Free The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell Page A

Street, I begin to feel more and more flimsy, like a doll constructed of tissue paper. Halfway through dinner, when George mentions there’s a rock ’n’ roll band playing at the Avon Theatre, I feel like I can’t refuse, even though I’d prefer to lie in my hotel room and think about Sebastian instead.
    “Go,” my father urges. He’s already informed me that George is the kind of young man—intelligent, well-mannered, thoughtful—that he’s always pictured me dating.
    “You’re going to love Brown,” George says in the car. He drives a Saab. Well engineered, slightly expensive, with European styling. Like George, I think. If I weren’t obsessed with Sebastian, I probably would find George attractive.
    “Why do you love Brown so much?” I ask.
    “I’m from the city, so this is a nice break. Of course, I’ll be in the city this summer. That’s the great thing about Brown. The internships. I’m going to be working for The New York Times .”
    George suddenly becomes much more interesting. “I’ve always wanted to live in New York City,” I say.
    “It’s the best place in the world. But Brown is right for me now.” He gives me a hesitant smile. “I needed to explore a different side of myself.”
    “What were you like before?”
    “Tortured,” George says, and grins. “What about you?”
    “Oh, I’m a little tortured too,” I say, thinking of Sebastian. But when we pull up to the theater, I vow to put Sebastian out of my mind. Clusters of college kids, drinking beer and flirting, are seated outside at tiny French tables. As we push through the crowd, George puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I look up at him and smile.
    “You’re awfully cute, Carrie Bradshaw,” he says into my ear.
    We stay out until closing time, and when we get back in the car, George kisses me. He kisses me again in the driveway of the hotel. It’s a clean and tentative kiss, the kiss of a man who thinks in straight lines. He takes a pen out of the glove compartment. “May I ask for your number?”
    “Why?” I ask, giggling.
    “So I can call you, dummy.” He tries to kiss me again, but I turn my head.
    I’m feeling a little woozy, and the beer hits me full force when I lie down. I ask myself if I would have given George my number if I weren’t so drunk. I probably wouldn’t have let him kiss me either. But surely Sebastian will call now. Guys always call as soon as another man is interested. They’re like dogs: They never notice if you’ve changedyour hair, but they can sense when there’s another guy sniffing around their territory.
    We’re back in Castlebury by mid-afternoon on Sunday, but my theory proves wrong. Sebastian hasn’t called. Maggie, on the other hand, has. Several times. I’m about to call her when she calls me. “What are you doing? Can you come over?”
    “I just got back,” I say, suddenly deflated.
    “Something happened. Something big. I can’t explain it on the phone. I have to tell you in person.” Maggie sounds very dire and I wonder if her parents are getting divorced.
     
    Maggie’s mother, Anita, opens the door. Anita looks stressed, but you can tell that a long time ago she was probably pretty. Anita is really, really nice—too nice, in fact. She’s so nice that I always get the feeling the niceness has swallowed up the real Anita, and someday she’s going to do something drastic, like burn down the house.
    “Oh, Carrie,” Anita says. “I’m so glad you’re here. Maggie won’t come out of her room and she won’t tell me what’s wrong. Maybe you can get her to come downstairs. I’d be so grateful.”
    “I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Stevenson,” I say reassuringly. Hiding in her room is something Maggie’s been doing for as long as I’ve known her. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to talk her out.
    Maggie’s room is enormous with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides and a closet the length of one wall. Nearly everyone in town is