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“Come on,” Lali says, with an edgy skepticism. “You’re writing for The Nutmeg, you’ve got about four diving trophies, and you stole Sebastian away from Donna LaDonna. Sounds to me like you get everything you want.”
For a moment, there’s a painful silence. “I don’t know about that,” The Mouse says. “Do any of us ever get what we really want?”
“You do,” Maggie says. “You and Peter.”
“And Lali. And you, Maggie,” I insist. “Besides, I didn’t exactly steal Sebastian from Donna LaDonna. He said he wasn’t seeing her. And even if he were—well, it’s not exactly like she’s a friend of mine. It’s not like I owe her or anything.”
“Try telling her that,” Lali mutters as she grinds the cigarette butt under her boot.
“Who cares about Donna LaDonna?” Maggie says loudly. She looks at Peter. “I am so sick of her. I don’t want to hear anyone mention her name ever again.”
“Agreed,” Peter says reluctantly.
“Well,” I say.
Peter glances away as he lights a cigarette, then turns to me. “So you know Smidgens expects you to write another story for the newspaper now.”
“That’s fine.”
“What are you going to write about?” Lali asks. She takes another cigarette from the pack, looks at it, and puts it behind her ear.
“I guess I’ll have to think of something,” I say, wondering once again why she’s being so strange.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ch-ch-ch-changes
“Maggie, this isn’t right,” I hiss. School has just ended, and The Mouse, Maggie, and I are hiding in Maggie’s Cadillac.
“Okay. What about Lali?” The Mouse asks, changing the subject. “Didn’t you think she was weird this morning up at the barn?”
“She’s jealous,” Maggie says.
“That’s what I think,” The Mouse agrees.
“She’s a very jealous person,” Maggie adds.
“No, she isn’t,” I protest. “Lali’s confident, that’s all. People take it the wrong way.”
“I don’t know, Bradley,” The Mouse says. “I’d be careful if I were you.”
“Okay, guys. There he is. Everyone duck!” Maggie commands as we hit the floor.
“This is so wrong,” I mutter.
“You’re the one who wants to be the writer,” Maggie says. “You should want to find out.”
“I do, but not like this. Why can’t we just ask him?”
“Because he won’t tell us,” Maggie replies.
“Mouse? What do you think?”
“I don’t care,” The Mouse says from the backseat. “I’m only along for the ride.” She sticks her head up and looks out the rear window. “He’s in the car! He’s leaving the parking lot! Hurry, or we’ll lose him.”
So much for The Mouse’s lack of involvement, I think.
Maggie bolts up, puts the car into gear, and steps on the gas. She drives the wrong way out of the parking lot, and when we reach a dead end she continues right over the grass.
