The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

We go a little further, until Maggie finds a place to turn around. “A place you don’t want to know about,” I say aloud, echoing Sebastian’s warning.

“What?” Maggie asks.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, as The Mouse and I exchange a look. The Mouse taps Maggie on the shoulder. “I think we should go home. You’re not going to like this.”

“Like what?” Maggie says. “It’s a building. And it’s our duty as friends to find out what Walt is up to.”

“Or not.” The Mouse shrugs.

Maggie ignores her, following the driveway around to the back where we find a lot hidden from the street. It contains several cars, including Walt’s.

A secret back entrance is flanked by neon signs that say things like VIDEOS, TOYS, and—as if that isn’t enough—LIVE SEX.

“I don’t get it.” Maggie glares at the hot purple and blue signs.

“It’s a porn place.”

“Maggie, you really don’t want to be here,” The Mouse warns again.

“Why not?” Maggie asks. “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I can’t handle it,” I say in sympathy. “And it’s not even my ex-boyfriend in there.”

“I don’t care.” Maggie parks the car next to a Dumpster, grabs a pack of cigarettes, and gets out. “If you guys want to come, fine. Otherwise you can stay in the car.”

Now there’s a change. I lean across the seat and call to her from the window. “Mags, you don’t know what’s in there.”

“I’m going to find out.”

“You’re going to confront Walt? What’s he going to think when he finds out you’ve spied on him?”

Maggie walks away. The Mouse and I look at each other, get out of the car, and follow her.

“Come on, Magwitch. It’s bad form, following someone around like this. Especially if he’s trying to keep it a secret. Let’s go.”

“No!”

“Okay,” I say, backing off. I point to the Dumpster. “We’ll hide behind there. We’ll wait a few minutes and if nothing happens, we’ll go home.”

Maggie takes another look at the entrance. Her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

We skittle behind the Dumpster. It’s freezing now, and I wrap my arms around my chest, jumping up and down to keep warm.

“Will you stop that?” Maggie hisses. “Someone’s coming.” I dive into a bush next to

the Dumpster, scramble around for a bit, and sit back on my heels.

A souped-up Mustang screeches into the lot. Black Sabbath blares from the car as the door opens and the driver gets out. He’s a large muscular guy, and when he glances around surreptitiously, I recognize Randy Sandler, who was two years ahead of us and the quarterback on the football team.

“Ohmigod. Randy Sandler just went in.”

“Randy Sandler?” The Mouse asks. She and Maggie crawl over to join me.

“This is my fault,” Maggie says. “If I hadn’t stopped seeing Walt, he wouldn’t need to come here for sex. He must be suffering from a terrible case of blue balls.”

“Blue balls is a myth,” I whisper loudly. “It’s one of those lies men tell women to get them to have sex.”