"Just if they do. I don't want anyone to go poking into your old life through Facebook. Rosalind Arden is a cipher. She is invisible."

"She is insane," I said before we clicked off. Moments later a chat box appeared on the screen from Rosalind: "Minnesota!" I laughed as I clicked it away, then tooled around looking for other people I knew. I found Archer, which was weird, because he'd never mentioned he was on Facebook. He must have signed up recently. Would Trista think it was weird if she saw him on my friend list? I remembered her clapping for his poem on the first day of school and figured she'd be fine with it.

I sent Archer a friend request, then Mom called me down for dinner. By the time I got back up to my prison cell-er, room-he'd confirmed me as a friend, but he wasn't online. b.u.mmer. I'd thought it would be fun to chat, especially since I was sure he had all kinds of questions about my new Populazzi status.

The next two weeks were like Populazzi boot camp. Trista even spelled it out that way: I had a lot to learn if I was going to be one of them. Some of the lessons were obvious, like Thou Shalt Not Fraternize with the Happy Hopeless. That came up when Robert Schwarner, of course clad in his BeastSlayer cape, decided to come into The Heap and say h.e.l.lo. Or more precisely, to come in, stride right up to me, and say, "'Why, you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler.'"

"What?" Brett sneered like he smelled feet.

"Is he talking to you?" Ree-Ree asked.

Actually, he was talking to Han Solo, and he was being Lando Calrissian, but that explanation could only make things worse.

The horrible part was I had seen it coming. My eyes had drifted to the doorway of The Heap just as Robert walked by, and the second he saw me, I knew he was going to come in, no matter how hard I screamed inside my head for him to stopstopStopSTOPSTOOOOOOP!!!!!

Now Robert plopped down on a chair next to me. He put his feet up on a game table, making himself at home. I shot a frantic look to Eddie, but he was engrossed in picking at a small hole near the bottom of his SIX-PAC T-shirt, featuring Pac-Man, Ms. Pac-Man, and four Pac-babies. No help at all. And despite what Robert had said about him and Eddie once being friends, Robert didn't even glance in Eddie's direction.

Nope, he made it good and clear to all the Populazzi that I was the lucky one he'd come to see.

"What's up?" Robert asked, as if we were all alone and no one were watching, when in fact everyone but Eddie was glaring death at me for pulling such an obvious contaminant into their midst.

I was sweating. I didn't want to be mean to Robert, but I had to get him out of the room. Quickly. And without the Populazzi thinking I was friends with him and accepting me meant accepting him, too. If that was the case, I was sure they'd have no problem excommunicating me, even if Eddie wanted to stay a couple.

I smiled at Robert through clenched teeth. "Hi," I began. "You don't usually hang out here."

"Nope."

Kristie was now chewing her perfectly manicured nails, a sure sign she was wildly uncomfortable.

Gemma crunched up pieces of notebook paper and lobbed them at Robert's feet.

Then one landed at mine.

"Robert," I asked quickly, "are you really sure you want to be here?" I smiled, but I knew it didn't hide my panic, which was fine. Maybe he'd feel for me and get out of the room faster.

Brett cut to the chase. "Schwarner, get your fat a.s.s out of here."

Robert tilted up on one hip to glance appraisingly at his backside. "Hmm. Actually, I think it's looking rather trim these days, but I'll keep your concern in mind. Thank you."

Brett jumped up. Marsh did the same but hung back, letting Brett take the lead. "You trying to mess with me?" Brett asked. "'Cause if you are, I'm right here."

"Oh, I wasn't doubting your presence in the room," Robert replied. Then he turned to me. "So ... how are things?"

I was going to kill him. I could see it in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it just to make my life difficult.

"Brett, sit down," Trista said. "I'm sure Cara can handle this herself."

It was a challenge, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Robert, can I talk to you outside a second?" I asked.

"We can talk right here," he said. "We're all friends, right?"

Well, there it was. I'd given Robert an out-a perfectly good out-and he'd chosen not to take it. He in fact did the opposite: he set me up for what I had to do next, like he was daring me to do it! So fine, I would, but I wouldn't like it, and it wouldn't be my fault at all. It would all be on him.

"No, Robert," I said, "we're not friends. These are my friends, and we'd appreciate it if you'd leave us alone."

He leaned forward, pinning me with his stare. "'If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.'"

I leaned forward, too. "The Star Wars movies are ridiculously overrated. Goodbye, Robert."

That was it. Robert rose and strode out of the room, his cloak billowing around him as he left.

"Fuh-reeeeek! " Ree-Ree said.

"Does it make you want to bed him?" Gemma asked.

Ree-Ree took a moment to think about it. "Do I get to wear the cloak?"

"Hey, I'm right here!" Marsh complained.

My attention, however, was on Trista. She didn't say anything, but she wore a pleased smile and I knew she approved. If I hadn't known better, I'd almost have thought she and Robert had worked together to test my loyalties. I briefly considered writing Robert a thank-you note.

