The Carrie Diaries (18 page)

I peek at George. He’s frowning, concentrating on the road as if his life depends on it.

“George,” I beseech him. “I’m so sorry. Honestly. I kept meaning to tell you—”

“As a matter of fact, I happen to be seeing other women as well,” he says coldly.

“Okay.”

“But what I don’t appreciate is being put into a situation that makes me look like an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole. And I really, really like you—”

“But you like Sebastian Kydd better,” he snaps. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

We pull into my driveway. “Can we at least be friends?” I plead, making a last-ditch effort to rectify the situation.

He stares straight ahead. “Sure, Carrie Bradshaw. Tell you what. Why don’t you give me a ring when you and Sebastian break up? Your little fling with Sebastian won’t last long. Count on it.”

For a moment, I sit there, stung. “If you want to be that
way, fine. But I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I said I was sorry.” I’m about to get out of the car, when he grabs my wrist.

“I’m sorry, Carrie,” he says, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to be harsh. But you do know why Sebastian got kicked out of school, right?”

“For selling drugs?” I ask stiffly.

“Oh, Carrie.” He sighs. “Sebastian doesn’t have the guts to be a drug dealer. He got kicked out for cheating.”

I say nothing. Then I’m suddenly angry. “Thanks, George,” I say, getting out of the car. “Thanks for a great day.”

I stand in the driveway, watching him go. I guess I won’t be visiting George in New York after all. And I certainly won’t be meeting his great-aunt, the writer. Whoever she is.

Dorrit comes out of the house and joins me. “Where’s George going?” she asks plaintively. “Why didn’t he come in?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be seeing any more of George Carter,” I say with a mixture of finality and relief.

I leave Dorrit standing in the driveway looking extremely disappointed.

The judges hold up their scores: Four-point-three. Four-point-one. Three-point-nine. There’s a collective groan from the stands.

That puts me in second-to-last place.

I grab a towel and drop it over my head, rubbing my hair. Coach Nipsie is standing to the side, arms crossed, staring at the scoreboard. “Concentration, Bradshaw,” he mutters.

I take my place in the bleachers, next to Lali. “Bad luck,” she says. Lali is doing great in this meet. She won her heat, making her the favorite to win the two-hundred-meter freestyle. “You’ve still got one more dive,” she says encouragingly.

I nod, scanning the bleachers on the other side of the pool for Sebastian. He’s on the third riser, next to Walt and Maggie.

“Do you have your period?” Lali asks.

Maybe because we spend so much time together, Lali and I are usually on the same cycle. I wish I could blame my performance on hormones, but I can’t. I’ve been spending too much time with Sebastian, and it shows. “Nope,” I say glumly. “Do you?”

“Got it last week,” Lali says. She looks across the pool, spots Sebastian, and waves. He waves back. “Sebastian’s watching,” Lali says as I get up to do my final dive. “Don’t screw up.”

I sigh, trying to focus as I climb the ladder. I stand at the ready, arms by my side, palms facing backward, when I have an unsettling but startlingly clear revelation: I don’t want to do this anymore.

I take four steps and hop, launching my body straight into the air, but instead of flying, I’m suddenly falling. For a split-second I see myself hurtling off a cliff, wondering what will happen when I hit bottom. Will I wake up, or will I be dead?

I enter the water with my knees bent, followed by an ugly splash.

I’m finished. I head to the locker room, peel off my suit, and step into the shower.

I always knew someday I’d leave diving behind. It was never going to be my future—I knew I’d never be good enough to dive on a college team. But it wasn’t just the actual sport that made it fun. It was the raucous bus trips to other schools, the ongoing backgammon games we’d play in between heats, the excitement of knowing you’re
going to win and then pulling it off. There were bad days too, when I knew I was off. I’d chastise myself, vow to try harder, and move on. But today, my lousy diving feels like more than a lousy day. It feels unavoidable, like I’ve reached the limits of my abilities.

I’m done.

I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I wipe a patch of steam off the mirror and stare at my face. I don’t look any different. But I feel different.

This isn’t me. I shake out my hair and flip the ends under, wondering how I’d look with a shorter haircut. Lali just cut her hair, feathering the top and spritzing it with a can of hair spray she keeps in her locker. Lali never worried much about her hair before, and when I commented on it, she said, “We’re at the age when we need to start thinking about how we look to guys,” which I thought was probably a joke.

“What guys?” I asked, and she responded, “All guys,” and then she looked me up and down and smiled.

