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Peter gives me a look, and pats Maggie on the head. “There’s no need to concern yourself with the inner workings of The Nutmeg. I have it all under control.”
“You do?” Maggie looks at him in surprise. “What are you going to do about Donna LaDonna, then? I bet she’s pissed as shit.”
“Actually,” The Mouse says, blowing on the top of her soup, “she seems to be enjoying it.”
“Really?” Maggie asks. She swivels around in her chair and looks toward the opposite end of the cafeteria.
The Mouse is right. Donna LaDonna does appear to be lapping up the attention. She’s smack in the middle of her usual table, surrounded by her henchmen and her bees-in-waiting who have gathered tightly around her, like she’s some kind of movie star who needs protection from her fans. Donna preens, smiling and lowering her chin, seductively raising her shoulders as if all her movements are being captured by an invisible camera. Meanwhile, Lali and Sebastian are mysteriously absent. It isn’t until I get up to empty my tray that I finally spot them, huddled together at the end of an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria.
I’m about to walk away, when I’m summoned by Donna LaDonna herself.
“Carrie!” Her voice is as loud as a ringing bell. I turn and she waggles her fingers over Tommy Brewster’s head.
“Hi?” I ask, approaching cautiously.
“Did you see the story about me in The Nutmeg?” she asks, unabashedly pleased.
“How could I miss it?”
“It’s so crazy,” she says, as if she can hardly stand the attention. “But I said to Tommy, and to Jen P, that whoever wrote that story must know me really, really well.”
“I guess they do,” I say mildly.
She blinks her eyes at me, and suddenly, try as I might, I just can’t hate her anymore. I tried to take her down, but somehow she’s managed to twist it around to her advantage.
Good for her, I think as I walk away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Nerd Prince
“Did you know Walt was living in a tent?” I ask Maggie. Our arms are full of bags of confetti.
“No,” Maggie says, in a tone that sounds like she thinks I’m making it up. “Why would he do that?”
“His father found out he was gay and won’t let Walt sleep in the house.”
Maggie shakes her head. “That Richard. He’s such a silly man. But he’d never make Walt sleep outside.” She leans toward me and, in a loud whisper, says, “Walt is becoming a huge drama queen. Now that he’s…you know.”
“Gay?”
“Whatever,” she says as we enter the gym.
Hmph. So much for trying to be a better friend.
After I discovered Walt in the tent, I decided he was right—I’d been so wrapped up in Sebastian and the subsequent betrayal, I’d hardly noticed what was happening with my friends. Hence my acceptance of Maggie’s invitation to help her decorate the gym for the senior prom. It’s only this once, I remind myself. And it’s a way to spend time with Maggie.
“Oh, good,” Jen P says, rushing over. “Confetti. Did you get all twelve bags?”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie nods.
Jen P looks critically at the bags in our arms. “I’m not sure it’s enough. Do you think we need more?”
Maggie looks defeated—she’s never been good at organization—and I’m surprised she’s lasted this long in the planning.
“How much confetti do we really need?” I ask.
“Put it over there and we’ll figure it out later,” Jen P orders, pointing to an area piled with streamers and tissue paper. But as we start to walk away, she follows. “By the way,” she says to Maggie. “Did you see that story in The Nutmeg? The one about who will be prom king and queen? Pinky Weatherton is right. How can Donna LaDonna be prom queen if she’s bringing an outside date? Who wants to look back on their senior prom and not even know the prom king? And of course Cynthia thinks she and Tommy are the front-runners. But I liked the part about me—how if I could get a date, I’d be a contender.” She takes a breath, nudges Maggie, and continues. “But as Pinky says, you never know. You and Peter could be the dark horses—after all, you have been dating for six months.”
