Free The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell Page B

familiar with the Stevensonhouse, because it was designed by a famous contemporary architect and is mostly comprised of glass. The inside of the house is pretty sparse, though, because Maggie’s father can’t abide clutter. I crack open the door to Maggie’s room as Anita stands anxiously to the side. “Magwitch?”
    Maggie is lying in her bed, wearing a white cotton nightgown. She rises from beneath the covers like a ghost, albeit a rather churlish one. “Anita!” she scolds. “I told you to leave me alone.” The expression on Anita’s face is startled, guilty, and helpless, which is pretty much her usual demeanor around Maggie. She scurries away as I go in.
    “Mags?” I caution. “Are you okay?”
    Maggie sits cross-legged on the bed and puts her head in her hands. “I don’t know. I did something terrible.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t know how to tell you.”
    I can tell, however, that I’m going to have to wait for this terrible revelation, so I sit on the padded stool-y thing Maggie uses as a chair. According to her father, it’s a Swedish-designed ergonomically correct sitting contraption that prevents backaches. It’s also sort of bouncy, so I bob up and down a bit. But then I’m suddenly tired of everyone else’s problems.
    “Listen, Mags,” I say firmly. “I don’t have much time. I have to pick up Dorrit at the Hamburger Shack.” This is true, sort of. I probably will have to pick her up eventually.
    “But Walt will be there!” she cries out.
    “So?” Walt’s parents insist that Walt have an after-school job to make money for college, but the only job Walt’s everhad is working at the Hamburger Shack for four dollars an hour. And it’s only part-time, so it’s hard to see how Walt will be able to save enough money for even one semester.
    “That means you’ll see him,” Maggie gasps.
    “And?”
    “Are you going to tell him you saw me?”
    This is becoming more and more irritating. “I don’t know. Should I tell him I saw you?”
    “No!” she exclaims. “I’ve been avoiding him all weekend. I told him I was going to see my sister in Philadelphia.”
    “Why?”
    “Don’t you get it?” She sighs dramatically. “Peter.”
    “Peter?” I repeat, slightly appalled.
    “I had sex with him.”
    “What?” My legs are all tangled up in the Swedish sitting device and I bounce so hard the whole thing falls over, taking me with it.
    “Shhhhh!” Maggie says.
    “I don’t get it,” I say, trying to detach myself from the stool. “You had sex with Peter?”
    “I had intercourse with him.”
    And another one bites the dust.
    “When?” I ask, once I manage to get off the floor.
    “Last night. In the woods behind my house.” She nods. “You remember? The night we painted the barn? He was all over me. Then he called yesterday morning and said he had to see me. He said he’d secretly been in love with me for, like, three years but was afraid to talk to me because he thought I was so gorgeous I wouldn’t talk to him. Thenwe went for a walk, and we immediately started making out.”
    “And then what? You just did it? Right in the woods?”
    “Don’t act so surprised.” Maggie sounds slightly hurt and superior at the same time. “Just because you haven’t done it.”
    “How do you know I haven’t?”
    “Have you?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Well then.”
    “So you just did it. On top of the leaves? What about sticks? You could have gotten a stick stuck in your butt.”
    “Believe me, when you’re doing it, you don’t notice things like sticks.”
    “Is that so?” I have to admit, I’m immensely curious. “What did it feel like?”
    “It was amazing.” She sighs. “I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but it was the best feeling I’ve ever had. It’s the kind of thing that once you do it, all you want is to do it again and again. And”—she pauses for effect—“I think I had an orgasm.”
    My mouth hangs open. “That’s incredible.”
    “I know.