Page 82 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

Yes, I should have told George I had a boyfriend. I should have told him the first night we had dinner. But then Dorrit was arrested and there was no time. I should have told him on the phone, but let’s face it, he was helping me with my writing and I didn’t want to screw that up. And I would have told him today, but we ran into Amelia. Who happens to be Sebastian’s sister. I suppose I could argue it’s not entirely my fault, because George never asked if I had a boyfriend. On the other hand, maybe you’re not supposed to ask if a person is seeing someone else if they agree to go out with you—and continue to see you. Maybe dating is like the honor system: If you’re otherwise engaged, it’s your moral duty to let the other person know right away.

Problem is, people don’t always play by the rules.

How am I going to explain this to George? And what about Seba

stian? I spend half my time worrying that Sebastian is going to cheat on me, while the person I should be concerned about is myself.

I peek at George. He’s frowning, concentrating on the road as if his life depends on it.

“George,” I beseech him. “I’m so sorry. Honestly. I kept meaning to tell you—”

“As a matter of fact, I happen to be seeing other women as well,” he says coldly.

“Okay.”

“But what I don’t appreciate is being put into a situation that makes me look like an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole. And I really, really like you—”

“But you like Sebastian Kydd better,” he snaps. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

We pull into my driveway. “Can we at least be friends?” I plead, making a last-ditch effort to rectify the situation.

He stares straight ahead. “Sure, Carrie Bradshaw. Tell you what. Why don’t you give me a ring when you and Sebastian break up? Your little fling with Sebastian won’t last long. Count on it.”

For a moment, I sit there, stung. “If you want to be that way, fine. But I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I said I was sorry.” I’m about to get out of the car, when he grabs my wrist.

“I’m sorry, Carrie,” he says, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to be harsh. But you do know why Sebastian got kicked out of school, right?”

“For selling drugs?” I ask stiffly.

“Oh, Carrie.” He sighs. “Sebastian doesn’t have the guts to be a drug dealer. He got kicked out for cheating.”

I say nothing. Then I’m suddenly angry. “Thanks, George,” I say, getting out of the car. “Thanks for a great day.”

I stand in the driveway, watching him go. I guess I won’t be visiting George in New York after all. And I certainly won’t be meeting his great-aunt, the writer. Whoever she is.

Dorrit comes out of the house and joins me. “Where’s George going?” she asks plaintively. “Why didn’t he come in?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be seeing any more of George Carter,” I say with a mixture of finality and relief.

I leave Dorrit standing in the driveway looking extremely disappointed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Wall

The judges hold up their scores: Four-point-three. Four-point-one. Three-point-nine. There’s a collective groan from the stands.

That puts me in second-to-last place.

I grab a towel and drop it over my head, rubbing my hair. Coach Nipsie is standing to the side, arms crossed, staring at the scoreboard. “Concentration, Bradshaw,” he mutters.

I take my place in the bleachers, next to Lali. “Bad luck,” she says. Lali is doing great in this meet. She won her heat, making her the favorite to win the two-hundred-meter freestyle. “You’ve still got one more dive,” she says encouragingly.

I nod, scanning the bleachers on the other side of the pool for Sebastian. He’s on the third riser, next to Walt and Maggie.

“Do you have your period?” Lali asks.