by Meg Cabot
“No problem,” Shaniqua said, still looking concerned as I tore past her, back into the dining room. “Oh, and the corner booth’s occupied.”
Oh, great. Just what I needed. Seth and his friends had come by to sit and eat quahog fritters while I spazzed about having a possible confrontation with a now-hot Tommy Sullivan. Was this some kind of punishment for two-timing my boyfriend? If so, it wasn’t fair. It’s not cheating if all you do is kiss. Right?
I grabbed half a dozen menus—a ridiculous gesture, since every Quahog in town already knew the menu by heart and didn’t need to look at it—and beat a path toward the corner booth, fuming the whole time about my recent spate of bad luck. A tour bus, Tommy Sullivan back in town, and now my boyfriend and his friends here to watch me wallow in my misfortune. Great.
Except that when I got to the corner booth, Seth and his friends weren’t in it. Only one person was in it.
A person with reddish-brown hair, worn on the longish side.
A person who appeared to be, considering the way he was folded a bit uncomfortably behind the booth, quite tall.
A person whose amber eyes, in the light from the stained-glass-covered undersea-themed lamp hanging above the table, had turned intensely emerald green.
A person who was one hundred percent most definitely not a Quahog, and therefore ineligible for seating in the corner booth, which Jill should have known, except that Jill is in college and doesn’t go to Eastport High, and he’d obviously asked for me, so she’d just assumed…
I dropped the menus. I didn’t mean to. My fingers seemed to go limp, and the menus just slid out of my hands. Feeling my cheeks turn red with mortification as I saw Tommy’s gaze go to the floor, where the menus fanned out in every direction, I ducked down to scoop them up. I couldn’t even count on my hair to hide my flaming cheeks, since Peggy makes us wear our hair up so it won’t get in the food.
Not that it would have mattered if my hair had been down, since, when he leaned out of the booth to help me gather up the menus, Tommy would have seen my glowing face anyway.
It was only when all the menus had been retrieved and I’d straightened up and he’d leaned back into the booth that I dared lift my gaze to meet his again.
And saw that he was smiling. Smiling.
“Hi, Katie,” he said, in the same deep voice he’d used when he’d walked by Sidney and me on the beach. “Long time no see.”
Five
I said the first thing that popped into my head.
Well, not the first thing, since the first thing was a swear word, and I’m trying really hard not to swear. Except at my brother.
I said the second thing, instead:
“You can’t sit there.”
And okay, I know it sounds infantile.
But it was the truth.
“Excuse me?” Tommy lifted his eyebrows.
“You can’t sit there,” I said again. I knew I sounded childish. But I couldn’t help it. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, and I felt nauseous, like when I forget to take a Dramamine and go out on Dad’s boat. “This booth is reserved for Quahogs only. And you’re not a Quahog.”
Which could, quite possibly, qualify as the understatement of the year.
“I’m aware of that,” Tommy said mildly, in his new—well, probably not so new to him, but new to me—deep voice. “I may have been away awhile, but I’m still passably familiar with the local customs. But I think I’ll stay here anyway. Your friend Jill already assured me all the other tables in your section are full.”
As he said Jill’s name, he looked over at the hostess stand. I followed his gaze and saw that Jill was looking at us. She raised a hand and waved at us cheerfully, as if to say to me, “Look! I did you a solid! I got your hot friend a table! You can thank me later.”
Tommy smiled at her.
Incredibly, Jill, who gets flirted with by about a zillion male customers a day, blushed and looked away, giggling.
Unbelievable.
Well, she didn’t know. She didn’t know that she was flirting with Tommy Sullivan. How could she? She didn’t even live here four years ago.
“Tommy,” I said, looking back at him. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe I was actually talking to him. At the Gull ’n Gulp, of all places.
“It’s just Tom now, actually,” he said with a smile.
And I suddenly found myself feeling what Jill must have felt, when he directed that smile of his in her direction a moment earlier. Wherever he’d been since I’d last seen him, Tommy—I mean, Tom—Sullivan had taught himself how to smile in a manner that caused some kind of secret electromagnetic force or something to make cartilage in girls’ knees melt. I had to grab the edge of the table and hold on just to keep from toppling over.
“Tom, then,” I said from between gritted teeth. Because with God as my witness, there was no way Tommy Sullivan was going to work his new smile-voodoo on me. “Whatever. You know if Seth Turner and those guys come in and find you here in their booth, they’ll pound your face in.”
“They can try,” Tommy said. Not in a bragging way. But in a matter-of-fact, totally unruffled, almost bored kind of way.
And can I just say that when he said it, my knees went even more weak?
Because there’s nothing sexier, it turns out, than a guy who isn’t scared of your boyfriend pounding his face in.
But the fact that it was Tommy Sullivan making me feel this was what was completely freaking me out…just like down at the beach today. Suddenly, I had this insane desire to wade out into the ocean and dunk my head in it again, e. coli or no. I needed to cool off. I needed to be alone. I needed to be underwater with just the fish and the seaweed.
Only I couldn’t. Because I was at work.
