"So I lie to these guys, use them, and that makes me popular?"
"You don't lie. You highlight different aspects of your actual personality. And you don't use anyone. They're guys. Guys are psyched to have girlfriends. You'll be helping them. Just like you, they'll be more desirable when they're part of a couple. When you're ready to move on, it'll be easy for them to get someone new."
It was a lot of insight for someone with as much guy experience as I had. In other words, next to none. Claudia had seen a penis, but it was attached to her first cousin Rob, who's fourteen and a total dork. His idea of biting satire is to tape googly eyes and paper elephant ears on the front of his jeans, then let "the trunk" hang out of his fly.
I, on the other hand, have never in my life seen a penis. I've tried to imagine what that eventual momentous occasion might be like, and even spent a whole class period once staring at the word in my notebook, but all I pictured were other words you could make from its letters. Like SPINE. And SNIPE. And E-SNIP, which seemed like a good name for an online circumcision service.
"You have doubts," Claudia said. "You shouldn't. I've done the research." She nodded to the binder. "Open it."
I did. The book overflowed with reams of magazine articles, written notes, and Xeroxes of book and newspaper pages.
"My God, Claudia, when did you do all this?"
"You were busy packing; I had time on my hands." She scooted next to me to read over my shoulder.
"The whole book is filled with evidence," she said. "Tons of situations where the Ladder led to success. Like in the musical Evita—how does Eva Peron go from poor villager to First Lady of Argentina? The Ladder. Or Cinderella—a million different Cinderella stories from a million different places in the world and a million different points in history turn a scullery maid into royalty. How? The Ladder. And it's in real life, too! Would anyone care about Yoko Ono's art or music if it weren't for John Lennon? Would anyone care about Sharon Osbourne's opinion if she weren't married to Ozzy?"
"Since when did you play Carnegie Hall with Yo-Yo Ma?" I had just flipped to a perfectly Photoshopped picture of them on the famous stage, their heads bent over their instruments in twin concentration.
"Metaphorical Ladder," Claudia explained. "Happens in music and sports all the time. You always want to practice with people just a little better than you so they pull you up to their level."
I smiled at Claudia's implication that Yo-Yo Ma was only a little better than she was at the cello. A lack of confidence had never been one of Claudia's issues, and she seemed extremely confident about this Ladder idea. I had to admit it sounded intriguing. And going into Chrysella with a specific mission would certainly be less intimidating than just being myself and nervous and shy and hoping that people would see through to the real, fun, fascinating me.
Still, I had major doubts that I could pull it off. "I don't know, Claude..."
"You can do this, Cara," she said, leaning in close. "I know you can. And you won't be doing it just for yourself; you'll be doing it for me, too. For everyone who has ever felt like a misfit, or was ever picked on, or laughed at, or treated like they weren't good enough. You can prove we're no different than the Supreme Populazzi by becoming one of them. And you can do it with the help of the Ladder."
Claudia believed every word she was saying ... and in that moment I almost did, too. I wanted to believe it. If I did, then maybe starting a new school didn't have to be scary at all. It could be a chance to make a statement, to show something to the world, even if Claudia and I were the only ones who ever knew about it.
But was it really possible?
As if reading my thoughts, Claudia rose and walked to my night table, where a small replica of the Liberty Bell sat next to an unopened pack of Tastykakes. She put one hand on the replica and looked into my eyes. "This will work, Cara. I swear it will work."
She was swearing on the Bell. It wasn't something we did lightly.
For just a second I let myself really imagine it: me