“Carrie’s going to be a writer,” Ms. Detooten gushed. “Isn’t that so, Carrie?”
I nodded.
Suddenly I had The Gorgon’s attention. She put down her pen. “And why is that?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” I whispered. My face prickled with heat.
“Why do you want to be a writer?”
I looked to Ms. Detooten for help. But Ms. Detooten only looked as terrified as I did. “I…I don’t know.”
“If you can’t think of a very good reason to do it, then don’t,” The Gorgon snapped. “Being a writer is all about having something to say. And it’d better be interesting. If you don’t have anything interesting to say, don’t become a writer. Become something useful. Like a doctor.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The Gorgon held out her hand for my mother’s book. For a moment, I thought about snatching it away and running out of there, but I was too intimidated. The Gorgon scrawled her name in sharp, tiny handwriting.
“Thank you for coming, Carrie,” Ms. Detooten said as the book was handed back to me.
My mouth was dry. I nodded my head dumbly as I stumbled outside.
I was too weak to pick up my bike. I sat on the curb instead, trying to recover my ego. I waited as poisonous waves of shame crashed over me, and when they passed, I stood up, feeling as if I’d lost a dimension. I got on my bike and rode home.
“How’d it go?” my mother whispered later, when she was awake. I sat on the chair next to her bed, holding her hand. My mother always took good care of her hands. If you only looked at her hands, you would never know she was sick.
I shrugged. “They didn’t have the book I wanted.”
My mother nodded. “Maybe next time.”
I never told my mother how I’d gone to see her hero, Mary Gordon Howard. I never told her Mary Gordon Howard had signed her book. I certainly didn’t tell her that Mary Gordon Howard was no feminist. How can you be a feminist when you treat other women like dirt? Then you’re just a mean girl like Donna LaDonna. I never told anyone about the incident at all. But it stayed with me, like a terrible beating you can push out of your mind but never quite forget.
I still feel a flicker of shame when I think about it. I wanted Mary Gordon Howard to rescue me.
But that was a long time ago. I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t need to feel ashamed. I turn over and squish my pillow under my cheek, thinking about my date with Sebastian.
And I don’t need to be rescued anymore, either.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Competition
“I hear Donna LaDonna is seeing Sebastian Kydd,” Lali says, adjusting her goggles.
What? I dip my toe into the water as I tug on the straps of my Speedo, trying to compose myself. “Really,” I say casually. “How’d you hear that?”
“She told the two Jens and they’re telling everyone.”
“Maybe she’s making it up,” I say, stretching my legs.
“Why would she do that?”
I get up on the block next to her and shrug.
“On your mark. Get set. Go!” Coach Nipsie says.
As we’re both airborne, I suddenly shout, “I went on a date with Sebastian Kydd.”
I catch a glimpse of her shocked expression as she belly flops into the pool.
The water’s cold, barely seventy-five degrees. I swim one lap, turn, and when I see Lali coming up behind me, start pounding the water.
Lali’s a better swimmer than I am, but I’m the better diver. For almost eight years now, we’ve been competing with each other and against each other. We’ve gotten up at four a.m., swallowed weird concoctions of raw eggs to make us stronger, spent weeks at swimming camp, given each other wedgies, made up funny victory dances, and painted our faces with the school colors. We’ve been screamed at by coaches, berated by mothers, and made little kids cry. We’re considered a bad combination, but so far, no one’s been able to separate us.
We swim an exhausting eight-lap medley. Lali passes me on the sixth lap, and when I hit the wall, she’s standing above me, dripping water into my lane. “Nice way to freak out the competition,” she says as we high-five.
“Except it’s true,” I say, grabbing my towel and rubbing my head.
“What?”
“Last night. He came to my house. We went to a museum. Then we went to his house and made out.”
“Uh-huh.” She flexes her foot and pulls it up to her thigh.
“And he spent a summer living in Rome. And”—I look around to make sure no one is listening—“he bites his nails.”
“Right, Bradley.”
“Lali,” I whisper. “I’m serious.”
She stops stretching her leg and looks at me. For a second, I think she’s angry. Then she grins and blurts out, “Come on, Carrie. Why would Sebastian Kydd go out with you?”
For a moment, we’re both stunned into one of those terrible awkward moments when a friend has gone too far and you wonder if ugly words will be exchanged. You’ll say something nasty and defensive. She’ll say something hurtful and cruel. You wonder if you’ll ever speak again.
But maybe she didn’t mean it. So you give her another chance. “Why wouldn’t he?” I ask, trying to make light of it.
“It’s only because of Donna LaDonna,” she says, backtracking. “I mean, if he’s seeing her…you wouldn’t think he’d start seeing someone else, too.”
“Maybe he isn’t seeing her,” I say, my throat tight. I’d been looking forward to telling Lali everything about the date, turning over each little thing he said and did, but now I can’t.
What if he is seeing Donna LaDonna? I’ll look like a complete and utter fool.
“Bradshaw!” Coach Nipsie shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you today? You’re up on the planks.”
“Sorry,” I say to Lali, as if somehow it’s all my fault. I grab my towel and head to the diving boards.
