The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

How Far Will You Go?

“What’s the holdup?” Sebastian asks.

“Have to fix my makeup,” I say.

He runs his hand up my arm and tries to kiss me. “You don’t need makeup.”

“Stop,” I hiss. “Not in the house.”

“You don’t have a problem doing this in my house.”

“You don’t have two younger sisters. One of whom—”

“I know. Was arrested for shoplifting gum,” he says with disdain. “Which ranks pretty low in the annals of criminal activity. It’s right down there with lighting firecrackers in neighbors’ mailboxes.”

“And thus began your own life of crime,” I say, gently closing the bathroom door in his face.

He knocks.

“Yeeeees?”

“Hurry up.”

“Hurrying,” I say. “Hurrying and scurrying.” Which is not true. I’m stalling.

I’m waiting for George to call. Two weeks have passed since Dorrit’s arrest, but true to form, George called me the next day and the day after that, and then I asked him if he really meant it when he said he would read one of my stories and he said yes. So I sent it to him and now I haven’t heard from him for five days, except for yesterday when he left a message with Dorrit saying he’d call me today between six and seven. Damn him. If he’d called at six, Sebastian wouldn’t be here, hovering. It’s nearly seven. Sebastian will be furious if I get a phone call just before we’re about to go.

I unscrew a tube of mascara and lean forward, applying the wand to my lashes. It’s the second coat, and my lashes twist into jagged little spikes. I’m about to apply a third, when the phone rings.

“Phone!” Missy shouts.

“Phone!” Dorrit yells.

“Phone!” I scream, bursting out of the bathroom like a lit firecracker.

“Huh?” Sebastian says, sticking his head out my bedroom door.

“Could be Dorrit’s probation officer.”

“Dorrit has a probation officer? For stealing gum?” Sebastian says, but I can’t stop to explain.

I grab the phone in my father’s room just before Dorrit reaches it. “Hello?”

“Carrie? George here.”

>

“Oh, hi,” I say breathlessly, closing the door. What did you think of my story? I need to know. Now.

“How are you?” George asks. “How’s Dorrit?”

“She’s fine.” Did you read it? Did you hate it? If you hated it I’m going to kill myself.

“Is she doing her community service?”

“Yes, George.” The agony is killing me.

“What did they assign her to?”