Was she referring to Sebastian?

If I quit swim team, I could spend more time with him.

It’s been two weeks since the skiing incident with George. For days I was petrified Sebastian’s sister, Amelia, would tell him she met me with George, but so far, Sebastian hasn’t mentioned it. Which means she either hasn’t told him, or she has, and he doesn’t care. I even tried to get to the bottom of it by asking him about his sister, but all he said was, “She’s really cool,” and “Maybe you’ll meet her someday.”

Then I tried asking him why he left prep school to come to Castlebury High. I didn’t want to believe what George told me was true—after all, why would Sebastian need to cheat when he was smart enough to take courses like calculus?—but he only laughed and said, “I needed a change.”

George, I decided, was simply jealous.

Having been granted a reprieve on the George front, I’ve been determined to be a better girlfriend to Sebastian. Unfortunately, so far it means putting aside most of my normal activities. Like swimming.

Nearly every other day, Sebastian tries to get me to ditch practice by tempting me with an alternative plan. “Let’s go to the Mystic Aquarium and look at killer whales.”

“I have swim team. And then I have to study.”

“The aquarium is very educational.”

“I don’t think looking at killer whales is going to help me get into college.”

“You’re so boring,” he’d say, in a way that made it clear if I didn’t want to hang out with him, some other girl would. “Skip practice and we’ll go see
Urban Cowboy
,” he said one afternoon. “We can make out in the movie theater.” I agreed to this outing. It was a miserable day and the last place I wanted to be was in a cold pool—but I felt guilty through the entire movie and Sebastian annoyed the hell out of me when he kept putting my hand inside the front of his jeans to squeeze his penis. Sebastian was a lot more advanced than I was when it came to sex—he often made casual references to various “girlfriends” he’d dated at prep
school—but the girlfriends never seemed to last more than a few weeks or so.

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“They were crazy,” he said matter-of-factly, as if craziness was an inevitable by-product of dating him.

Now I jerk open my locker, pause, and wonder if I’ve been cursed with the same affliction.

My locker is empty.

I shut it and check the number. It’s my locker, all right. I open it again, thinking I’ve made a mistake, but it’s still empty. I check the lockers to the left and the right. They’re empty too. I wrap the towel around my waist and sit down on the bench. Where the hell is my stuff? And then it hits me: Donna LaDonna and the two Jens.

I’d spotted them at the beginning of the meet, sitting on the edge of a bleacher, snickering, but I didn’t think much about it. Actually, I did think something about it, but I never thought they’d go this far. Especially since Donna apparently does have a new boyfriend—the guy I saw her with outside her house. The two Jens have been busy spreading rumors about him, telling anyone who will listen that he’s an older guy who goes to Boston University but is also a famous male model who’s in an ad for Paco Rabanne. Shortly thereafter, a page ripped from a magazine, featuring a photograph of a guy holding a bottle of aftershave, appeared taped to Donna LaDonna’s locker. The image stayed put for several days, until Lali couldn’t take it anymore and scribbled a thought bubble coming out of the model’s head that read:
I AM M-T AND STOOPID.

Donna probably thought I did it, and now she’s out for revenge.

Enough. I yank open the door to the pool, about to stride out, when I realize a race is in progress and Lali is swimming. I can’t stroll out in the middle of a meet wearing only a towel. I peer around the door into the bleachers. Donna LaDonna and the two Jens are gone. Sebastian is absorbed in the race, raising his fist when Lali flips her legs over her head two feet from the wall and shoots into first place. Walt is looking around as though planning his escape, while next to him, Maggie is yawning.

Maggie. I’ve got to get to Maggie.

I hurry to the end of the locker room and scoot out the door that leads to the hallway, then skittle across the hall and through an entrance to the outside. It’s freezing and I’m barefoot, but so far, no one has seen me. I scurry around the building to the back wall and slip through a door that opens right under the bleachers. I creep under the tangle of legs and grab Maggie’s foot. She jumps and looks around.

“Mags,” I hiss.

“Carrie?” she says, peering down through the slats. “What are you doing here? And where are your clothes?”

“Give me your coat,” I implore.

“Why?”

“Maggie, please.” I tug her coat off the seat next to her. “Don’t ask. Meet me in the locker room and I’ll explain.”

I grab the coat and make a run for it.

“Carrie?” she says, a few minutes later, her voice echoing
through the empty locker room.