“And I need you to nail the half gainer with a full twist for the meet on Thursday,” Coach Nipsie calls out.
Great.
I climb the rungs to the board and pause, trying to visualize my dive. But all I can see is Donna LaDonna and Sebastian together that night at The Emerald. Maybe Lali is right. Why would he bother chasing me if he’s still seeing Donna LaDonna? On the other hand, maybe he isn’t seeing her and Lali’s just trying to mess me up. But why would she do that?
“Bradshaw!” Coach Nipsie warns. “I don’t have all day.”
Right. I take four steps, come down hard on my left foot, and pop straight up. As soon as I’m in the air, I know the dive is going to be a disaster. My arms and legs flail to the side as I land on the back of my head.
“Come on, Bradshaw. You’re not even trying,” Coach Nipsie reprimands.
Usually, I’m pretty tough, but tears well up in my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s from the pain in my head or the humiliation to my ego, but either way, they both hurt. I glance toward Lali, hoping for sympathy, but she isn’t paying attention. She’s seated in the bleachers, and next to her, about a foot away, is Sebastian.
Why does he keep popping up unexpectedly? I’m not prepared for this.
I get back on the board. I don’t dare look at him, but I can feel him watching. My second attempt is a little better, and when I get out of the water, Lali and Sebastian have started talking. Lali looks up at me and raises her fist. “Go, Bradley!”
“Thanks.” I wave. Sebastian catches my eye and winks.
My third dive is actually pretty good, but Lali and Sebastian are too engaged in their animated conversation to notice.
“Hey,” I say, squeezing water out of my hair as I stride over.
“Oh, hi,” Lali says, as if she’s seeing me for the first time that day. Now that Sebastian is here, I figure she must be feeling pretty cheesy about what she said.
“Did it hurt?” Sebastian asks as I sit down next to him. He pats the top of my head and says sweetly, “Your noggin. It looked like it took some da
mage there.”
I glance at Lali, whose eyes are the size of eggs. “Nah.” I shrug. “Happens all the time. It’s nothing.”
“We were just talking about the night we painted the barn,” Lali says.
“That was hysterical,” I say, in an attempt to behave as if all of this is normal, as if I’m not even surprised to find Sebastian waiting for me.
“You want a ride home?” he asks.
“Sure.” He follows me to the locker room door, and for some reason, I’m relieved. I suddenly realize I don’t want to leave him alone with Lali.
I want him all to myself. He’s too new to share.
And then I feel like a crap heel. Lali is my best friend.
I slip out to the parking lot through the gym instead of the pool, my hair still wet, my jeans clinging uncomfortably to my thighs. I’m halfway across the asphalt when a beige Toyota pulls up beside me and stops. The window rolls down and Jen S sticks her head out. “Hey, Carrie,” she says, all casual. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
Jen P leans across her. “Want to go to the Hamburger Shack?”
I give them a deliberately skeptical look. They’ve never asked me to go to the Hamburger Shack before—hell, they’ve never asked me to go anywhere. Do they really think I’m that dumb?
“Can’t,” I say vaguely.
“Why not?”
“I have to go home.”
“You have time for a hamburger,” Jen S says. It might be my imagination, but I detect a slight threat in her tone.
Sebastian honks his horn.
I jump. Jen S and Jen P exchange another look. “Get in,” Jen P urges.
“Really, guys. Thanks. Some other time.”
Jen S glares at me. And this time there is no mistaking the hostility in her voice. “Suit yourself,” she says as she rolls up the window. And then they just sit there, watching as I walk up to Sebastian’s car and get in.
“Hi,” he says, leaning over to kiss me.
I pull away. “Better not. We’re being watched.” I point out the beige Toyota. “The two Jens.”
“Who cares?” he says, and kisses me again. I go along with it but break away after a few seconds. “The Jens,” I say pointedly. “They’re best friends with Donna LaDonna.”
“And?”
“Well, obviously they’re going to tell her. About you and me,” I say cautiously, not wanting to be presumptuous.
He frowns, turns the key in the ignition, and slams the stick into second gear. The car leaps forward with a screech. I peek out the back window. The Toyota has pulled right up behind. I slump down in the seat. “I can’t believe this,” I mutter. “They’re following us.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he says, looking into the rearview mirror. “Maybe it’s time someone taught them a lesson.”
The engine roars like a wild animal as he puts the car into fourth gear. We take a sharp turn onto the highway and hit seventy-five. I turn around to check the progress of the Toyota. “I think we’re losing them.”
“Why would they do this? What is wrong with these girls?”
“Boredom. They don’t have anything better to do.”
“Well, they’d better find someone else to tail.”
“Or what? You’re going to beat them up?” I giggle.
“Something like that.” He rubs my leg and smiles. We take a sharp turn off the highway and onto Main Street. As we approach my house, he slows down.
“Not here.” I panic. “They’ll see your car in the driveway.”
“Where then?”
I consider for a moment. “The library.”
No one will think to look for us there, except maybe The Mouse, who knows that the Castlebury Public Library is my favorite secret place. It’s housed in a white brick mansion, built in the early 1900s, when Castlebury was a booming mill town and had millionaires who wanted to show off their wealth by building grand mansions on the Connecticut River. But hardly anyone has the money to keep them up now, so they’ve all been turned into public properties or nursing homes.
