The Carrie Diaries

by Candace Bushnell

  I put my head in my hands. Sometimes, I acted dumb around him. I’d say, “Oh, what’s that?” when I knew perfectly well what he was talking about. It made me feel like I didn’t know who I was, or who I was supposed to be. I giggled nervously at things that weren’t funny. I would become too aware of my mouth, or how I was moving my hands. I began living with a black hole of insecurity that had moved into my consciousness like an unwanted relative who refused to leave yet constantly criticized the accommodations.

  I should be relieved. I feel like I’ve been in a war.

  “Carrie?” Maggie says tentatively. I look up, and there she is with rosy cheeks, hair twisted into two long braids. She holds her mittened hands up to her mouth. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” My voice is a mere husk.

  “The Mouse told me what happened,” she whispers.

  I nod. Soon everyone will know. I’ll be talked about and mocked behind my back. I’ll become a joke. The girl who couldn’t keep her boyfriend. The girl who wasn’t good enough. The girl who was shown up by her best friend. The girl who you can grind under your heel. The girl who doesn’t matter.

  “What are you going to do?” Maggie asks, outraged.

  “What can I do? She said he said that he needed her.”

  “She’s lying,” Maggie exclaims. “She’s nothing but a big liar. Always bragging about herself. It’s all about her. She stole Sebastian because she’s jealous.”

  “Maybe he really does like her better,” I say wearily.

  “He can’t. And if he does, he’s stupid. They’re both evil nasty people who deserve each other. Good riddance. He wasn’t good enough for you.”

  But he was. He was all I ever wanted. We belonged together. I will never love another guy the way I loved him.

  “You need to do something,” Maggie says. “Do something to her. Blow up her truck.”

  “Oh, Magwitch.” I lift my head. “I’m just too tired.”

  Hide in library during calculus. Furiously read Star Signs. Lali’s a Leo. Sebastian (Se-bastard) is a Scorpio, which figures. Apparently they will have explosive sex together.

  Attempt to decide what I hate most about this situation. The shame and embarrassment? The loss of my boyfriend and my best friend? Or the betrayal? They must have been planning this for weeks. Talking about me and how to get rid of me. Engineering secret assignations. Discussing how to tell me. But they didn’t tell me. They didn’t have the decency. They simply put it right out there, in my face. Like the only way they could deal with it was to get caught. They didn’t think about how I might feel. I was only in the picture as an obstacle, because I don’t matter to them. I am no one to them.

  All those years of friendship…Was it all a lie?

  I remember once in sixth grade, Lali had a birthday party and didn’t invite me. I walked into school one day and Lali wouldn’t talk to me, and neither would anyone else. Or so it seemed. Maggie and The Mouse still talked to me. But not Lali or the other girls we hung around with, like Jen P. I didn’t know what to do. My mother said I should call Lali, and when I did, Lali’s mother said she wasn’t home, although I heard Lali and Jen P giggling in the background. “Why are they doing this to me?” I asked my mother.

  “I can’t explain it,” she said helplessly. “It’s just one of those things girls do.”

  “But why?”

  She shook her head. “It’s jealousy.” But I didn’t think it was jealousy. I thought it was more instinctual, like being part of a pack of wild animals that drive one animal out into the wilderness to die.

  It was scary, how a girl couldn’t live without friends.

  “Ignore it,” my mother advised. “Act like nothing is wrong. Lali will come around. You’ll see.”

  My mother was right. I did ignore it and Lali’s birthday came and went, and sure enough, four days later Lali and I were mysteriously friends again.

  For weeks afterward, however, when Lali mentioned her birthday—she had taken six girls to an amusement park—my face would redden in shame at the memory of being shunned. When I finally asked Lali why I wasn’t invited, she looked at me in surprise. “But you did come, didn’t you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh,” she said. “Maybe you were acting like a jerk or something.”

