by Meg Cabot
“Running through the streets naked covered in green Jell-O?”
“No,” Jenna said. “Liberating the quahog. They want all quahogs to be able to live free, without fear of being dug up and eaten.”
I said, “Jenna. Quahogs are bivalves. They aren’t capable of feeling fear.”
Jenna shrugged. “I know. But I didn’t want to upset them. And whatever. I want my car back. So maybe this way, I’ll place after all.”
I thought this was still pretty unlikely, given her talent. (Her speech includes the line, I’ve SEEN the future. Do you know what it is? It’s a forty-seven-year-old virgin sitting around in his beige pajamas, drinking a banana-broccoli shake, singing, “I’m an Oscar Mayer Wiener.” Pageant judges don’t like it when you mention the V word in your speech.)
“Wow,” I said instead. “Does this mean you found an escort?”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Yeah. My dad.”
Still, I stood back up and laid a hand on her bare shoulder to show my solidarity with her plight. “Fight the power, Jenna,” I said. “Fight the power.”
Then I walked over to where Sidney was fighting with Dave just as he yanked off his powder blue tux jacket and threw it to the ground.
“You want me to escort you shirtless?” he demanded, caught up in a rare (for him) fit of pique. “Fine! I’ll escort you shirtless!”
Then he stomped off.
I picked up the jacket and brushed bits of grass from it.
“He can’t escort you shirtless,” I said. “It’s against the rules. Escorts have to be in formal wear.”
“I know,” Sidney said. “But look at that thing. It’s hideous!”
“Maybe he could wear it, you know, ironically,” I said. “With a quahog fritter as a boutonniere.”
“Thanks,” Sidney said sarcastically. “Not helping.”
I felt a pair of hands on my waist. I spun around to find Seth, looking gorgeous in a tux of his own—his was black, thank God—grinning down at me.
“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. “You look—”
“No,” I said quickly, reaching up to grab his face before his lips could touch mine. “You’ll mess up my makeup.”
Except that I was disturbingly aware of the fact that it wasn’t my makeup I was worried about. I didn’t want Seth to kiss me because…
…I just didn’t want Seth to kiss me.
I know. It was insane. But at that moment, the thought of my boyfriend kissing me actually made me feel a little bit, well…
Queasy.
Really! I know that’s a terrible thing to think about a boy. Especially a boy you’ve been seeing exclusively. Well, semi-exclusively.
“Sorry,” Seth said, about messing up my makeup. “You just look so hot.”
My heart lurched. He was just so…sweet. How could I have treated him the way I’d been treating him lately? How?
Even though the truth is that, though Seth is always going on about how hot I look, he never compliments me on stuff that actually matters. Like, he’s never looked at my photos and gone, “You understand people…just not yourself.” He’s never looked at my photos and said anything but, “Nice. Let’s make out.”
Not, you know, that I ever minded. Until fairly recently.
Oh, God. What’s happening to me?
“See, this is the tux Dave was supposed to get,” Sidney cried, grabbing Seth’s jacket sleeve. “Oh my God, your boyfriend looks so good! What is wrong with my boyfriend, that he has the worst taste in all of the Eastern Seaboard? Seth, you guys went to the shop together. Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
Seth looked confused…kind of like a puppy someone was berating for having peed on the floor. “He thought black would be too hot,” he said. “And he was right. I’m boiling right now.”
“So what?” Sidney shouted, loudly enough for Dave, who was over at the cooler Ms. Hayes had brought along, stocked with Diet Cokes and bottled water, to overhear. “Sometimes you have to suffer for beauty! How do you think I feel when I have my legs waxed? Do you think it feels good? Well, it doesn’t. But I do it anyway, to look good for my boyfriend. Because I love him.”
I had no comment to make about that. I never get my legs waxed, because of the potential for bacterial infection, even at a seemingly clean salon. I used my trusty safety razor instead.
