The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell Page A

known since I was a kid, stood next to Mary Gordon Howard, handing her books to sign. Mary Gordon Howard sighed several times in annoyance. Finally she turned to Ms. Detooten and muttered, “Unenlightened housewives, I’m afraid.” By then I was only two people away. “Oh no,” I wanted to protest. “That isn’t true at all.” And I wished I could tell her about my mother and how The Consensus had changed her life.
    Ms. Detooten shrank and, flushed with embarrassment, turned away and spotted me. “Why, here’s Carrie Bradshaw,” she exclaimed in a too-happy, nudging voice, as if I were a person Mary Gordon Howard might like to meet.
    My fingers curled tightly around the book. I couldn’t seem to move the muscles in my face, and I pictured how I must look with my lips frozen into a silly, timid smile.
    The Gorgon, as I’d now begun to think of her, glanced my way, took in my appearance, and went back to her signing.
    “Carrie’s going to be a writer,” Ms. Detooten gushed. “Isn’t that so, Carrie?”
    I nodded.
    Suddenly I had The Gorgon’s attention. She put down her pen. “And why is that?” she asked.
    “Excuse me?” I whispered. My face prickled with heat.
    “Why do you want to be a writer?”
    I looked to Ms. Detooten for help. But Ms. Detooten only looked as terrified as I did. “I…I don’t know.”
    “If you can’t think of a very good reason to do it, then don’t,” The Gorgon snapped. “Being a writer is all about having something to say. And it’d better be interesting. If you don’t have anything interesting to say, don’t become a writer. Become something useful. Like a doctor.”
    “Thank you,” I whispered.
    The Gorgon held out her hand for my mother’s book. For a moment, I thought about snatching it away and running out of there, but I was too intimidated. The Gorgon scrawled her name in sharp, tiny handwriting.
    “Thank you for coming, Carrie,” Ms. Detooten said as the book was handed back to me.
    My mouth was dry. I nodded my head dumbly as I stumbled outside.
    I was too weak to pick up my bike. I sat on the curb instead, trying to recover my ego. I waited as poisonous waves of shame crashed over me, and when they passed, I stood up, feeling as if I’d lost a dimension. I got on my bike and rode home.
    “How’d it go?” my mother whispered later, when she was awake. I sat on the chair next to her bed, holding her hand. My mother always took good care of her hands. If you only looked at her hands, you would never know she was sick.
    I shrugged. “They didn’t have the book I wanted.”
    My mother nodded. “Maybe next time.”
    I never told my mother how I’d gone to see her hero, Mary Gordon Howard. I never told her Mary Gordon Howard had signed her book. I certainly didn’t tell her that Mary Gordon Howard was no feminist. How can you be a feminist when you treat other women like dirt? Then you’re just a mean girl like Donna LaDonna. I never told anyone about the incident at all. But it stayed with me, like a terrible beating you can push out of your mind but never quite forget.
    I still feel a flicker of shame when I think about it. I wanted Mary Gordon Howard to rescue me.
    But that was a long time ago. I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t need to feel ashamed. I turn over and squish my pillow under my cheek, thinking about my date with Sebastian.
    And I don’t need to be rescued anymore, either.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Competition
    “I hear Donna LaDonna is seeing Sebastian Kydd,” Lali says, adjusting her goggles.
    What? I dip my toe into the water as I tug on the straps of my Speedo, trying to compose myself. “Really,” I say casually. “How’d you hear that?”
    “She told the two Jens and they’re telling everyone.”
    “Maybe she’s making it up,” I say, stretching my legs.
    “Why would she do that?”
    I get up on the block next to her and shrug.
    “On your mark. Get set. Go! ” Coach Nipsie says.
    As we’re both airborne, I suddenly