While the Shun Happy Hopeless thing was no surprise, there were all kinds of other rules I discovered as I found my place in the Populazzi. An early lesson was Thou Shalt Not Eat Weird Food, which I learned when they served sundaes in the cafeteria and I mixed a bowl of peanut b.u.t.ter and chocolate syrup. The sneer from Trista got me out of my seat within seconds to throw it away. I inwardly vowed she would never see me dip a french fry in a shake.

There were other lessons, too, like Thou Shalt Never Make a Joke (Even a Playful One) at Trista's Expense. Thou Shalt Always Partic.i.p.ate in Trista's Social Plans was another, but it was waived for Gemma and me: for Gemma when she was out of town and for me while I was grounded. But I still knew it was a biggie.

The list went on and on. And then there were the zillions of acronyms I had to learn. If something was bad, it was "LA," for Lame a.s.s, or "Super LA," for Super Lame a.s.s. Something wonderful was "CHIW," for Chills-Worthy. People to be avoided were "NOKs": Not Our Kinds. Then there were the acronyms that had evolved since I'd arrived in their midst, like "TA" for Robert Schwarner ("Trim a.s.s") and "BL" for Nate Wetherill ("Bong Lover").

I told Claudia everything I learned, except for Marsh's dating status, and she sucked in every detail. She saw us as two halves of a single social scientist. I was on the ground doing fieldwork; she was back in the lab compiling the data. She imagined publishing a book one day, a treatise on what makes the Populazzi tick, which high school students could buy and use as a blueprint for how to skyrocket to the top of their own school's Popularity Tower.

Claudia imagined the book would be huge. I had to agree. Who wouldn't want this life? Sure, there were rules, but in return I got a group of girls who treated me like a sister. We ate lunch together, we hung in The Heap every morning before the bell rang and after lunch, and one of them was always around to fall into step with me between cla.s.ses and chat.

There were endless things to chat about. Like Marsh and Ree-Ree's dramas. I'd thought Ree-Ree was crazy at first, like everybody said. But she wasn't, not really. Even the eye-scratching thing was exaggerated. It had happened, but Ree-Ree was provoked. This girl Bridget had found out her married dad was sleeping with Ree-Ree's single mom, and Bridget had called Ree-Ree out on it at the bus stop, saying all kinds of horrible things.

"Which is stupid," Ree-Ree said as we walked the halls. "My mom didn't do anything wrong. She wasn't the married one."

I saw on Facebook that Ree-Ree's mom listed "Men" among her favorite activities, and Ree-Ree seemed to feel the same way. She craved excitement, especially in relationships.

"It's the conquest, Cara. It's a rush," she said one day as we walked to cla.s.s. "If Marsh and I were always together, we'd get bored."

"But you said you love him."

"I do. But never as much as when one of us is trying to win the other one back. It's very s.e.xy."

It didn't make a lot of sense to me, but that was something I'd come to appreciate in Ree-Ree. She had a unique take on things.

Kristie was far more traditional and innocent.

"Do you think Eric is husband material?" she asked me.

I had no idea. The word "husband" wasn't even on my radar. "You mean, like, will he be in ten years?"

"Ten years? I want to be on my third baby in ten years. Kerry-she'll be the youngest. Karly and Kyler will be her older brother and sister."

"You've actually thought this all out?"

"That's what high school is for: finding the right boy to take care of you forever. And for learning enough that I can help my kids with their homework."

"What about college?"

"Of course! If I don't find my husband here, I'll have to find him in college, right? And don't worry," she added, linking her arm through mine, "no matter when I meet him, you'll still be at the wedding."

Gemma, meanwhile, had already been given an open invitation to pretty much every college in the country. It wasn't just because she was on the pro tennis tour. She was also brilliant. To us, she was like a worldly-wise big sister who showered our group with her knowledge.

"Life outside is no different," she said. "It's just like high school. If you're hot and you're smart and you take no c.r.a.p, you'll get everything you want."

While Gemma had the scoop on the real world, no one knew how to navigate Chrysella better than Trista. And following her lead was easy. Being a Penultimate wasn't like being a DangerZone. There was no specific uniform. Trista was all about individual style-as long as whatever we wore looked good enough to be "aspirational."

She thought my basic jeans and tops were a fine place to start but I needed some additional pieces and accessories to make my wardrobe work. She e-mailed me lists of links to items I should buy. I thought it was cool that she didn't make a.s.sumptions about what I could afford. If she liked something for me, she always sent at least two different versions: one higher end and one budget-friendly equivalent.

When I told her my credit card had been confiscated as part of my grounding, she told me to save the links until she "took care of things." In the meantime, she brought in items of her own or had the other girls bring in things to supplement my wardrobe. I never minded taking Trista's suggestions. She brought out a personal style I didn't even know I had.

Turned out "casual chic" was my thing: skinny blue jeans, tunics, heels, and limited but very specific accessories, like just the right textured shoulder bag, long necklace, or earrings. Trista also tweaked my makeup routine. She showed me how to blend different blushers, bronzers, lip glosses, and eye shadows to create the perfect look for my face: one that seemed totally natural but made my eyes and smile pop. My hair was still a mess of straight layers that looked best tied back, but I told Trista how curly it would get and she was thrilled. With the right highlights and product, she said it would be my crowning glory.