  “That Lali is a dope,” my mother said, “dope” being an insult she reserved for those she considered the very lowest form of human being.

  I let it go. I figured it was the way of girls. But this—this betrayal—is that the way of girls as well?

  “Hey,” The Mouse says, discovering me in the stacks. “He wasn’t in calculus. And she wasn’t in assembly. So they must be feeling really guilty.”

  “Or maybe they’re at some hotel. Fucking.”

  “You can’t let them get to you, Bradley. You can’t let them win. You have to act like you don’t care.”

  “But I do care.”

  “I know. But sometimes, you have to act the opposite of what people expect. They want you to go crazy. They want you to hate them. The more you hate them, the stronger they become.”

  “I just want to know why.”

  “The cowards,” Walt says, putting his tray down next to mine. “They don’t even have the guts to show up at school.”

  I stare down at my plate. The fried chicken suddenly resembles a large insect, the mashed potatoes a nacreous glue. I push it aside. “Why would he do it? From a guy’s perspective?”

  “She’s different. And it’s easier. It’s always easier at the beginning.” Walt pauses. “It might not even have anything to do with you.”

  Then why does it feel like it does?

  I attend the rest of my classes. I’m there physically, but mentally I’m stuck on replay: Lali’s shocked expression when I caught her kissing Sebastian and the way Sebastian’s mouth turned down in displeasure when he saw I’d come back. Maybe he was hoping to keep both of us on the line.

  “She’s a little bitch,” Maggie says.

  “I thought you liked her,” I say craftily. I need to know who’s really on my side and who isn’t.

  “I did like her,” Maggie says, jerking the wheel of the Cadillac and overshooting the turn, so we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. “Until she did this.”

  “So if she hadn’t done it, you would still like her.”

  “I dunno. I guess so. I was never crazy about her, though. She’s kind of arrogant and full of herself. Like everything she does is so great.”

  “Yeah,” I say bitterly. Lali’s words, “He wants me,” ring in my head. I open the glove compartment and take out a cigarette. My hand is trembling. “You know what’s scary? If she hadn’t done this, we’d probably still be friends.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s weird, you know? To be friends with someone for so long, and then they do one thing, and it’s over. And they weren’t a bad person before. Or at least you didn’t think they were. So you have to wonder if that bad thing was always there, waiting to come out, or if it was just a one-time thing, and they’re still a good person, but you can’t trust them.”

  “Carrie, Lali did do this,” Maggie says matter-of-factly. “Which means she is a bad person. You just never saw it before. But you would have realized it, eventually.”

  She presses on the brakes as the brick facade of Sebastian’s house comes into view. Slowly, we drive past. Lali’s red truck is parked in the driveway behind Sebastian’s yellow Corvette. I crumple like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.

  “Told ya,” Maggie says triumphantly. “Can you please act normal now and admit that you hate her guts?”

  Day Two: Wake up shaken and angry, having dreamed all night about trying to punch Sebastian in the face and being unable to connect.

  Lie in my bed until the last minute. Cannot believe I still have to deal with this. Will it ever be over?

  Surely they’ll be in school today.

  I can’t skip assembly and calculus two days in a row.
/>   Arrive at school. Decide I need a cigarette before I can face them.

  Apparently, Sebastian feels the same way. He’s there, in the barn, sitting at the picnic table with Lali. And Walt.

  “Hi,” he says casually.

  “Oh, good,” Walt exclaims nervously. “Do you have a cigarette?”

  “No,” I reply, my eyes narrowing. “Don’t you?”

  Lali has yet to acknowledge me.

  “Have one of mine,” Sebastian says, holding out his pack. I look at him suspiciously as I take a cigarette. He flips open his lighter, the one with the rearing horse etched on the side, and holds out the flame.

  “Thanks,” I say, inhaling and immediately exhaling a puff of smoke.

