Cheshire Girl

Ch. 15

Ian made sure he sat next to my mom.  He still had the book with him, but had yet to ask for the autograph.

                The adults still did all the talking, but I noticed Nina wasn't taking part.

                "My mom isn't home much," Charlie quietly told me.  "I think she feels bad about that sometimes, so she wanted to make up for it tonight."

                I nodded, turning back to my meal.  I'd noticed Nina picked at her food, which probably meant that she hadn't really done all the cooking herself.

                Charlie and I finished eating, and she announced that we were going up to her room.

                "Probably to talk about books and boys," Celia said, smiling.  "Have at it."  Again, I noticed Nina didn't look particularly happy about not being able to dismiss her daughter herself.

                "We're not going to talk about books and boys, Celia," Charlie huffed, and then I followed her out to the living room.  I wasn't sure when to mention that we probably were going to talk about a book, because I brought the diary with me.  "Sorry about that," she said as we walked up the stairs.  "Celia's sometimes a know-it-all.  Her 'psychic moments' bloat her ego."

                I went on ahead down the hall, to the left.  "Don't worry about it.  I think most old people have bloated egos."  I walked into her room, flicking on the light.  "You must really like blue," I commented.  Everything was blue—the walls, her bed sheets, her chair, her rug, the few posters on the walls.

                I turned back to Charlie since she didn't respond; she was frowning.  "What?"  Was she mad that I'd just barged in?  We were going to her room anyway, right?

                "How'd you know this was my room?  I hadn't pointed it out yet."

                "Uh…."  Well, how did I know?   "Lucky guess?" 

                She nodded.  "So, yeah, blue's my favorite color.  You can sit anywhere… okay."

                I'd already taken a seat on her bed, feeling quite comfortable.

                "So what's with you and Ethan?" she asked, sitting at her desk.

                "I thought we weren't going to talk about books and boys."

                Charlie scoffed.  "I wasn't going to admit Celia was right.  Besides, I'd like to know.  Since we're not part of the 'in' crowd, we have to formulate our own gossip."

                I rolled my eyes.  "Well, nothing is going on with me and Ethan.  I only share biology and choir with him.  And in both of the classes we don't talk, like, at all."  I didn't care to talk about Ethan—I wanted to tell Charlie about the diary and (maybe) Beatrice's visit.

                "He's not your type?"

                "I don't even know if I have a type.  Boys aren't a priority."

                "Girl power!"  Charlie raised her fist.

                "Besides," I said, reaching into my bag, "I didn't want to talk about Ethan or boys.  I wanted to talk to you about this."  I pulled out the leather-bound diary.

                She raised an eyebrow.  "I know it's pretty much set that we're friends, but… you don't have to show me your diary, Bella."