Мэг Кэбот - Pants on Fire

“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 aright 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 youreally doing back in Eastport? And if it’s not to ruin my life, thenwhy 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 totalk.”

“Talking is way overrated,” I said. Because, seriously, talking was thelast 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 himagain.

“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).

Instead I tried to focus on what he had just said. Make a choice. Him or them.

Hadn’t that been the exact same choice I’d had to make four years ago? Granted, we hadn’t been making out behind restaurants and pageant tents back then. But it had been the same problem, really: support Tommy Sullivan, and face social pariahdom forever as the class brainiac and Quahog hater. Or reject Tommy Sullivan, and end up playing spin the bottle with Seth Turner.

How could anyone have decided otherwise?

Except that now…four years later…I couldn’t help wondering: Had I made theright choice?

Or had I just made theeasiest one?

I blinked at him. I didn’t know what to say. I needed a time out. This was too hard to decide on the spur of the moment like this.

Especially given the throbbing bits.

Tommy, almost as if he’d read my mind, reached up and touched the tip of my nose.

“Why don’t you think about it,” he said. There was a trace of laughter in his voice. “You look confused. I’ll be in the audience if you want to let me know after the pageant what you’ve decided.”

I blinked some more. “You’re…you’re going to watch the pageant?”

“Oh,” Tommy said, with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“But.” Why was my brain digesting this information so slowly? “Seth is my escort. Seth will see you. Seth might try to—”

“Well, I guess Mr. Gatch will have something to report about in tomorrow’s Sunday edition then, won’t he?” Tommy kissed the top of my forehead, then turned around to start walking away.

And I realized, as he did so, that he’d done it again. Really. He’d rendered me into a quivering mass of girly flesh with his kisses, so that I couldn’t think straight, and I’d just let him do all the talking. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him what I thought about him and his stupid theory about how I don’t like or understand myself. Which was so far from the truth, it wasn’t even funny. I totally love myself. Hadn’t I entered myself in the Quahog Princess pageant?

And I don’t evenlike quahogs.

“Katie?”

I’d only staggered a few feet out from behind the tree when I heard the horrified voice coming from the tent flap. I glanced toward it, and saw Sidney standing there, looking shocked.

Because she saw Tommy walking away.

Worse, Tommy saw her. And he had the nerve to wink. And say, “How you doing, Sidney?” as he went by, around to the front of the stage.

Sidney murmured, “Fine, thanks.” Then, as soon as he’d rounded the side of the tent, she hobbled through the grass to me (her heels were sinking into the soil), crying, “Oh my God, Katie! Oh my God!”

I knew the jig was up.

And I also knew Tommy had won. He had straight up won.

It was over.I was over.

Weirdly, all I felt was relieved. Well, except for the part about Sidney hating me. Because the truth is, even though she’s totally shallow, Sidney’s always been a good friend to me. Bossy, but fun.

“Sidney,” I said. “Look. I can explain—”

“Oh my God,” Sidney said for a third time, reaching up to pull bits of bark out of my hair. “You look like you were just making out with some guy against a tree. Probably because — surprise! — you were just making out with some guy against a tree.”

“I know,” I said gravely. “I’m a horrible person. I guess you’re going to have to tell Seth.”

“Are you mental?” Sidney wanted to know, tugging on the hem of my skirt, which had mysteriously ridden up a little. “Get back in that tent and put some lipstick on. I don’t know what you were thinking, macking with Mr. Football Camp five minutes before you’re supposed to get out on stage. Is he really that good of a kisser? And how did he know my name, anyway?”

Whoa. She didn’t know. Shestill didn’t know.

“Huh,” I said, as Sidney grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the tent. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much, do you?” Sidney demanded. “What’s happening to you? Ever since this guy came along, you’ve turned into a total pineapple — brunette on the outside, but blond in the middle. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And how could you leave Seth alone like that? He’s trapped in a corner with Jenna Hicks. She’s telling him about her theories on social anarchy, or something. You should know better than anyone that he has no natural defenses against smart girls.”

