Мэг Кэбот - Pants on Fire

“I don’t mind,” Eric insisted, grabbing for my waist again. But I sidestepped him.

“Ido,” I said. I knew I needed to turn this around so it was about him and not me, because the only person Eric really cares about is himself, and so that’s the only person who actually interests him. So I said, “You need areal girlfriend, one who can devote herself just to you.” The way I should have been devoting myself just to Seth. “What about Morgan Castle? She really seems to like you. You two have so much in common, with the performance thing. And you guys look really good together.”

That seemed to bring Eric up short. He stopped trying to grab and kiss me — knowing as well as I did, no doubt, that the minute the kissing started, I’d be putty in his hands — and went, “Really? Do you think so?”

Ha. I knew it would work.

“Totally,” I said. “Only, you know. You have to treat her right. Because she’s a ballerina, and all. And they’re really sensitive. Kind of like actors.”

He seemed to like this. Well, being an actor, and all, he would. Like all actors, he was convinced he was something really special, and not just a guy who stands around saying a bunch of stuff someone else wrote, who has no original thoughts of his own.

Oops. Or maybe he does. Because a second later, he threw me a suspicious look, and went, “Wait a minute. What’s this really about, anyway, Katie? Does this have something to do with Tommy Sullivan?”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. “Tommy? No. Why would it have something to do with Tommy?” Did Eric know something I didn’t know? Like what Tommy was up to?

“I don’t know,” Eric said, still eyeing me suspiciously. “Because it seems like everything was going along fine between us until he came back to town.”

I wanted to burst out laughing. And not in a happy way, either. In a hysterical way. Because what Eric just said had to be the understatement of the year…that everything had seemed to be going along fine until Tommy Sullivan came back to town. Had truer words ever been spoken?

“This has nothing to do with Tommy,” I said.

Except that, as usual, I was lying.

But then, I lie all the time anyway. What difference did one more make?

“Well,” Eric said, looking uncertain. No girl had ever broken up with him before in his life. Obviously, he wasn’t sure how to act.

Fortunately for me, he chose to be magnanimous about it. I hadn’t been too worried he’d go the vindictive route and blab everything about the two of us to Seth. Because Eric values his looks too much and wouldn’t want to be the recipient of a blanket party himself.

“If you’re sure,” he said to me.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sure, all right. ’Bye, Eric. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” He put his sunglasses back on. “I’ll see you at the Quahog Princess pageant. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I said with a nod. “Right. And, um. Thanks.”

It seemed kind of lame to thank a guy for spending so much time kissing behind a restaurant. But what else was I supposed to say? Quahog Princesses are, above all else, polite.

And Eric didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and waved good-bye. Then he sauntered back toward his dad’s BMW.

And I dashed inside the Gull ’n Gulp, punching in with only thirty seconds to spare.

“Cutting it close enough, Ellison?” Peggy wanted to know, when she saw me.

“Sorry,” I said. “Quahog Princess rehearsal ran a little late.” It’s amazing how smoothly lies trip off the tongue once you get used to telling them all the time.

“Right,” Peggy said sarcastically. “Put your hair up and get out there.”

I scooped my hair into a ponytail and went out into the dining room — where I was greeted by the dozen or so wait staff, line cooks, busboys, and Jill, the hostess, holding a cake shaped like a quahog that hadGOOD LUCK TO OUR OWN QUAHOG PRINCESS written on it in yellow frosting.

They all — including Peggy, who’d come in behind me — yelled, “SURPRISE!” at the same time.

I was surprised, all right. Especially after the way Peggy had yelled at me. Which she later laughingly confided was just to throw me off the scent of what they’d been planning.

“Ha ha,” I’d laughed weakly. “It really worked.”

Still, it was nice of them. I mean, to be so supportive. Well, I guess they’re my sponsor, so they have to be.

And since there’s always a lull between four o’clock, when my evening shift begins, and five, when the first dinner customers start arriving, it was kind of fun to sit around eating cake and looking out at the water.

At least it was fun until Shaniqua, straddling the railing over the water beside me, went, “So what’s the deal with this Tommy Sullivan guy who came in yesterday? Is he really the one who ratted out the Quahogs all those years ago?”

Jill, who was straddling the railing on my other side, sucked frosting off a finger and said, “Yeah, and how can I get his number? Because that boy is fine.”

I felt a sudden, completely irrational urge to push Jill into the water. Which is weird because I really like Jill.

Instead of pushing Jill off the railing, I answered Shaniqua’s question. “Yes. Tommy’s really the one who ratted out the Quahogs all those years ago. He was covering a game for the middle school paper, theEagle, and he went into the men’s locker room over at the high school to interview some of the players before the game, and overheard them bragging about having cheated off another kid when it turned out the proctor at the place where they were all taking the SATs was a huge Quahog fan, who let them get away with it.”

Shaniqua looked disgusted. “You mean if they hadn’t been bragging about it, they never would have gotten caught?”

“Probably not,” I said. “But, you know. They never thought some little kid from a middle school paper would rat them out. But Tommy included their quotes about the exam in his article, and Mr. Gatch, from over at theGazette, read the article and checked the guys’ scores, and…well. Coach Hayes was forced to forfeit the state championship because he lost most of his team.”

Jill flipped around some of her long, shiny blond hair. “Wow. That is, like, tragic.”