Dave had a comment, though. He went, throwing down the water bottle he’d just chugged, “You know what, Sidney? If you have something to say to me, why don’t you come over here and say it to my face instead of shouting it out for everyone in town to hear?”
Which caused Sidney to go, “Fine, I will,” and stomp over to him.
Seth, having watched this exchange with a quizzical expression on his face, looked down at me and went, “Wow. I guess she’s really nervous about the pageant, huh?”
“I guess,” I said. I was kind of upset about the puppy thing. I mean, that I’d look at my boyfriend’s face and been reminded of a puppy. Who had just peed. That isn’t the kind of thing you’re supposed to think about when you look at your boyfriend. What was wrong with me? I mean, obviously Seth and I hadn’t been the most perfect couple, considering I kept making out with other people (well, okay, one other person…at a time) behind his back.
But I had never thought of him as puppyish before. You know, cute and sweet and ultimately…well, kind of dim.
“Katie,” Seth said. “Is everything okay? I mean, between you and me?”
Oh my God! It was like he’d read my mind! How’d he done that? Puppies aren’t supposed to be able to do that….
“Between us?” I asked, turning away from Sidney and Dave, who were now arguing in the opposite corner of the tent, while Morgan blubbered away about her rosin and Jenna sat there looking as empty-headed as Katie Holmes. “What do you mean?”
Except of course I knew exactly what he meant. I just hadn’t suspected that he’d noticed.
“Well, it’s like, these past few days, I’ve hardly seen you,” Seth said. “I know you were sick, and all, but—”
“Sick?” I blinked up at him confusedly.
“You know,” Seth said. “Your e. coli?”
Holy quahog! I can’t believe I forgot about that. I seriously have to start keeping better track of my lies. Maybe I need to make a flow chart. PowerPoint might help.
“Right,” I said. “Well, yeah, there was that…and, you know, the pageant, and I’ve been trying to work as much as I can before school starts up again—”
“Yeah,” Seth said. “I get all that. It’s just…this is gonna sound kinda weird, but it’s almost like…I don’t know. Like you’re not that into me anymore, or something.”
“Oh, Seth,” I cried, guilt twisting my heart in two. How could I? How could I have been so awful to him? He’s such a great guy. Everybody says so.
Everybody except Tommy. For whom Seth wants to have a blanket party.
I pushed this thought resolutely from my head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “Of course I’m still into you!”
Seriously. I so need a flow chart. Because the lies are just mounting, and higher and higher every minute.
“Oh,” Seth said, looking relieved. “Okay. Cool.”
Then he bent down to kiss me again.
And I said, ducking, “Oops, you know what? I just need…I just need to step outside for a minute. I think I left something in my bike basket. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Seth looked confused again…and more like a puppy than ever.
“Um,” he said. “Okay.”
I gave him a smile, and hurried toward the tent flap…just as Eric Fluteley was lifting it to come in, looking handsomer than I’d ever seen him in a black tux with gold studs. I braced myself, thinking he’d notice I was leaving and try to follow me out for some quick pre-pageant frenching.
But he barely even seemed to notice me. Instead, he called to Morgan, “Is this what you were lo
oking for?” and held up a chunk of amber-colored rock.
Morgan, who’d been crying (although fortunately she appeared to have applied waterproof mascara), looked up. When she saw what Eric was holding, she broke out into a radiant smile.
“Oh, Eric,” she cried. “Thank you!”
And Eric blushed.
Oh, yes. Eric Fluteley blushed.
“Excuse me, Katie,” he said, when he saw me standing there by the tent flap. He stepped out of the way, courteously holding the flap up to let me by…though his gaze, I couldn’t help but notice, was still glued to Morgan’s.
Which was good. I mean, this is what I’d wanted. For Eric and Morgan to get together, because they made such a nice couple.
So I just smiled and said, “Thanks, Eric,” and ducked outside.
Man. Nice to know how easily I can be replaced.
