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“Well, I don’t. You’re going to stay at my house. I’ll sleep in my sister’s room and you can have mine—”
“I don’t want charity, Carrie.”
“But surely, your mother—”
“She never gets in my father’s way when he’s like this. It only makes things worse.”
“I hate straight men,” I say.
“Yeah.” Walt sighs. “Me too.”
I’m so shocked by Walt’s situation that it takes me a few minutes to realize something is different about assembly this morning. The auditorium is a little quieter than usual, and when I take my seat next to Tommy Brewster, I notice he’s reading The Nutmeg. “Have you seen this?” he asks, shaking the paper.
“No,” I say casually. “Why?”
“I thought you wrote for this rag.”
“I did. Once. But that was months ago.”
“Well, you’d better read it now,” he says warningly.
“Okay.” I shrug. And to further emphasize my lack of involvement in the matter, I get up and walk to the front of the auditorium, where I pick up a copy of The Nutmeg from a pile on the corner of the stage. When I turn around, three sophomore girls are waiting behind me. “Can we have a copy?” one of them asks as they bump each other.
“I heard it’s all about Donna LaDonna,” says another. “Can you believe it? Can you believe anyone would do that?” I hand them three papers and head back to my seat, digging my fingernails into my palm to control my shaking. Crap. What if I get caught? But I won’t get caught if I act normal and Gayle keeps her mouth shut.
I have this theory: You can get away with anything as long as you act like you’re not doing anything wrong.
I open the paper and pretend to read it, while surreptitiously checking to see if Peter has arrived. He has, and he, too, is absorbed in The Nutmeg. His cheeks are beet red and a flush like a flame runs from his cheekbones down to his jaw.
I return to my seat, where Tommy, apparently, has finished reading the article and has worked himself into a froth. “Whoever did this should be kicked out of school.” He looks at the front page again, checking the name. “Who is Pinky Weatherton? I’ve never even heard of him.”
Him?
“Me neither.” I press my lips together as if I’m stumped as well. I can’t believe Tommy actually thinks Pinky Weatherton is a real student—and a guy. But now that Tommy has presented the possibility, I go along with it. “It must be someone new.”
“The only new person in this school is Sebastian Kydd. You think he could have done this?”
I fold my arms and look at the ceiling, as if the answer might be lurking there. “Well, he did go out with Donna LaDonna. And didn’t she dump him or something? Maybe he thought he’d get revenge.”
“That’s right,” Tommy says, pointing his finger. “I knew there was something creepy about that guy. Did you know he went to private school? I hear his family is rich. Probably looks down on us regular kids. Thinks he’s better than we are.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod enthusiastically.
Tommy pounds his fist into his hand. “We have to do something about this guy. Slash his tires. Or get him kicked out of school. Hey.” He suddenly stops and scratches his head. “Didn’t you go out with him? Didn’t I hear—”
“A couple of times,” I admit, before he can put the pieces together. “But he turned out to be just like you said. A real creep.”
All through calculus class, I feel Peter’s eyes boring into the side of my head. Sebastian is there as well, but ever since the incident in the parking lot, I have studiously avoided looking at him or catching his eye. Today, however, I can’t help smiling when he walks into class. He gives me a startled look, then smiles back, as if he’s relieved I’m not mad at him anymore.
Ha. If he only knew.
I rush out of class as soon as the bell rings, but Peter is right behind me. “How did it happen?” he demands.
“What?” I ask, like I’m kind of annoyed.
“‘What?’” He rolls his eyes as if he can’t believe I’m playing this game. “The piece in The Nutmeg, that’s what.”
“I have no idea,” I say, starting to walk away. “I did exactly what you said. I brought the mock-up to the AV room—”
