Lucky T by Kate Brian Read Free Book Online Page B

anything, and this distance seemed too difficult to overcome. If she let her emotions gush, she thought that she might feel a lot better and her dad might come around. But what if he didn't? She couldn't take that kind of rejection right now. So Carrie just sucked it up and said, "I understand."
    This keeping-her-feelings-locked-up thing wasn't suiting her at all . Carrie's eyes began to tear up right after she'd spoken.
    "I hate disappointing you like this," her father said. "I swear right after this Tokyo trip, I'll be on the next flight to California."
    The tears were falling at geyser strength now. She felt so awful for not believing him.
    "Ugh, they're calling my flight. I have to go," he said. "I'll call you as soon as I can. And remember, I adore you."
    "I know, Dad. Fly safe," Carrie said, her voice cracking.
    "Always," he said. "Good-bye."
    Carrie hung up the phone and let out a heavy sigh. There was nothing good about "good-byes" at all .
    On the final day of school Carrie began the dreaded task of cleaning out her locker. There were huge trash cans strewn about the hal way and her fellow classmates were taking great joy in dumping everything they had accumulated over the past year into the garbage. It was supposed to be this cleansing ritual/"summer's here" celebration, but Carrie wasn't looking forward to it. Going through her stuff meant having to remember how good she had it until recently, and there was nothing cleansing about that experience in the least.
    Carrie's stomach churned as she rifled through three- ring binders and five-subject Mead notebooks. She came across some funny sketches that Piper had drawn of their English teacher, Mr. Purtel , in some R-rated poses. She found a crumpled-up piece of construction paper that had Hey, what's up? written on it. Yep, Jason and his astounding verbal skil s just couldn't be matched. On the top shelf there was a pair of shorts she had borrowed from Piper when she forgot her gym clothes and a mix CD of cheesy disco songs, which Piper had made the day she figured out how to work her burner. And on the way bottom of her locker was a photo of her, Jason, and Piper at last year's Fourth of July Waterfront Festival on Pier 39. Jason was in the middle with his eyes closed. Piper was sticking her tongue out and pulling the tip of her nose up. And Carrie looked as if she hadn't laughed so hard in her life.
    God, this is depressing, she thought. Maybe I should down this whole bottle of expired Advil I just found and be done with it.
    But before she could OD on old ibuprofen, a familiar voice came out of nowhere.
    "Hi, Carrie."
    It was Piper.
    Carrie turned around and looked into her best friend's eyes. She saw Piper was hurting, but with each step of her approach, thoughts about that awful day came rushing back into Carrie's head. It was too much to bear, so Carrie closed the door of her locker and began to walk away.
    "Carrie, don't do this," Piper called out after her. "Please, you've been avoiding me for weeks."
    Carrie was heading for the front door of the school, knowing that as soon as she hit the sidewalk, she was going to make a run for it. But she could also hear Piper closing in on her. Piper might not be speedy or athletic, but she was persistent as hel . There was no way she was letting Carrie get out of shouting range.
    "You know I'm going to follow you all the way home and hold a candlelight vigil outside your door until you break down and talk to me," Piper said, reaching out to put a hand on Carrie's shoulder.
    "Leave me alone, Piper," Carrie grunted, shrugging away from her. "I have nothing to say to you."
    "I can't believe you're still mad. What did I do that was so awful?" Piper said, blocking Carrie's path.
    This comment only made things worse. Of course she was still mad! Piper had let Carrie down when she needed her the most, and she didn't even know what she did wrong. What was up with this girl? Didn't she read Cosmo? Women have got to stick