The Carrie Diaries (The Carrie Diaries 1)

Then the dam of emotion bursts and we’re laughing hysterically. “It’s not funny,” I insist, tears running down my face. “You’ve ruined my life. You deserve to die.”

“What’s going on?” Missy says, appearing in the doorway. Dorrit points at her, which is not funny either, but manages to send us into another round of hysterics all the same. “Stop laughing,” Missy scolds. “I just talked to Dad. He’s thinking of sending Dorrit to reform school.”

“Will I have to wear a uniform?” Dorrit shrieks with laughter.

“Dad’s serious this time.” Missy frowns. “He says he’s not kidding. We’re in big trouble. All of us. We’re not even allowed to have friends anymore.”

“We’re in Bralcatraz,” I say.

“Ha,” Dorrit says dismissively. She gets off the bed and looks at herself in the mirror, twisting a strand of blue hair in front of her face. “He’ll get over it. He always does,” she says viciously.

“Dorrit—”

“I don’t even know why he’s the one left,” she says. “He should be dead. And Mom should be alive.” She glares defiantly at Missy and me, at our shocked expressions. It’s a sentiment we’ve all felt but never expressed.

“And I don’t care if I do go to reform school,” she adds. “Anything would be better than being stuck in this family.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The S-H-I-T Hits the Fan

A horn honks in the driveway, breaking the silence. Please let it be The Mouse, I pray.

Missy, Dorrit, my father, and I are gathered at the table, pretending to eat dinner in a futile attempt at normalcy. At the sound of the horn, my father goes to the window, pulls back the curtain, and peers out. “It’s Roberta,” he confirms. I jump up and grab my coat and my painted Carrie bag, which are standing at the ready.

“Not so fast. We need to go over this one more time,” my father says as Dorrit rolls her eyes. “You’re going to see The Importance of Being Earnest at the Hartford Stage. You will call during the intermission. You will be home at eleven o’clock.”

“Eleven or so,” I say, slipping my arms into the sleeves of the coat.

“I’ll be waiting up for you.” He glances at Missy and Dorrit. They have their heads down, pretending to eat, pretending they don’t know where I’m really going.

“Sure, Dad.” I wrap my grandmother’s old mink stole around my neck. I wouldn’t normally wear it, but I figure it’s the kind of thing one would wear to the theater, and I need to keep up my act.

I walk quickly to the car, feeling like I have a target on my back.

I lied. But not entirely. The Mouse and I are going to a show, just not to one at the Hartford Stage. We’re meeting up with Lali and Sebastian at the Aztec Two-Step concert. Not exactly how I pictured my reunion with Sebastian, but it doesn’t matter. Every molecule in my body is pulsating in anticipation.

A blast of hot, dry air hits me as I swing open the door of the Gremlin. The Mouse gives me a triumphant look as I carefully buckle my seat belt, knowing my father is watching. “Any tro

uble?” she asks.

“Nope. He doesn’t suspect a thing.” When we’re safely out of the driveway and on the highway, I laugh, giddy with excitement, nervously checking my lipstick in the tiny mirror tucked into the visor. “I can’t believe we pulled it off,” I squeal. “Mouse, you’re the best.”

“Hey,” she says. “What are friends for?”

I lean back, smiling like a madwoman.

When Sebastian called yesterday at three and my father told him I wasn’t available, things got ugly at Chez Bradshaw. I screamed and threatened to tear out my hair, but it didn’t make any difference. My father unplugged all the phones and barricaded himself in his bedroom. Then my sisters and I came up with a plan to take the car, but my father had outsmarted us and hidden the keys. We tried to break into his room, but then we thought we heard him crying, so we went into the den and huddled on the couch like three terrified orphans. Finally, my father came in and Missy broke down and said, “Dad, I’m sorry,” and started to sob. My father said, “It’s not your fault. I just love my girls so much.” And we all agreed to try to be better in the future. All I could really think about, though, was Sebastian and how to get in touch with him. The reality of him being minutes away and not being able to see him made me feel like I had a rat in my stomach, gnawing away at my insides.

Eventually, I went upstairs and took out the box of my old stories, and tried to soothe myself by imagining a better life, when I would live in New York and write books and have a completely different existence. I pictured my future like a jewel buried deep inside of me, where it couldn’t be taken away even if I was stuck in Bralcatraz for the rest of my life.

Then my father came softly into the room.

“I don’t mean to be so hard on you,” he said.

I had my opening if I could remain reasonable and calm. “It’s okay, Dad.”

“I’m only trying to be fair. If I let you and Missy out, I’ll have to let Dorrit out too. And what if she runs away again?”