Carrie Diaries

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Dancing Fools

“What do you think?” The Mouse asks shyly, dipping her finger into a pot of gloss and dabbing it onto her lips.

“He’s adorable, Mouse. He really is.”

The Mouse has finally made good on her promise to introduce us to her mysterious Washington boyfriend, Danny Chai, and has brought him to the dance. He’s a tall, delicate boy with black hair, glasses, and lovely manners, who found a place for our coats and got us two glasses of punch, to which he cleverly added vodka from a flask hidden in his jacket pocket. I’ve never seen The Mouse insecure, but she keeps dragging me to the bathroom, checking to make sure her hair is still in place and her shirt is properly tucked into her jeans.

“And it’s adorable that you’re wearing lip gloss,” I add teasingly.

“Is it too much?” she asks in alarm.

“No. It looks great. It’s just that I’ve never seen you wear lip gloss before.”

She looks in the mirror, considering. “Maybe I should take it off. I don’t want him to think I’m trying too hard.”

“Mouse, he’s not going to think you’re trying too hard. All he’s going to think is that you’re beautiful.”

“Carrie,” she whispers, like a little kid with a secret. “I think I really, really like him. I think he could be the one.”

“That’s fantastic.” I give her a hug. “You deserve someone great.”

“So do you, Bradley.” She hesitates. “What about Sebastian?” she asks casually.

I shrug, pretending to search for something in my bag. How can I explain? I’m crazy about Sebastian in a way that feels overwhelming and amazing and disturbing and probably unhealthy. And at first, being with Sebastian was like being in the middle of the best dream I’d ever had — but now it mostly feels exhausting. I’m up one minute and down the next, questioning what I say and do. Even questioning my sanity.

“Bradley?”

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking about how Lali and Sebastian were laughing about how Donna LaDonna and the two Jens stole my clothes. “Sometimes I think...”

“What?” The Mouse asks sharply.

I shake my head. I can’t do it. I can’t tell The Mouse that sometimes I think my boyfriend likes my best friend better than me. It’s too paranoid and creepy.

“I think Lali needs a boyfriend,” The Mouse says. “Doesn’t Sebastian have a friend he could fix her up with?”

There’s my solution. If Lali had a boyfriend, she’d be too preoccupied with him to keep tagging along with me and Sebastian. And it’s not like I ever discouraged her from hanging out with us. I guess I feel a little guilty that I have a boyfriend and she doesn’t. I don’t want her to feel abandoned. I don’t want to be one of those girls who forgets about her friends as soon as some guy comes along.

“I’ll work on it,” I say, feeling some of my old confidence coming back.

But it’s immediately deflated when I pull open the door to the gym. Disco music is blaring from the speakers, and I spot the top of Sebastian’s head, bobbing and weaving as the crowd hoots and claps. He’s doing the Hustle, but with whom? My throat tightens. I figure he’s dancing with Lali, but then Lali comes up and grabs my arm.

“I think you need a drink.”

“I have a drink,” I say, indicating my vodka-laced punch.

“You need another one.”

I wriggle away toward the crowd. “Bradley! You don’t want to see this.” Lali sounds alarmed as I push my way to the center.

Sebastian is dancing with Donna LaDonna.

I’m immediately overcome by a desire to storm up to him and throw my drink in his face. I can picture it, my hand shooting forward, sloshing the sticky sweet liquid all over his pale skin, his shocked expression followed by frantic pawing. But Lali stops me.

“Don’t do it, Bradley. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” She spins around and spots The Mouse and Danny. The Mouse is whispering angrily into Danny’s ear, no doubt explaining the horror of the situation.

“Excuse me,” Lali says, inserting herself between them. “Do you mind if we borrow your boyfriend?”

And before poor Danny can protest, Lali takes his arm and leads him onto the dance floor, grabbing my wrist in the process. We sandwich Danny between us, shimmying up and down his legs, spinning him around, and generally causing the sort of mayhem that results in Danny’s glasses flying off his face. Poor Danny. Unfortunately, I can’t really worry about him because I’m too busy trying to ignore Sebastian and Donna LaDonna.

Our antics get the crowd’s attention, and as Lali and I do-si-do Danny across the floor, Donna LaDonna retreats to the edge, sporting a tight smile. Suddenly, Sebastian is behind me, his hands around my waist. I twirl around and with my lips close to his ear, hiss, “Fuck you.”

“Huh?” He’s startled. Then amused, thinking I can’t be serious.

“I mean it. Fuck you.”

I can’t believe I just said that.

For a moment, I’m high on my anger, the buzz in my head drowning out all other sound. Then the impact of what I’ve said penetrates like a sting, and I’m horrified and embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve ever said “fuck you” to anyone, except maybe once or twice in passing, muttered under my breath, but never in a face-to-face confrontation. Those words, gigantic and ugly, sit between us like two enormous boulders, and now I can’t see my way around them.

It’s too late to say “I’m sorry.” And I don’t want to, because I’m not sorry. He was dancing with Donna LaDonna. In front of everyone.

It’s inexcusable, isn’t it?

His face is hard, his eyes narrowed, like a child who’s been caught out, whose first instinct is to deny any wrong-doing and blame his accuser.

“How could you?” I say, more shrilly than I intended, and loud enough for the small group of people around us to overhear.

“You’re crazy,” he says, and takes a step back.

I’m suddenly aware of ripples of movement through the crowd — nudging and nodding, faces curling into curious smiles. I’m frozen with indecision. If I move toward him he might push me away. If I walk away, it will probably be the end of our relationship.

“Sebastian...”

“What?” He sneers.

“Forget it.” And before he can say more, I storm off.

I’m immediately surrounded by my friends.

“What happened?”

“What did he say?”

“Why was he dancing with Donna LaDonna?”