“Over here.” I’m searching through the dirty towel bin, thinking maybe Donna dumped my clothes. I find a gross pair of gym shorts, a dirty sock, and a yellow bandanna. “Donna LaDonna took my clothes,” I say, giving up.

Maggie’s eyes narrow. “How do you know?”

“Come on, Mags.” I wrap her coat around my shoulders. I’m still cold from my run outside. “Who else would do it?”

She plops down on a bench. “This has to stop.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No. Really, Carrie. It
has
to
stop
.”

“What am
I
supposed to do?”

“
You’re
not supposed to do anything. Make Sebastian do something. Make him tell her to end it.”

“It’s not really his fault.”

“Actually, it is. Have you forgotten how Sebastian led Donna LaDonna on and then dumped her for you?”

“He told her he wasn’t serious and he’d just moved back and was going to see other people.”

“Well, obviously. After all, he got what he wanted.”

“Right,” I say. My hatred for Donna LaDonna feels like a physical object—round and hard—lodged in my belly.

“And he should be defending you. Against her.”

“What if he won’t?”

“Then you should break up with him.”

“But I don’t want to break up with him.”

“All I know is that Peter would defend me,” Maggie says vehemently.

Is Maggie doing this on purpose? Trying to get me to break up with Sebastian? Is there some kind of conspiracy going on that I don’t know about? “Having to have a guy defend you—it’s so old-fashioned,” I say sharply. “Shouldn’t we be able to defend ourselves?”

“I want a guy who will stick up for me,” Maggie says stubbornly. “It’s like a friend. Would you put up with a friend who wouldn’t stick up for you?”

“No,” I agree reluctantly.

“Okay then.” The door to the locker room swings open and Lali comes running in followed by several teammates. They’re high-fiving and snapping one another with wet towels.

“Where were you?” she asks, peeling off her suit. “I won.”

“Knew you would,” I say, slapping her outstretched palm.

“Seriously, though. You disappeared. You’re not upset, are you? About choking on your dives?”

“Nah. I’m fine.” I have too many other things to be upset about now. “You don’t have an extra pair of shoes, do you?”

“Well,
I
think it’s hilarious,” Lali declares. “I laughed so hard, I nearly peed in my pants.”

“Uh-huh,” I say with stiff sarcasm. “I’m still laughing.”

“You have to admit. It
is
pretty funny,” Sebastian says.

“I don’t have to admit a thing,” I say, crossing my arms as we pull into my driveway. A burning fury suddenly overtakes me. “And I don’t think it’s funny
at all
.” I open
the door, get out, and slam it as hard as I can. I run into the house, imagining Lali and Sebastian sitting in the car in shock. Then they’ll look at each other and burst out laughing.

At me.

I race up the stairs to my room. “What’s going on?” Missy asks as this whirlwind passes her.

“Nothing!”

“Thought you were going to the dance.”

“I
am
.” I slam the door to my bedroom.

“Jesus,” Dorrit says from the other side.

I’m
over it
. Finished. Done. I open my closet and start throwing shoes across the room.

“Carrie?” Missy knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”

“If you don’t mind having your eye blackened by flying footwear!”

“What’s wrong?” Missy cries, entering the room.

“I am so sick of going out with my boyfriend and having my best friend always tagging along. I am so sick of the two of them making fun of me. And I’m so sick of these
little idiot girls
”—I really scream this part, as loud as I can—“following me around and making my life
hell.
” I heave a high-heeled shoe that belonged to my grandmother with such force that the heel actually penetrates the spine of a book.

Missy is unfazed. She sits cross-legged on the bed and nods her head thoughtfully. “I’m glad you brought this up. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a while. I
think Lali is trying to undermine your relationship with Sebastian.”

“No kidding,” I snarl, yanking back the curtain and peering out the window. They’re still out there. Sitting in the car, laughing.

But what can I do? If I go out there and confront them, I’m going to look insecure. If I say nothing, they’ll continue.

Missy folds her hands under her chin. “You know what the problem is? Mom never taught us any feminine wiles.”

“Was she supposed to?”

“I mean, here we are, knowing nothing about boys. Nothing about how to get them or how to keep them.”

“Because when Mom met Dad, they immediately fell in love and he asked her to marry him right away,” I say mournfully. “She didn’t have to try. She didn’t have to scheme. She didn’t have to deal with a Lali. Or a Donna LaDonna. Or the two Jens. She probably thought we’d be just like her. Some guy would come along and instantly fall in love with us and we’d never have to worry.”

“I know.” Missy nods. “I think, when it comes to men, we’re doomed.”