Page 103 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

“Mmmm.” He averts his glance as he stubs out his cigarette.

“Anyway, I’m not going to let it affect me. I want to have fun.” And I drag him onto the dance floor.

Then I have too much fun. The band comes on, and we all sing along. The alcohol works its magic and I suddenly don’t care about anything anymore. I take off my stole and make the mink heads drink beer. Other people gather around to join in the fun. Nine o’clock comes and goes and I don’t even notice until it’s too late.

At ten fifteen, The Mouse points to her watch. “Bradley, we should go.”

“I don’t wan

t to go.”

“Two more songs,” she warns. “Then we’re going.”

“Okay.” I grab my beer and push through the crowd to the front of the stage, catching the eye of the lead singer, who smiles at me, amused. He’s cute. Really cute. He has the smooth face and curly hair of a guy in a Renaissance painting. Lali has had a crush on him since we were fourteen. We’d play his records while Lali stared longingly at his photograph. When the song ends, he leans over and asks what I want to hear. “‘Cosmos Lady’!” I shout.

The song begins. The lead singer keeps looking at me, his mouth moving above the microphone as the music rises up, enveloping me like a puffy cloud of helium. Then it’s only the music and the singer and his full, soft lips, and suddenly, it’s like I’m back at the club in Provincetown with Walt and Randy, wild and free. Listening to the music isn’t enough. I must participate. I must…sing.

On the stage. In front of everyone.

And then it’s like I’ve willed it to happen, because the singer holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me onto the stage, making room for me next to the microphone. And there I am, singing my heart out, and before I know it, the song is over and the crowd is laughing and clapping. The singer leans into the mike and says, “That was—” and I shout, “Carrie Bradshaw,” my name echoing like a blast.

“Let’s have a round of applause for…Carrie Bradshaw,” he says.

I give the audience a little wave, stumble off the stage, and wobble through the crowd, giddy with the silliness of my behavior. I am, I think.

I am…here.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” Lali says, aghast, when I reach the bar. I look from Lali to The Mouse to Sebastian, and with a shaking hand, pick up my beer.

“Why?” As the beer trickles down my throat, I can feel my confidence going with it. “Was it bad?”

“Not exactly bad,” Sebastian says.

“Bradley, you were great,” The Mouse exclaims.

I look at Sebastian accusingly.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he says, defensive again. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh, Carrie’s always singing,” Lali says, her voice toxic. “She sang in the school play in third grade.”

“We’d better go,” says The Mouse.

“Party’s over.” Sebastian leans over and kisses me briefly on the lips.

“Are you guys going?” I ask.

Lali and Sebastian exchange yet another mysterious look before Lali’s eyes slide away. “In a minute.”

“Come on, Bradley. Your father doesn’t need any more trouble,” The Mouse says, handing me my stole.

“Sure.” I wrap the mink around my neck. “Well—” I begin awkwardly.

“Well,” Sebastian says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah.” I turn and follow The Mouse.

But then, in the parking lot, I’m suddenly overcome with remorse. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”