Carrie by Stephen King Page B

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    â€œYou must be crazy.”
    He blinked at her, not willing to believe that he had actually heard it. They were at his house, and the television was on but forgotten. His mother had gone over to visit Mrs. Klein across the street. His father was in the cellar workroom making a birdhouse.
    Sue looked uncomfortable but determined. “It's the way I want it, Tommy.”
    â€œWell it's not the way I want it. I think it's the craziest goddam thing I ever heard. Like something you might do on a bet.”
    Her face tightened. “Oh? I thought you were the one making the big speeches the other night. But when it comes to putting your money where your big fat mouth is—”
    â€œWait, whoa.” He was unoffended, grinning. “I didn't say no, did I? Not yet, anyway.”
    â€œYou—”
    â€œWait. Just wait. Let me talk. You want me to ask Carrie White to the Spring Ball. Okay, I got that. But there's a couple of things I don't understand.”
    â€œName them.” She leaned forward.
    â€œFirst, what good would it do? And second, what makes you think she'd say yes if I asked her?”
    â€œNot say yes! Why—” She floundered. “You're . . . everybody likes you and—”
    â€œWe both know Carrie's got no reason to care much for people that everybody likes.”
    â€œShe'd go with you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Pressed, she looked defiant and proud at the same time. “I've seen the way she looks at you. She's got a crush. Like half the girls at Ewen.”
    He rolled his eyes.
    â€œWell, I'm just telling you,” Sue said defensively. “She won't be able to say no.”
    â€œSuppose I believe you,” he said. “What about the other thing?”
    â€œYou mean what good will it do? Why . . . it'll bring her out of her shell, of course. Make her . . .” She trailed off.
    â€œA part of things? Come on, Suze. You don't believe that bullshit.”
    â€œAll right,” she said. “Maybe I don't. But maybe I still think I've got something to make up for.”
    â€œThe shower room?”
    â€œA lot more than that. Maybe if that was all I could let it go, but the mean tricks have been going on ever since grammar school. I wasn't in on many of them, but I was on some. If I'd been in Carrie's groups, I bet I would have been in on even more. It seemed like . . . oh, a big laugh. Girls can be cat-mean about that sort of thing, and boys don't really understand. The boys would tease Carrie for a little while and then forget, but the girls . . . it went on and on and on and I can't even remember where it started any more. If I were Carrie, I couldn't even face showing myself to the world. I'd just find a big rock and hide under it.”
    â€œYou were kids,” he said. “Kids don't know what they're doing. Kids don't even know their reactions really, actually, hurt other people. They have no, uh, empathy. Dig?”
    She found herself struggling to express the thought this called up in her, for it suddenly seemed basic, bulking over the shower-room incident the way sky bulks over mountains.
    â€œBut hardly
anybody
ever finds out that their actions really, actually, hurt other people! People don't get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter you don't stop pulling the wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it. Lots of kids say they feel sorry for Carrie White—mostly girls, and
that's
a laugh—but I bet none of them understand what it's like to
be
Carrie White, every second of every day. And they don't really care.”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œI don't know!” she cried. “But someone ought to try and be sorry in a way that counts . . . in a way that means something.”
    â€œAll right. I'll ask her.”
    â€œYou will?” The statement came out in a flat, surprised way. She had not thought he actually would.
    â€œYes. But I think she'll say no. You've overestimated my