Ann Martin - Kristy Power!

I was steaming.

How could he have let me believe that he had been kicked out of his school? He must have thought it was unbelievably funny to watch me twist in the wind the past few days. This wasn't the first time that Cary had pulled a dirty trick on me, but it was by far the worst. This one wasn't funny.

I motored through the halls, not even noticing where I was going. Eventually I found myself out in the parking lot, where the late buses line up. I stood waiting in the cold, barely noticing that my hands were freezing and my ears were tingling. I thought again about that tiny half smile and stomped my foot.

You know what one of the worst things was?

He was right.

He had never said that what I'd read was a diary. And reading it in the first place was (as I'd already admitted a gazillion times) wrong on my part.

So he was right.

But I didn't care. I was too mad to care. And I knew that, right or not, he'd done it on purpose. He'd let me go around thinking horrible, terrible things about him, just for a laugh.

Well, ha-ha-ha. Very funny. Now he'd had his stupid, dumb joke. I looked like a fool, so he was probably satisfied.

Creep.

Jerk.

Booger-head.

(I know, I know. That's incredibly first-grade of me. But it's how I felt.) I thought all these things as I rode the bus home, let myself into the house, made a snack, and ate it. I could not get over the fact that Cary had duped me.

When I'd finished my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I headed upstairs to my room, still fuming about Cary. As I closed my door, I heard Sam and Charlie arrive home. I didn't go downstairs to see them. I needed to cool off before I could deal with anyone.

I threw my backpack on the bed and began to pull stuff out of it. My gaze fell on the notes for my biography. Ha! I grinned to myself. Biographies weren't always flattering to their subjects. What if I wrote the truth about Cary? Maybe it would help me work out some of my anger.

I sat down at my desk and turned on the light. Then I spread my notes in front of me, read through them one more time, and began.

I giggled as I wrote. I was starting to feel better already.

Now I was on a roll. The world was about to meet the real Cary Retlin.

I heard the doorbell ring downstairs, but I ignored it.

There was a knock at my door. "Come in," I said.

"Hey." It was Cary.

He was standing in my doorway, carrying a notebook and wearing a determined look.

I started to say something (something like, "Get out of my room!"), but he cut me off.

"Listen," he said. "I have something to say. The thing is, I understand why you're mad." He did? I found that hard to believe. But I didn't bother to say anything.

Cary was pacing around my room, up and down along the windows opposite my bed.

"But you know what?" he went on. "It doesn't matter that the stuff you read was more fiction than fact. See, I write stories instead of writing a diary." He held up the notebook, a notebook that looked just like the one I'd read in his room. "And the plot-lines of the stories aren't exactly the same as what happens in my life, but there are similarities." He saw my mouth open and put up a hand. "No, I did not get kicked out of school, or even suspended. But there is a lot of my life in these notebooks. And they aren't meant for people to read. Especially you." "But - " "No 'buts,' Kristy Thomas. Fact or fiction, you shouldn't have read it in the first place. And you know I'm right about that." Of course. But I wasn't ready to admit it to Cary. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. I had tried to apologize to him time after time, and he hadn't accepted.

I stared at him. "Are you finished?" I asked.

He looked surprised. "Uh - yes, I guess so," he answered.

"Okay, then. Thanks for coming by." I turned my back on him and leaned over my desk, pretending to be absorbed in my work.

I heard him shift from foot to foot behind me. He cleared his throat once. Then he left the room.

As soon as I heard his footsteps on the stairs, I dropped the pose and slumped over my desk.

This was ridiculous. Cary and I had created a hu-mongous mess, and I didn't know how to clean it up. I was mad at him, he was mad at me. We'd both done dumb things. And neither of us was ready to forgive.

I looked down at my "biography." It was nothing I'd ever hand in. It had just been a way of blowing off steam. But the fact was that I did have to write a biography of Cary. And I wanted it to be good, since Ted was the one who had given me the assignment in the first place. His opinion meant a lot to me.

I picked up my pen again.

I threw the pen down and put my head in my hands. I didn't know what to write about Cary. I didn't know what to think about Cary.

I crumpled the pages I'd written and tossed them into the trash basket. Then I gathered up my notes and stuck them back into my notebook. "Later for you, Cary Retlin," I muttered as I shoved the notebook into my backpack.

I headed downstairs and found Nannie in the kitchen, starting to put together a beef stew.

"Hey, Ms. K," she said. "Who was that boy? Someone you're - interested in?" She grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes. "Please," I said.

"He seemed nice enough," Nannie went on. "Polite, well-spoken - " "Could we just forget about him?" I asked impatiently.

Nannie backed off immediately. "Sure," she said. "Sorry." One thing about Nannie is that she always knows when to tease and when not to. "Want to help me chop some carrots?" she asked. She handed me a knife. "About this big." She showed me the carrot she'd already cut up.

I started chopping. "Nannie," I asked, "do we still have those Christmas lights in the shape of chili peppers? I was thinking Fd like to use them as part of my party decorations." "Sure," she answered. "I think they're in the garage. I'll help you find them later. How's the rest of your planning coming?" I told her about my ideas for music, food, and games, and she offered a few of her own. We talked and chopped, and soon I began to feel more relaxed than I had in days.

The phone rang just as Nannie was asking me how much garlic I thought she should add.

"At least three cloves," I advised, reaching for the phone. "Hello?" "Kristy, it's me, Claud." "Hey, what's up?" Claudia sounded excited.

"My mom just heard from a friend of hers who works in the school library," she said. "The administration made its decision." I held my breath. Judging by Claudia's tone, it was good news. But I wanted to hear her say it. "And?" I asked.

"Ted has his job back!" Chapter 15.

"Wait, no! That goes over here!" I motioned to Mary Anne, who was carrying a platter full of mini-pizzas. I couldn't believe she was about to put it down on the coffee table. Wasn't it obvious that I'd cleared a space for it on the main food table? Only desserts were supposed to go on the coffee table. The night of my party had finally arrived, and I was just a teensy bit nervous.

Mary Anne whirled around and followed my directions, placing the pizzas between a plate of nachos and a bowl of dip.

"Where are you going with that?" I demanded as Stacey walked through the room with a big bottle of Coke.

"Uh, to the kitchen?" she said. "Is this a test or something?" "Very funny," I said without a smile. "The party is starting in - " I checked my watch - "fifteen minutes. I want to have everything in place before the guests arrive." "Why, is Prince William coming?" Claudia asked. She'd joined us in the dining room. She was carrying a gorgeous centerpiece she'd made out of glass Christmas tree balls tied together with ribbon.

"No, Prince William is not coming," I said. "But I want everything to be perfect." "Kristy, you have to chill," said Stacey. "It's going to be a great party. Everybody is psyched for it." "Especially since Ted has his job back," Claudia added. "Everybody will be in a great mood." I knew they were right. But I was finding it hard to relax, I guess because this was the first party I'd thrown on my own. I was grateful that Claudia and Stacey seemed to have declared a truce in honor of the party. I'm lucky to have such loyal friends.