Even my mom noticed the change in me once I started taking advice from Trista. "You look so sophisticated lately, Cara," she said during dinner one night. "Like you're really taking care of yourself."

I ignored the implication that I had looked like a slob before and simply took the compliment. "Thanks. It's my friend Trista. She gives amazing fashion advice."

"I like the makeup, too. You look very collegiate. Doesn't she look collegiate, Karl?"

Karl lowered his paper for all of a second to look at me, then he disappeared behind it again. "Very collegiate," he muttered.

It was only two words, but Mom nearly jumped out of her seat with delight. Not only had Karl spoken to me, he'd admitted I looked "collegiate," which was the highest praise imaginable.

Much as I didn't want to get caught up in Mom's and Karl's head games, I felt pretty warm and fuzzy about it, too.

The next day, Karl showed up at Chrysella.

Trista, Ree-Ree, and Kristie were walking me out after school when I saw him. He was standing by my car, his long, lanky body practically bent double as he tried to shield his cell phone call from the wail of the wind.

No good could come of Karl being here. Sure, he'd acknowledged and half complimented me the night before, but he could still say anything now, and the Populazzi were right here to witness it.

"Cara!" Karl called, then he quickly got off the phone and walked toward us. He had a huge grin on his face, as if his appearance in the Chrysella parking lot was a special treat I could only be thrilled to receive.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" he chirped.

"Um ... sure. You guys, this is Karl, my stepdad. Karl, this is-"

"Trista Camello," Trista interrupted. She had a huge, confident smile on her face, and she strode toward Karl with her hand outstretched. "It is such a pleasure finally meeting you, Mr. Ralston. I can't even tell you what a joy it's been getting to know Cara. You and Mrs. Ralston have clearly done an incredible job raising her."

Wow ... gush much? If I tried pulling off something like that it would sound completely fake, but Trista made it work. Karl lit up. I think he even blushed as he shook her hand. "Thank you, Trista," he said. "It's a pleasure meeting you, too. Cara's told me a lot about you."

I briefly considered asking when I'd told him a lot about her, seeing as we hadn't had a single conversation since I'd entered Trista's...o...b..t, but Trista was already introducing Karl to Kristie and Renee, which apparently was Ree-Ree's real name. Trista then complimented Karl on his coat and cajoled him into giving her the name of the store where he'd bought it, since it was exactly the kind of gift she'd been seeking out for her own father. Like everyone else, Karl glowed under Trista's attention, and I could tell he was disappointed when she finally excused herself and the other girls so they could catch some of the guys' basketball practice.

"Oh!" Trista called back after they'd turned to go. "I'd love to pick your brain about Northwestern sometime. Cara's been raving about it. It sounds like an exceptional school."

That did it. Karl went supernova. "Anytime, Trista. Anytime." Then, as he turned to smile down at me, Trista shot me a knowing smirk and wink ... and I finally got it. She'd said she'd help with my home situation, and charming Karl to within an inch of his life was her way of doing it. I didn't know if it would work, but I loved that she'd made the effort. It proved she really did think of me as one of them.

"So ... our new friends seem very nice," Karl said. He did that when he was being playful: made everything plural like it belonged to us both. I was supposed to balk and call him on it, but after spending several weeks disowned, I didn't have the energy.

"I have a surprise for you." He gestured to his car.

Come on.

"What about my car?"

"We'll get it later."

Karl stared straight ahead as he drove, but his voice was cheerful. "Guess where we're going?"

"I don't know. Where?"

"Pat's ... Steaks," he said.

Pat's totally lived up to its hype as the best cheesesteak place in Philly, but it was all the way in the city, so we almost never went. Something was seriously up, but after several minutes of silence, I knew Karl wouldn't tell me unless I pried it out of him.

"Why?" I asked.

"We received your report card," Karl said. "It was exactly as you and your mother had said: straight As. Clearly you did not go quite as astray as I'd first believed. I have already apologized to your mother for not taking her at her word when she told me she spoke to your teachers. I should have. I also should have been more careful in choosing my words to you when I was upset. You are not a stranger, you are not dangerous, and you will always be my daughter. I love you."

Karl was sweating and he had the steering wheel in a death grip. I stared at him, my heart beating a little faster in antic.i.p.ation. Was this it? Was he going to lift the grounding?

"Cara?"

"Oh." I realized he was waiting for absolution. That had never been a problem for me, telling Karl what he needed to make him feel better. But this time ... I couldn't. The words wouldn't come. Still, he seemed like he was about to lift my punishment and I had no desire to stop him, so...

"It's okay," I managed.

That probably wasn't the ideal response to "I love you." Karl squeezed the wheel tighter. I tried again.

"I mean ... I know. You know ... I know."

Oh, that was eloquent. I'd get a Pulitzer one day for sure.

The white faded from Karl's knuckles as he relaxed and nodded. "I do know. Thanks, Cara."

Wow. Maybe I would get that Pulitzer. I almost giggled, which would have been disastrous because I'd have stopped Karl from saying what came next.