Well, whatever. Seth had been right about one thing: It was boiling inside that tent. Out in the fresh air, I felt like I could breathe again. Funny how I hadn’t noticed how hot it was in there until Seth had started in with his “Like you’re not that into me anymore” thing.
Which couldn’t have been more out of left field. I mean, of course I’m into Seth.
And, all right, I’ll admit it, he’s not the best conversationalist. But he’s still a great guy. Like Sidney pointed out, he hadn’t dumped me, even though I wouldn’t sleep with him. That was something, right? And sure, maybe he didn’t follow me home to make sure I got there safely on my bike.
And maybe he didn’t exactly offer any kind of artistic criticism about my photographs.
But he’s Seth Turner! And he’s mine!
And what kind of idiot would ever break up with Seth Turner?
It was as I was thinking this I noticed a guy who kind of looked like Tommy Sullivan coming toward me along the park path. Which had to have been my imagination playing tricks on me, because no way would Tommy Sullivan show himself behind the Quahog Princess pageant tent after I’d made it explicitly clear that I never wanted to see him again.
Except when the guy got closer, I noticed he didn’t just look like Tommy Sullivan.
He WAS Tommy Sullivan.
And the most annoying thing of all? When I realized this, my heart gave this kind of lurch inside my chest.
And it wasn’t an Oh, no, it’s Tommy Sullivan lurch.
It was a Yay! It’s Tommy Sullivan! lurch.
And all at once, I knew Seth was right: I just wasn’t that into him anymore. Because I was totally and completely into his mortal enemy.
Seventeen
“Hey,” Tommy said, when he came close enough to talk to me without shouting to be heard over the shrieks of glee from all the kids running around with quahog cones (I know, gross) from the Eastport Ice Creamery. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I just stared at him. It should be against the law for any guy to look that good. Seriously. Today he had on khaki walkshorts with a black polo.
But it wasn’t even so much what he was wearing—and how well he filled it all out—as it was…just him.
Oh, God. I had it so bad.
“I get that you want nothing to do with me,” he said. “But can we just talk?”
I guess Tommy took my silence (which was actually speechlessness over his godlike beauty) for acquiescence, since he said, “Good,” grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled me behind the wide trunk of a sycamore tree, out of view of the pageant tent. I went along because…well, what else are you going to do when you’ve pretty much lost all motor control?
“Listen,” Tommy said, once he’d propped me up against the trunk of the tree (which was nice of him, since otherwise I’d probably have fallen down, my knees had gone so rubbery at the sight of him). “What happened last night…I don’t know what you think that was really about, but I did not come back to Eastport to ruin your life. I can’t believe you would even think that.”
I caught myself staring at his lips as he spoke. All I could think about was how they’d felt last night on mine. And how much I wanted to grab a handful of his shirt, drag him toward me, and start kissing him again, right there in Eastport Park, in front of the kids with the quahog cones, and the pageant tent, and everything.
And I could have done it, too, very easily, since he had one arm up against the tree trunk beside me and was kind of leaning over me in a totally proprietary manner that, I have to admit, I was finding extremely enjoyable.
But then—finally—my brain kicked in, and I remembered I was supposed to hate him.
“Right,” I finally forced my mouth to say. “So that little speech about how I don’t understand—or like—myself wasn’t supposed to undermine my confidence so I would screw up tonight and lose the pageant?”
He looked down at me with a totally incredulous expression on his face. “What? No. Katie—”
“And that whole thing where you kissed me in the parking lot, where anyone might have seen us,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. Because I think body language is important, and I was afraid I was giving off the wrong signals with the whole letting-him-lean-over-me thing. “That wasn’t because you were hoping my friends would catch me, and that my boyfriend would dump me and my social life would be ruined for the year?”
“Excuse me,” Tommy said, looking annoyed now, instead of incredulous. “Were we in the same parking lot last night? Because—correct me if I’m wrong—you seemed to be a pretty active participant in the kissing.”