“What’s tragic about it?” Shaniqua wanted to know. “Those guys cheated and got what was coming to them. So why wasTommy the one who got his name spray-painted across the outside wall of the gym?”

“Well, you know how this town is about the Quahogs,” I said with a shrug, hoping she wouldn’t notice how my cheeks had suddenly flamed up.

“Stupid jerks,” Shaniqua said, although the actual noun she used to describe the citizens of Eastport was more colorful thanjerks. And not appropriate for a potential Quahog Princess to repeat.

And then we all had to get off the railing and come inside because a busload of German tourists had just pulled up. And by seven o’clock, we were full. Things didn’t slow down again until just before eleven, which is when we close on Thursday nights. I was so beat, I had to call Seth and tell him to not meet me after work.

And okay, the truth was that the thought of making out with Seth after work in his four by four in the parking lot held about as much appeal as the thought of kissing — I don’t know. A quahog, or something. The bivalve, I mean.

But I reallywas tired. It had been a long day. And I needed to get a good night’s sleep, on account of the pageant tomorrow night, and all. So it wasn’t just an excuse. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Still, when I walked out to the rack to unlock my bike after work and heard someone call my name from the parking lot, all the tiredness disappeared from my body.

Because it wasn’t Seth’s voice.

It wasn’t Seth’s voice at all.

Seriously. It was like I’d been struck by lightning or chugged a million Red Bulls, or something, I was suddenly so wired. All those trays of quahog fritters I’d been hauling around? All those bowls of quahog chowder I’d been handing out? My muscles didn’t even feel them anymore.

That is hard-core. I mean, that a mereguy could make me feel that way. Even when I first started going out with Seth — when I realized that, out of all the girls at Eastport High, he actually likedme, and not any of the Tiffanys and Brittanys he could so easily have had — he never made me feel that way.

And I have to say, I really, really hated Tommy Sullivan for that.

“What do you want?” I turned around to demand in my rudest voice.

Only the words died away a little when I saw how hot he looked, leaning against the front of his Jeep in a circle of light thrown down from the parking lot’s single streetlight. His was the only car left in the lot — everyone else had gone home already. The pier was completely quiet — except for the lap of the water against the retaining wall, and some crickets underneath the emergency generator.

I couldn’t help but notice, in the light from the street lamp, that Tommy’s arms were folded across his chest in such a way that his biceps were really kind of bulging out beneath the short sleeves of his slim tee.

He had one foot propped back on his front bumper, revealing a hole in the knee of the jeans he’d changed into. I couldn’t stop staring at the tanned skin that hole revealed, even though it was just a knee. It was like I was hypnotized or something.

Oh, yes. I hate Tommy Sullivan.So much.

“Hey,” he said, unfolding his arms — but not unpropping his foot — when he saw me turn around. “Thought I’d find you here. What’s up? My grandmother said you called.”

I tried to stop myself. I really did.

But the next thing I knew, I was leaving the protection — from kissing a boy who is not my boyfriend — afforded me by the bike rack and emergency generator and walking across the parking lot toward him. It was like I was one of the zillions of moths that were batting around the light from the street lamp above us, drawn not to the glow above our heads, but to whatever it was Tommy Sullivan was giving off.

Which I was starting to suspect was serious pheromones or something. Because how else could I explain why I couldn’t seem to stay away from him, despite the fact that he was very obviously back in town in order to destroy me?

“Yeah,” I said, when I’d gotten close enough to him to see that his eyes were amber in the light from the street lamp. More yellow than amber, actually. I don’t think it was a trick of my imagination. Tommy Sullivan’s eyes looked as if they were gold. “I called you. I…I wanted to tell you something.”

“That’s what I figured.” Tommy was looking down at me curiously. “Hey, are you all right? You look kind of…funny.”

“I’m fine,” I said, licking my lips. And I wasn’t even trying to be flirty! My mouth had just gone really dry. I don’t know why. I just kept looking into Tommy’s eyes and thinking,They really do look like gold. How is that even possible? How can someone have goldeneyes?

“Um,” Tommy said. “Well, you didn’t leave your cell number. So I couldn’t call you back. I tried your house. But your dad said you were here.”

“Oh,” I said. Tommy, unlike Seth and Eric, didn’t wear any jewelry. His neck was unadorned by chains, leather cords, or pooka shells. All he had on was a watch, one of those big strappy waterproof kinds. I decided that the no-jewelry look suited him.

“So.” He’d raised his eyebrows. He still looked curious. “What did you want to tell me?”

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop staring at him? I was acting like one of those stupid lovestruck girls who’d been hanging around my brother at the gym. Only without the giggling. Which was ridiculous, because I amnot in love with Tommy Sullivan. In fact, I hate Tommy Sullivan.

Which reminded me.

“What were you doing today in Mr. Gatch’s office, down at theGazette?” I finally got enough control of myself to ask.

“That’s why you called?” Tommy asked, looking incredulous.

“No,” I said. Suddenly, I was blushing. So he wouldn’t notice, I pulled out the clip holding up my ponytail, then ducked my head so my curly hair fell over my face. Then I hurried over to lean against the front of his Jeep beside him, so he could only see my profile. “I just want to know what you were doing there. Is that why you’re back in town, Tommy? Because you’re writing some kind of story for Mr. Gatch?”

“What did Mr. Gatch say,” Tommy asked, “when you asked him?”

I blushed even harder. How had he known?