Page 41 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

“Lali was there. We were at the pool when he came by to pick me up.”

“So?”

“Come on, Magwitch. I don’t need you mad at me as well.”

“We’ll see.” She pulls open the door to the auditorium. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Okay.” I sigh as she heads off. I skittle along the back wall and hurry down the aisle to my assigned seat, trying to attract as little attention as possible. When I finally reach my row, I stop, startled by the realization that something is terribly wrong. I check the letter “B” to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.

I haven’t. But my seat is now occupied by Donna LaDonna.

I look around for Sebastian, but he’s not there. Coward. I have no choice. I’m going to have to brazen it out.

“Excuse me,” I say, making my way past Susie Beck, who has worn purple every day of her life for the last two years; Ralph Bomenski, a frail, white-skinned boy whose father owns a gas station and makes Ralphie work there in all kinds of weather; and Ellen Brack, who is six feet tall and is giving off the impression that she’d prefer to disappear—a sentiment I understand completely.

Donna LaDonna is oblivious to my progress. Her hair is like a giant dandelion seed, obstructing her view. She’s talking with great animation to Tommy Brewster. It’s the longest conversation I’ve ever witnessed between them. Nonetheless, it makes sense, as Tommy is part of her clique. Her voice is so loud you can practically hear her from three rows away.

“Some people don’t know their place,” she says. “It’s all about pecking order. Do you know what happens to chickens that don’t stay in their place?”

“No,” Tommy says dumbly. He’s noticed me, but quickly returns his eyes to their proper spot—on Donna LaDonna’s face.

“They get pecked to death. By the other chickens,” Donna says ominously.

Okay. Enough. I can’t stand here forever. Poor Ellen Brack’s knees are up to her ears. There simply isn’t enough room for both of us.

“Excuse me,” I say politely.

No response. Donna LaDonna continues her tirade. “And on top of that, she’s trying to steal another girl’s boyfriend.”

Really? Donna LaDonna has stolen just about every one of her friends’ boyfriends at one time or another, simply to remind them that she can.

“Notice I said trying. Because the most pathetic thing about it is that she hasn’t succeeded. He called me last night and told me what a”—Donna suddenly leans forward and whispers in Tommy’s ear so I can’t make out the word—“she is.”

Tommy laughs uproariously.

Sebastian called her?

No way. I can’t let her get to me.

“Excuse me,” I say again. But this time it’s much louder and with much more authority. If she doesn’t turn around, she’s going to look like a complete idiot.

She turns. Her eyes slide over me like slow-burning acid. “Carrie,” she says. “Since you seem to be a person who likes to change the rules, I thought we’d change our seats today.”

Clever, I think. Unfortunately, not allowed.

“Why don’t we switch seats another day?” I suggest.

“Oooooh,” she says mockingly. “Are you afraid of getting in trouble? A Goody Two-shoes like you? Don’t want to ruin your precious record, do you?”

Tommy throws back his head as if this, too, is hilariously funny. Jeez. He would laugh at a stick if someone told him to.

“All right,” I say. “If you won’t move, I guess I’ll have to sit on top of you.”

Childish, yes. But effective.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh really?” And I lift my handbag as if I’m about to place it on her head.