Page 101 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

“Sure, Dad,” I said soothingly.

“It’s not forever. Just for a week or two. Until I can figure out what to do.”

“I understand.”

“You see, Carrie,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s all about systems. And what we don’t have in this household is a system. If we apply a system for success to the actions of human beings…if we take the human being down to its most basic molecular equation…after all, we are only molecules and electrons, and electrons are governed by a rigid set of rules. Well,” he said, standing up as if he actually had found a solution to our problems. “I knew I could count on you. I appreciate it. I really do.”

He hugged me awkwardly and said what he always does in these situations: “Remember, I don’t just love you. I like you.”

“I like you too, Dad,” I said, scheming. “Dad? Can I make one phone call?” And before he could object, I added quickly, “I need to call The Mouse. I was supposed to meet her.” I guess he really did feel bad, because he relented.

This morning, when things had calmed down and my father agreed to restore phone service—although he was still insisting on answering every call himself—The Mouse rang and spoke to him while I listened in on the extension.

“I know Carrie’s not supposed to go out, but we’ve had these tickets for months. They’re for the Hartford Stage and they don’t give refunds. And it’s part of our English Literature class. We don’t have to go, but if we miss it, it might affect our grade.”

And now—freedom. Puffing along in the Gremlin, the radio turned up full blast, The Mouse and I screaming along to the B-52s. My head is buzzing with the daringness of my escape. I am ready to rock the house. I am, I think, invincible.

Or not. Halfway to our secret destination, I start to worry. What if Sebastian is late? What if he doesn’t show at all? And why do I feel the need to entertain the worst possible scenario? If you think a bad thought, can you make it come true? Or is it a warning?

But the yellow Corvette is there, parked in the dirt driveway.

I fling open the door to the club. He’s sitting at the bar, and I vaguely register that Lali is there too. “Hey!” I shout. Lali spots me first. There’s an odd slackness in her face, the muscles flattening in disappointment. Something’s wrong. Then he turns and she whispers something in his ear.

He’s deeply tanned and the aura of a carefree summer boy still clings to him like a salty sweet veneer. He nods at me, his smile tight, which is not the reaction I expected to see from the love of my life after we’ve been separated for two weeks. But perhaps he’s like a dog that’s been left alone by its master—it will take time for him to get used to me again.

“Hi,” I exclaim. My voice sounds too loud and too enthusiastic. I put my arms around him and jump up and down.

“Whoa,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“What about Dorrit?” Lali asks.

“Oh, that,” I say with a wave. “It’s nothing. All fine. I’m just so happy to be here.” I take the bar stool next to him and order a beer.

“Where’s The Mouse?” he asks.

The Mouse? What about me? “She’s in the bathroom. So when did you get back?” I ask eagerly, although I know when he got back—he called me.

“Yesterday afternoon.” He scratches his arm.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk—but The Mouse called and told you, right? What happened with Dorrit?”

Lali and Sebastian exchange a look. “Actually,” he begins, “when your father hung up on me I called Lali. She told me something had happened to Dorrit on Friday night.”

“So we went to The Emerald,” Lali says, finishing his sentence.

“I knew you were indisposed,” he adds quickly, tapping my nose with his finger. “I didn’t want to sit at home with my parents another night.”

A rock tears through my insides and comes to rest in the pit of my stomach. “So how was the vacation?”

“Boring,” he says.

I catch Lali’s expression over his shoulder. She looks sick. Did something happen last night? Did Lali and Sebastian…? No. She’s my best friend. He’s my boyfriend. They should be friends. Don’t act jealous, I berate myself. It will only make you look weak.

“Hi, all.” The Mouse comes up to the bar. Sebastian envelops her in a bear hug. “Mouse!” he exclaims.

“Hey.” She pats him on the back, as confused by his effusive behavior as I am. Sebastian has never been this friendly before.