  What are they doing here? For a second, I have a vague hope that they’re going to apologize, that Sebastian is going to say he made a mistake, that what I saw two nights ago wasn’t what I thought. But instead, he snakes his arm around Lali’s wrist and holds her hand. Her eyes glide toward me as her lips form an uneasy smile.

  It’s a test. They’re testing me to find out how far they can push me until I explode.

  I look away.

  “So.” Sebastian turns to Walt. “Lali tells me you made a big announcement on New Year’s Eve—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Walt declares. He tosses his cigarette and walks out. I raise my arm and drop mine to the ground, stubbing it out with my toe.

  Walt is waiting for me outside. “I have one word for you,” he says. “Revenge.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Pretty Pictures

  A week passes. But every time I see Lali, my heart races and I’m seized by a queer sense of dread, as if my life is in danger. I do my best to avoid her, which means I’m constantly watching out for her, scanning the halls for the top of her feathered hair, looking over my shoulder for her red truck, even bending down to check the shoes beneath the closed doors in the bathroom stalls.

  I know Lali so well—her walk, the way she waves her hands next to her face when she’s making a point, the defiant incisor that sticks out just a tad too far—I could pick Lali out of a crowd a mile away.

  Even so, on two occasions we’ve inadvertently ended up face-to-face. Each time I gasped and we both quickly looked away, sliding past each other like silent icebergs.

  I watch Lali a lot when she’s not looking. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it.

  She and Sebastian don’t sit with us at lunch anymore.

  Half the time, they avoid the cafeteria, and sometimes, walking up the hill to the barn before a break, I’ll spot Sebastian’s yellow Corvette pulling away from the school grounds with Lali in the passenger seat. When they do eat in the cafeteria, they sit with the two Jens, Donna LaDonna, Cynthia Viande, and Tommy Brewster. Maybe it’s where Sebastian always thought he belonged, but couldn’t get there with me. Maybe it’s why he picked Lali instead.

  Meanwhile, Jen P is behaving strangely. The other day, she actually joined us at lunch, giggling and acting like she and I were good friends. “What happened with you and Sebastian?” she asked, all girlish concern. “I thought you guys were so cute together.”

  The insincerity—the hypocrisy—is spectacular.

  Then she asked Maggie and Peter if they wanted to be on the Senior Prom Committee.

  “Sure,” Peter said, looking to Maggie for approval.

  “Why not?” Maggie exclaimed. This from the girl who hates parties, who cannot even get out of the car to go to one.

  Sometimes I wonder if I’m beginning to hate everyone. The only two people I can stand are The Mouse and Walt.

  Walt and I make fun of everyone. We spend all our spare time in the barn. We laugh about how dumb Tommy Brewster is, and how Jen P has a birthmark on her neck, and how stupid it is that Maggie and Peter are on the prom committee. We vow to skip the prom, considering it beneath us, and then decide we might go, but only if we go together and dress as punks.

  On Wednesday afternoon, Peter stops by my locker. “Hey,” he says, in a voice that makes me suspect he’s doing his best to act like he doesn’t know what happened between me and Sebastian. “You coming to the newspaper meeting?”

  “Why?” I ask, guessing Maggie must have put him up to this.

  “Thought you might want to.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  He strolls off as I stare into my locker. I slam the door and run after him. Why should he get off the hook so easily? “What do you think about Sebastian and Lali?” I demand.

  “I think that it’s high school.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning it doesn’t matter. It’s high school—a frequently unpleasant but relatively short percentage of your life. In five months we’ll be out of here. In five months, no one will care.”

  Not “no one.” I’ll still care.

  I follow him up the stairs to the newspaper meeting. No one seems particularly surprised to see me as I take a seat at the counter. Ms. Smidgens nods at me. Apparently, she’s abandoned her rigid rules about attendance. The year’s half over, and it’s probably not worth the effort.

  Little Gayle walks in and slides onto the stool next to me. “I’m disappointed,” she says.

  Jeez. Even freshmen know about me and Sebastian? This is worse than I thought.

