wasn't until Mr. Woodward cleared his throat that I noticed he was standing over me, and every pair of eyes in the room was boring into my face.
"So?" Mr. Woodward asked.
Uh-oh. Clearly I had been asked something, but I had no idea what it was.
"Um ... I'm sorry, can you please repeat the question?"
"It would be my absolute pleasure," Mr. Woodward said. "In fact, let's go ahead and do a little reenactment of everything that just happened. Like we're TiVo."
I took a deep breath. Mr. Woodward seemed giddy. That did not bode well for me.
"The class was discussing The Crucible,," he said. "You remember we're doing our unit on The Crucible, yes?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful. You've been so silent lately, I sometimes fear you believe your top-of-the-table perch is more a tanning bed than a vantage point for learning. Well, then. The question arose, 'How exactly do people get caught up in the kind of groupthink we find in Miller's play?' And Mr. Jain said..."
Mr. Woodward turned to Archer. He blushed but didn't ignore the tacit request.
"I said, 'Maybe you should ask Cara.'"
"Oh, you said it far more pointedly than that, Mr. Jain. Let's not back away from our stance now. And I believe you even added the phrase 'she—referring to Miss Leonard, of course—'seems to be an expert in groupthink.'"
Mr. Woodward turned back to me. "So I ask you, Miss Leonard: how do people get caught up in Arthur Miller's level of groupthink?"
Groupthink? Why would I be an expert in groupthink?
I looked at Archer and was about to ask him the question—when suddenly I got it.
At least I thought I got it. But that couldn't really be it, could it? Was Archer ... were Mr. Woodward and Archer really accusing me of groupthink because I was part of the Populazzi?
They couldn't be. This was the middle of English class. They couldn't gang up on me and pass judgment on my social life in the middle of English class.
And yet ... what else could they be talking about? And why else would everyone in the room be leaning in and sucking up the drama? It was because I was a Populazzi now. What happened to me was interesting. Especially if it was embarrassing.
Anger shot through me, and it was all I could do to stop myself from leaping off the table and screaming. In that moment, I hated all of them, but I reserved a special ring of fire for Mr. Woodward and Archer. Especially Archer. He was supposed to be my friend.
With effort, I calmly addressed Mr. Woodward. "I'm sure Archer's trying to compliment me