Sebastian whips into the driveway and parks behind the building. I hop out and peek around the side. The beige Toyota is slowly making its way down Main Street, past the library. Inside the car, the two Jens are swiveling their heads around like swizzle sticks, trying to find us.
I bend over, laughing. Every time I try to straighten up, I look at Sebastian and burst out into hysterics. I stumble around the parking lot and fall to the ground, holding my stomach.
“Carrie?” he says. “Is it really that funny?”
“Yes,” I cry. And I collapse into another wave of laughter while Sebastian looks at me, gives up, and lights a cigarette.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me.
I get up, holding on to him for support. “It is funny, isn’t it?”
“It’s hilarious.”
“How come you’re not laughing?”
“I am. But I like watching you laugh more.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It makes me happy.” He puts his arm around me and we go inside.
I lead him up to the fourth floor. Hardly anyone comes up here because all the books are on engineering and botany and obscure scientific research that most people don’t want to bother trekking up four flights to read. In the middle of the room is an old chintz-covered couch.
We’re at least half an hour into an intense make-out session when we’re startled by a loud angry voice.
“Hello, Sebastian. I was wondering where you’d run off to.”
Sebastian is on top of me. I look over his shoulder and see Donna LaDonna looming over us, like an angry Valkyrie. Her arms are crossed, emphasizing her formidable chest. If breasts could kill, I’d be dead.
“You’re disgusting,” she sneers at Sebastian before she focuses her attention on me. “And you, Carrie Bradshaw. You’re even worse.”
“I don’t get it,” I say in a small voice.
Sebastian looks guilty. “Carrie, I’m sorry. I had no idea she would react that way.”
How could he have “no idea”? I wonder, my anger growing. It’s going to be all over the school tomorrow. And I’m the one who’s going to look like either a fool or a bitch.
Sebastian has one hand on the wheel, tapping the fake wood inlay with a ragged nail, as if he’s as perplexed by this as I am. I’m probably supposed to yell at him, but he looks so cute and innocent, I can’t quite muster the energy.
I look at him hard, folding my arms. “Are you seeing her?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s like being a little bit pregnant. You either are or you’re not.”
“I’m not, but she thinks I am.”
And whose fault is that? “Can’t you tell her you’re not seeing her?”
“It’s not so easy. She needs me.”
Now I really have had enough. How can any self-respecting girl respond to this nonsense? Am I supposed to say, “No, please, I need you too”? And what’s up with this old-fashioned “neediness” stuff, anyway?
He pulls into my driveway and parks the car. “Carrie—”
“I should probably go.” There’s a bit of an edge to my voice. But what else am I supposed to do? What if he does like Donna LaDonna better and he’s only using me to make her jealous?
I get out of the car and slam the door.
I race up the walk. I’m nearly at the door when I hear the quick, satisfying tread of his footsteps behind me.
He grabs my arm. “Don’t go,” he says. I allow him to turn me around, put his hands in my hair. “Don’t go,” he whispers. He tilts my face up to his. “Maybe I need you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
“Maggie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says coldly.
“Are you angry at me?” I gasp.
She stops, t
urns, and glares. And there it is: The international girl face for “I’m mad at you, and you should know why, but I’m not going to explain it.”
“What did I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do.”
“Okay, what didn’t I do?”
“You tell me,” she says, and starts walking.
I run through a variety of scenarios but can’t come up with a clue.
“Mags.” I chase after her down the hall. “I’m sorry I didn’t do something. But I honestly don’t know what that something is.”
“Sebastian,” she snaps.
“Huh?”
“You and Sebastian. I come to school this morning and everyone knows all about it. Everyone except me. And I’m supposed to be one of your best friends.”
We’re nearly at the door to assembly, where I will have to walk in knowing that I’m going to have to face the hostility of Donna LaDonna’s friends, as well as a small army of kids who aren’t her friends, but want to be.
“Maggie,” I plead. “It just happened. I didn’t exactly have time to call you. I was planning to tell you first thing this morning.”
“Lali knew,” she says, not buying my explanation.
“Lali was there. We were at the pool when he came by to pick me up.”
“So?”
“Come on, Magwitch. I don’t need you mad at me as well.”
“We’ll see.” She pulls open the door to the auditorium. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Okay.” I sigh as she heads off. I skittle along the back wall and hurry down the aisle to my assigned seat, trying to attract as little attention as possible. When I finally reach my row, I stop, startled by the realization that something is terribly wrong. I check the letter “B” to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.
I haven’t. But my seat is now occupied by Donna LaDonna.
I look around for Sebastian, but he’s not there. Coward. I have no choice. I’m going to have to brazen it out.
“Excuse me,” I say, making my way past Susie Beck, who has worn purple every day of her life for the last two years; Ralph Bomenski, a frail, white-skinned boy whose father owns a gas station and makes Ralphie work there in all kinds of weather; and Ellen Brack, who is six feet tall and is giving off the impression that she’d prefer to disappear—a sentiment I understand completely.
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