  “You said you were going to write that story about the cheerleaders. You said you were going to expose Donna LaDonna. You said—”

  “I said a lot of things, okay?”

  “Why did you say you were going to do it if you had no intention—”

  I put my finger to my lips to shush her. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just said I haven’t gotten around to doing it.”

  “But you are going to do it, right?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “But—”

  I suddenly can’t take Gayle’s needling. Without thinking, I do something I’ve never done before but have always wanted to: I gather my books, get up, and leave. Just like that, without saying good-bye to anyone.

  It feels good.

  I clatter down the stairs and stroll out into the cold, wintry air.

  Now what?

  The library. It’s one of the few places that haven’t been spoiled by Sebastian and Lali. Lali never liked going to the library. And on the one occasion I was there with Sebastian, I was happy.

  Will I ever be happy again?

  I don’t think so.

  A few minutes later, I’m wading through the dirty slush on the front porch. Several people pass me going in. The library seems to be especially busy today. The nice librarian, Ms. Detooten, is standing by the steps. “Hello, Carrie,” she says. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I murmur.

  “Are you here for the photography class? It’s right upstairs.”

  Photography class? Why not? I’ve always been slightly interested in photography.

  I head upstairs to check it out.

  The room is small and contains about twenty folding chairs. Most of them are already filled with people of various ages—this must be one of those free courses offered to the community to get people into the library. I take a seat in the back. A not-unattractive thirty-ish guy with dark hair and a thin mustache stands behind a table. He looks around the room and smiles.

  “Okay, everyone,” he begins. “I’m Todd Upsky. I’m a professional photographer here in town. I work for The Castlebury Citizen. I consider myself an art photographer but I also do weddings. So if you know someone who’s getting married, send them my way.”

  He grins easily, as if he’s made this joke several times before, and the crowd twitters in appreciation.

  “This is a twelve-week course,” he continues. “We meet once a week. Each week you’ll take a photograph, develop it, and we’ll discuss what works and what doesn’t—”

  Suddenly he breaks off and, with a pleasantly surprised expression, stares toward the back of the room.

  I swivel my h
ead around. Oh no. It can’t be. It’s Donna LaDonna, wearing one of those big puffy down coats and rabbit-fur earmuffs.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she says breathlessly.

  “No problem,” Todd Upsky says. His smile is enormous. “Take a seat anywhere. There,” he says, pointing to the empty chair next to me.

  Crap.

  I don’t breathe once during the several minutes it takes for Donna LaDonna to remove her coat, pull off her earmuffs, pat her hair, and slide a camera bag under her seat.

  This cannot be happening.

  “Right, then,” Todd Upsky says, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Who has a camera?”

  Several people raise their hands, including Donna.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  I raise my hand, wondering how quickly I can escape.

  “Great,” he says. “We’re going to work in teams. The people who have cameras will pair up with those who don’t. You there, miss.” He nods at Donna. “Why don’t you team up with the girl next to you?”

  Girl?

  “Our teams will head outside and take a photograph of nature—a tree or a root or anything else that you find interesting or strikes your fancy. You have fifteen minutes,” he says.

  Donna turns to me, parts her lips, and smiles.

  It’s like staring straight into the mouth of an alligator.

  “Just for the record, I’m enjoying this about as much as you are,” I say.

  Donna lifts the camera. “Why are you taking this course, anyway?”

  “Why are you?” I counter. Besides, I think, I’m not sure I am taking this course. Especially now that Donna’s taking it.

  “In case you haven’t realized, I’m going to become a model.”

  “I thought models were in front of the camera.” I pick up a twig and heave it as hard as I can. It twists in the air and lands two feet away.

  “The best models know everything about photography. I know you think you’re special, but you’re not the only one who’s going to get out of Castlebury. My cousin says I should be a model. She lives in New York. I sent her some photographs and she’s going to send them to Eileen Ford.”