“Ha!” I said, uncrossing my arms to stab an index finger into his chest. “You know I have no resistance to cute guys in parking lots. You saw me behind the emergency generator with Eric. You were taking advantage of my only weakness, as well as acting on insider information. And that’s not fair!”
I emphasized each of the last four words with a poke of my finger against his chest. He didn’t appear to appreciate this very much, if the way he reached up and grabbed my hand was any indication.
“You’re insane,” Tommy said. “Have any of your other many boyfriends ever mentioned that to you before?”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” I said, more than a little conscious that he was still holding on to my hand. “I want to know the truth. I think I have a right to know it. What were you doing in Mr. Gatch’s office yesterday?”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” he said, shaking his head.
Because it was none of my business. Mr. Gatch had already made that more than clear.
“Fine,” I said, between gritted teeth. Gritted in frustration because he was being so close-mouthed. Not because I was trying to keep myself from throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him again. Not at all. “Then just tell me this: What are you really doing back in Eastport? And if it’s not to ruin my life, then why did you come back?”
“Katie,” he said, looking down at my hand in his. He seemed upset. He really did. Like he wanted to tell me, but he just…couldn’t.
Of course, that might have been part of the act. You know, the act to make me fall in love with him, then get his revenge by ripping my heart out and smearing it all over Eastport.
But I had to hand it to him. Because the act? It was totally working.
“Oh, who even cares?” I said finally, and wrenched my hand from his.
But only so I could throw my arms around his neck and start kissing him again.
Oh, yes. I was leaning against a tree in Eastport Park, kissing Tommy Sullivan behind the Quahog Princess pageant tent. Not even leaning against the tree so much as being pressed against it by Tommy, who didn’t seem to mind at all that I’d ended our conversation so abruptly…not to mention somewhat unconventionally. Well, I guess it would have been unconventional if it had been anybody but me. But since it was me, well, what else was I going to do but kiss him?
And it wasn’t like Tommy wasn’t kissing me back. He was…and like he really meant it, I might add. His hands were on my waist, his chest pressed up against mine, his mouth hot on my
mouth. In all, it was a very excellent moment.
Except that that’s how long it lasted. Just a moment, before Tommy lifted his head and said in a funny, unsteady voice, “Katie.”
“Stop talking, please,” I said, and dragged his head so that his mouth was back down where it belonged: on mine.
But he didn’t keep it there long enough. For me, anyway.
“Katie,” he lifted his head to say again. “I mean it. We can’t keep doing this.”
“Why?” I demanded, dragging him again.
But he resisted!
“Because,” he said firmly, giving my waist a little shake. “We have to talk.”
“Talking is way overrated,” I said. Because, seriously, talking was the last thing I wanted to do with him. Especially when he was standing so close to me, and I could smell his sunscreen and feel his muscles and all I wanted to do was wrap my legs around him again.
“Seriously, Katie,” Tommy murmured into my hair. Which I had a feeling was escaping from its updo, on account of all the bark that had just been rubbed against the back of it. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Okay,” I said. Though it was an effort to speak. On account of all the throbbing that was going on in various parts of my body. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us,” Tommy said. “I don’t want to do this, Katie.”
“What?” I asked, surprised. Because he certainly hadn’t been acting like someone who didn’t want to do this. “Make out with me in parking lots and public parks?”
“Exactly,” Tommy said. “That may have been all right for Eric Fluteley. But it’s not all right with me. You should know up front that I’m not going to be the guy you sneak around with behind your boyfriend’s back. I’m either the boyfriend, or I’m gone. So you’re going to have to make a choice, Katie. It’s me…or them.”
I narrowed my eyes as I stared up at him. Mostly I was thinking about how close his mouth was to mine, and how easy it would be to just start kissing him again.
But even I, the Ado Annie of Eastport, knew that wouldn’t solve anything (although it might make the bits of me that were throbbing feel happy).
