Page 124 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

I have created a monster, I think, dumping my bags of confetti.

This week in The Nutmeg, Pinky Weatherton handicapped everyone’s chances for prom king and queen, and now no one can stop talking about it. Every time I turn around, someone is quoting the story. “We should consider every couple who has contributed to the school—and is an example of true love.” I don’t know why I threw in the “true love” part—but I might have done it so Lali and Sebastian wouldn’t dare think they were eligible.

Maggie flushes. “I’d never want to be prom queen. I’d die if I had to get up in front of everyone.”

“Really? I’d love it. To each her own, right?” Jen P pats Maggie’s shoulder, gives me a sharp look, and walks off.

“Right,” I mutter under my breath. I sneak a look at Maggie, who appears perplexed.

Maybe I shouldn’t have written that piece after all.

A month has passed since Pinky Weatherton made “his” debut in The Nutmeg, and since then, Pinky’s been busy, publishing a story a week: “The Clique Climber,” about a girl who manages to climb her way to the top by becoming everyone’s gofer; “The Nerd Prince,” about how a nerdly guy can turn into a hunk in senior year; and “Castlebury Horse Race! Who Will Be Prom King and Queen?” Pinky has also completed another story, called “Boyfriend Stealers and the Guys Who Love Them”—a thinly veiled account of Lali and Sebastian’s relationship—which he hasn’t turned in yet and which he plans to publish the last week of school.

In the meantime, I made photocopies of all five stories and sent them in to The New School. George insisted I call to make sure they’d been received. Normally, I’d never do something like that, but George says the world is full of people who all want the same thing, and you have to do a little something extra to make them remember you. I said I could run through the halls naked but he didn’t get the joke. So I called. “Yes, Ms. Bradshaw,” said a man’s deep, sonorous voice on the other end of the line. “We received your stories and will get back to you.”

“But when?”

“We’ll get back to you,” he repeated, and hung up.

I’m never go

ing to get into that program.

“She’s just so pushy!” Maggie exclaims now, frowning.

“Jen P? I thought you decided you kind of liked her.”

“I did—at first. But she’s too friendly, you know?” Maggie slides the bags of confetti into place with her toe. “She’s always hanging around. I swear, Carrie, ever since Pinky Weatherton wrote that story about Peter—”

Uh-oh. Not again. “The Nerd Prince?” I ask. “How do you know it was about Peter?”

“Who else could it have been about? What other guy in this school was a nerd and then I came along and turned him into a hot guy?”

“Hmmmm,” I say, running through the piece in my mind.

It usually starts in September. If you’re a girl, and a senior, you look around and wonder: Will I have a date for the prom? And if not, how can I find one? And this is where the Nerd Prince comes in.

He’s the guy you overlooked in freshman, sophomore, and junior year. First he was the short guy with the high voice. Then he was the taller guy with zits. And then, something happened. His voice deepened. He got contacts. And all of a sudden you find yourself sitting next to him in biology, and you think—hey, I could actually like this guy.

And the Nerd Prince has his pluses. Because he hasn’t been corrupted by being the hot guy his whole life, he’s grateful. And because he hasn’t been yelled at by coaches or trampled on by the football team, he’s actually kind of nice. You can trust him….

Maggie folds her arms, glares at Jen P’s back, and continues. “Ever since that story came out about Peter, Jen P has been after him. You should see the way she looks at him—”

“Come on, Magwitch. I’m sure that’s not true. Besides, Peter would never like Jen P anyway. He hates those kinds of girls.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Carrie. He’s changed.”

“How?”

“It’s like he thinks he deserves more.”

“It doesn’t get any better than you, Mags,” I say gently. “He knows that.”

“He might, but Jen P doesn’t.”

And then, as if in illustration of her point, Peter strolls into the gym. Maggie waves, but Peter doesn’t see her, possibly due to the fact that Jen P rushes over to him first, laughing and waving her arms. Peter nods and smiles.

“Maggie—” I turn to speak to her, but she’s gone.