Inside the tent, things had calmed down a little. Now that Morgan had her rosin, she was all smiles, looking up at Eric in a flirty manner (hey, it takes one to know one). And Eric seemed to be eating it up. (Well, why wouldn’t he? Anything that’s all about Eric is fine with Eric.)

And Sidney appeared to have forgiven Dave for picking the wrong colored suit. At least if the way she went, “I found her,” to him as she pulled me into the tent was any indication.

“Oh, good,” Dave said. He was eating a quahog fritter from a tray the Gull ’n Gulp had apparently donated for participants in the event. “Hey, Katie. What happened to your lipstick?”

“She’s reapplying,” Sidney said quickly, picking up my backpack and hurling it at me. “Seth. I found her.”

Seth looked around from the apparently deep conversation he was having with Jenna Hicks. Which was, you know, sort of weird, on account of Seth never having once spoken to Jenna back when she’d had on her eyebrow hoops.

But whatever.

“Oh,” he said when he saw me. “Hey, babe.”

He smiled. And I waited. Waited for the gushy weak-kneed feeling I used to feel when Seth smiled at me.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when it didn’t come. I mean, considering.

Me. Or them.That’s what Tommy had said.

But isn’t that what it had always boiled down to?

“Ladies.” Ms. Hayes appeared from the tent flap leading out to the stage. She looked very professional in her pink Lilly Pulitzer halter dress, with matching pink headband and shoes. “Every seat in the house is filled. It’s standing room only. This may prove to be the best-attended Quahog Princess pageant in Eastport history. Get ready to give them the performance of your life. Remember to smile. Miss Hicks, did you hear me?Smile. Now. Shall we pray?”

Ms. Hayes didn’t wait for an answer. She bowed her head, so the rest of us bowed ours, too. Including the sound guys, which I thought was sweet. One of them even set down his beer.

“Dear Lord,” Ms. Hayes prayed. “Please bless this pageant, and all the participants in it. Please don’t let Miss Hicks mess up her blocking, and please let Miss Castle’s toe shoes stick to the stage floor. And don’t let Bob screw up the lighting like he did last year. Amen.”

“Amen,” we all murmured, and Morgan, for good measure, crossed herself.

“All right, girls,” Ms. Hayes said brightly. “It’sQuahog time!”

Okay. So it wasn’t going, you know, badly. I mean, it was hot up on stage with the lights on us. And it was nerve-wracking, looking out into the sea of folding chairs in front of the stage, and seeing so many familiar faces…my parents and brother among them. In spite of the fight we’d had earlier — and the fact that it was a beauty pageant — Liam didn’t look like he was having too bad of a time.

Of course, that was mostly because there was a row of Tiffanys and Brittanys sitting in front of him, and all they could do was giggle and squirm and pretend to drop things so they had to lean over and pick them up and shoot him looks under their eyelashes.

Seriously. I know I am boy crazy. But if I ever thought I’d acted like that about a boy — in particular a boy as disgusting (I’m sorry, but I have smelled his feet) as my brother — I think I’d have to kill myself. Or join that Episcopalian convent I’m sure must exist somewhere.

When I looked out while Ms. Hayes was giving her welcome speech and explaining about the history of the Quahog Princess pageant (placing a special emphasis on the year she won), I could see her husband, Coach Hayes, looking pleased…evidently Quahog tryouts had gone well earlier that day.

Or maybe he was just pleased about how hot his wife still looked, even though she was in her late thirties.

And there were Sidney’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. van der Hoff, as well as Morgan Castle’s mom and dad, beaming with pride. There were Mr. and Mrs. Hicks, Jenna’s parents, looking nervous (they were probably familiar with her talent), Mr. Hicks checking his watch…he was going to have to rush backstage when it was time to escort Jenna for the evening wear segment.