“I’m going to beat the crap out of him.” That’s Lali.

“No. Don’t make it worse.”

“Are you going to break up with him?” Maggie asks.

“Does she have a choice?” Lali says.

I’m numb. “Was I wrong?” I turn to The Mouse.

“Not at all. He’s acting like a shit.”

“What should I do?”

“Don’t go up to him, no matter what you do,” Danny says, stepping in. “Ignore him. Let him come to you. Otherwise you look desperate.”

This Danny — he’s very wise. Even so, I can’t help scanning the gym for Sebastian.

He’s gone.

My heart freezes. “Maybe I should go home,” I say, full of uncertainty.

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.”

“Not everything, Carrie.”

“Well, lots of things, anyway.”

“That was before you dumped me for Maggie,” he says sarcastically. Then he adds quickly, “Don’t be upset. I’m not. I expected that when Maggie and I divorced, everyone would take sides. Maggie got all our friends.”

This makes me laugh. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ve sort of missed you too.” He flips the hamburger, puts a prewrapped piece of cheese on top, opens a bun, and places the two pieces on either side.

“You want onions and peppers?”

“Sure.” I fool around with the bottles of mustard and ketchup, until I can’t stand the guilt any longer. “Walt. I have something to tell you. It’s really horrible, and you’re probably going to want to kill me, but don’t, okay?”

He lifts the hamburger onto the bottom of the bun. “Lemme guess. Maggie is pregnant.”

“She is?” I ask in shock.

“How would I know?” he asks, sliding the cheeseburger onto a plastic plate and pushing it toward me.

I stare down at the burger. “Walt. I know.”

“So she is pregnant,” he says, resigned, as if this was always going to be a foregone conclusion.

“Not about Maggie.” I take a bite of the burger. “About you.”

He wipes the counter with a cloth. “I can assure you I’m not pregnant.”

“Come on, Walt.” I hesitate, holding the burger between my hands like a shield. If I’m going to tell him, I have to do it now. “Don’t be mad, please. But you’ve been acting so strangely. I thought you were in some kind of trouble. And then Sebastian...”

“What about Sebastian?” he asks, his voice tightening.

“He said he’d seen you — at that place. And then The Mouse and I — we spied on you.”

There. I’ve said it. And I will not tell him Maggie was there. I mean, I will tell him, eventually. After he digests this information.

Walt breaks out into a nervous laugh. “And what did you see?”

I’m so relieved he’s not angry I take another bite of the cheeseburger. “You,” I say with my mouth full. “And Randy Sandler.”

He freezes, and then yanks his apron over his head. “That’s just great,” he says bitterly. “How many other people know besides you now?”

“No one,” I insist. “We didn’t tell anyone. We wouldn’t. I mean, it’s your business, not ours, right?”

“Apparently it is your business.” He throws the apron into the sink and stalks out the swinging door in back.

I sigh. Can this evening get any worse?

I grab my coat and run after him. He’s standing behind the restaurant, trying to light up a cigarette. “Walt, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head as he inhales, holds the smoke in his lungs, and slowly releases it. “It was going to come out anyway.” He takes another drag. “Although I was hoping I could keep it a secret until I go to college and get away from my father.”

“Why? What’s he going to do?”

“Ground me. Or send me to one of those shrinks who are supposed to convert you back to straightdom. Or maybe he’ll send me to a priest, who will tell me what a sinner I am. Wouldn’t that be ironic?”

“I feel horrible.”

“Why should you feel bad? You’re not gay.” He exhales a stream of smoke and looks up at the sky. “Anyway, I doubt this is going to come as much of a surprise. He already calls me a homo and a fag — oh, and he likes to refer to me as sissy pants behind my back.”

“Your own father?”

“Yeah, Carrie, my own father,” he says, grinding the cigarette butt under his shoe. “Fuck him,” he says suddenly. “He doesn’t deserve my respect. If he’s embarrassed, it’s his problem.” He looks at his watch. “I take it you’re not going back to the dance.”

“I can’t.”

“Randy’s picking me up. We’re going to go someplace. You want to come?”

Randy arrives about five minutes later in his souped-up Mustang. He and Walt have a hushed conversation, then Walt motions for me to get into the car.

Ten minutes later, I’m wedged into the tiny backseat as we head south on Route 91. The music is blaring and I can’t quite get over the fact that I’m out with macho Randy Sandler, the ex-quarterback of the Castlebury High football team, who is now Walt’s boyfriend. I guess I don’t know as much about people as I thought I did. I have a lot to learn, but it’s kind of exciting.

“Where are we going?” I yell over the music.

“P-Town,” Walt shouts.

“Provincetown?”

“We need to go to another state to have fun,” Randy says. “How fucked up is that?”

Yikes. Provincetown is on Cape Cod, at least an hour away. I probably shouldn’t be doing this. I’m going to get into trouble. But then I remember Donna LaDonna and Sebastian and all the rest of my lousy life, and I think — what the hell? I’m always trying to be good, and where has it gotten me?

Nowhere.

“You cool with that?” Randy shouts.

“I’m cool with anything.”

“So this guy, Sebastian Kydd, was dancing with your worst enemy?” Randy shouts over the music.

“Yes.” I strain to make myself heard.

“And he saw us. At Chuckie’s,” Walt yells to Randy.

“Maybe he’s gay,” I scream.

“I think I know this guy,” Randy shouts, nodding at Walt. “Tall, blond hair, looks like some asshole from a Ralph Lauren ad?”

“That’s him!” I cry.

“He’s hot,” Randy says. “But not gay. I’ve seen him renting porn tapes. Jugs — that kind of thing.”

Porn? Jugs? Who is Sebastian? “Great!” I scream.

“Forget about that asshole,” Randy yells. “You’re about to meet two hundred guys who are gonna love you.”