Page 88 of The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

The Mouse and Danny exchange a look. “We’ll take you,” The Mouse says firmly.

“Lali?” I ask.

“Maybe you should go home, Bradley,” she agrees. “You’ve had a really rotten day.”

Thanks. “If Sebastian—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him,” she says, and punches her fist into her hand.

I allow The Mouse and Danny to lead me away.

Sebastian’s car is still in the parking lot, exactly where we left it an hour ago, when we were somewhat happily in love.

How is this possible? How can a three-month relationship end in less than fifteen minutes? But the world can change in seconds. There are sudden car accidents. And deaths. They say you’re lucky if you know someone is going to die, because that way you have time to say good-bye.

My knees buckle. I stumble to the curb and collapse in a heap.

“Carrie! Are you okay?”

I nod miserably. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. Maybe I should stay and confront him.”

The Mouse and Danny exchange another glance, as if they already have some kind of secret ESP couple thing between them.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Danny says soothingly. “He’s probably drunk. And you’re a little drunk yourself. You don’t want to have a confrontation with him when he’s drunk.”

“Why not?” I ask, wondering where The Mouse found this guy.

“Because when a guy’s drunk, all he can think about is winning. And not losing face.”

“Walt,” I say. “I want to see Walt.”

For once, Walt actually is working at the Hamburger Shack.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The Mouse asks again.

“I’m fine,” I say breezily, knowing she wants to be alone with Danny.

Danny walks me to the entrance. As we say good-bye, he looks into my eyes with what appears to be a deep, sympathetic understanding, and suddenly, I envy The Mouse. A girl could be comfortable with a guy like Danny. She wouldn’t have to wonder if he was going to flirt with her best friend or dance with her worst enemy. I wonder if I’ll ever find a guy like that. And if I do, whether I’ll be smart enough to want him.

“Hey,” Walt says as I saunter up to the counter. It’s nearly nine thirty, almost closing time, and he’s cleaning up, putting chopped onions and peppers into a Tupperware container. “I hope you’re not here for food.”

“I came to see you,” I insist, then suddenly realize I’m starving. “A cheeseburger might be nice, though.”

Walt looks at the clock. “I need to be out of here—”

“Walt, please.”

He looks at me strangely, but unwraps a hamburger patty and puts it on the grill. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asks, as if “boyfriend” is barely a word worth saying.

“We broke up.”

“Nice,” Walt says. “Sounds like your week’s been about as good as mine.”

“Why?” I pull a few napkins from the metal holder. “Did you break up with someone too?”

He turns his head sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I say, feigning innocence. “Come on, Walt. We used to be best friends. We used to tell each other everything.”