“Nobody’s forgotten what you did, Tommy,” I heard myself snarl at him. “I mean, Tom. I know it was four years ago, but this is a small town, and the Quahogs are still pretty much gods around here, so—”
“Wow. They’ve finally got you drinking the Kool-Aid, too, huh?” His tone wasn’t accusatory. He actually sounded kind of amused. His eyes—still green as the tail of the stained-glass mermaid in the lampshade above his head—were laughing up at me.
And that just made me madder for some reason.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped.
“I mean, you’ve really been assimilated, haven’t you?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe Katie Ellison, of all people, is one of them now. I always thought you were smarter than that.”
“There’s no us and them, Tommy,” I informed him. “There never was. We’re all just people.”
“Right.” The laughter in his eyes disappeared. He didn’t sound amused anymore. “That’s why I got run out of town. And that’s why I’m not allowed to sit here.”
Before I could open my mouth to protest—because that’s NOT why he wasn’t allowed to sit there. He wasn’t allowed to sit there because only Quahogs (and their dates) could sit there—I heard Shaniqua calling my name. I turned and saw her signaling me from the twin eight-tops. My tour bus needed attention.
“I gotta go,” I said to Tommy. “But seriously…you can’t sit here.”
“Technically,” Tommy said, “I can. Especially given that I already am.”
“Tommy.” I shook my head. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “What are you doing here? Seriously?”
“Seriously? I just want to talk to you,” he said, dropping the dry tone. “And from what your brother told me, this is the place I’m most likely to find you without your boyfriend…or should I say, boyfriends?”
I blanched. Suddenly, I had to grip the table harder than ever.
He knew. He knew about Eric.
Only…how? Liam couldn’t have told him, because Liam doesn’t know. I know Liam doesn’t know, because if Liam knew, he’d have yelled at me about it already, on account of being such a fan of Seth’s….
So how had Tommy figured it out?
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Then it hit me. First the yacht club…now this.
“Are you spying on me?” I demanded, with an outraged gasp.
“Spying implies sneaking around,” Tommy said mildly. “You’re the one who seems to be excelling at that, not me. Although you should probably know, anyone who turns their car around in the parking lot out back has a perfectly clear view of anything going on between the emergency generator and the bike rack.”
Oh my God! Busted! Tommy Sullivan had full-on busted me making out with Eric Fluteley!
I was sure I was going to pass out. Not that I’d ever passed out before. But this must be what it feels like—a sort of hot feeling, all over, with accompanying dry mouth. No wonder people don’t like it. Never had I wanted so badly to be someone—or someplace—else. Such as Sidney van der Hoff. Or underwater.
“We can’t talk here,” I heard myself murmur.
“Fine,” he said calmly. “Not here. Where, then?”
Good question. Where could we go where neither Seth nor anyone else from Eastport might see us together? Duckpin Lanes was out, for obvious reasons. My house? No way. Ditto Tommy’s grandparents’. What if someone drove by, and saw us together—a Quahog Princess candidate and Tommy Sullivan?
Oh, God, this was awful. I was going to be sick. I really was. What did he want? What could Tommy Sullivan possibly want from me?
“How about your dad’s boat?” Tommy asked. “Does he still have it?”
My dad’s boat? Yes. Yes, that might work. It was tied up down at the bight. My dad couldn’t afford the docking fees over at the yacht club. No one goes to the bight, except old men who like to night fish. No one would see us there. No one who mattered, anyway.
“Yeah,” I said. “Down at the bight.”
“Perfect,” Tommy said. And he actually slid out of the booth. I couldn’t believe it, but he seemed to be leaving. He was leaving! It was like a miracle! “I’ll meet you there after your shift. When do you get off? This place closes at ten on weeknights, right?”
My happiness that he was leaving died a quick little death.
“W-wait,” I stammered. “Tonight? You want me to meet you on my dad’s boat tonight?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Tommy asked. Standing, he was so much taller than I was that I had to lift my chin in order to be able to see up into his eyes…which, out from under the reflective light of the undersea lampshade, were back to amber-colored. “Because if it is, I could probably find time to meet you there tomorrow morning. But, you know, in broad daylight, anyone might drive by and notice us—”
“Tonight’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I go off shift. A little after ten.”
The edges of his lips curled upward. “Don’t be late,” he said.
And then he was leaving, looking impossibly tall and broad-shouldered and cool amidst all the chubby, pasty-legged tourists waddling around us on their way to the bathroom or the hostess stand or the Gull ’n Gulp merchandise counter, where you can buy anything from a sweatshirt to a pair of boxer shorts, all emblazoned with the words Gull ’n Gulp.
“Who’s the hottie?” Shaniqua came over to ask, as I continued to stand there gaping after him.
I closed my mouth, which I realized had been hanging open, with a snap.
“Nobody,” I said.
“Right,” Shaniqua said with an evil laugh. “Like that guy last night—the one Peggy said she caught you making out with behind the soda station—was nobody?”
So much for Peggy not liking gossip. Apparently, gossip is fine—if she’s the one dishing it out.
“Not like that guy,” I said quickly. “Nothing like that guy. Do you even know who that was?”
“Last night? Or this one?”
“This one.” I had to tell someone. I just had to. I was going to burst if I didn’t tell someone.
And who better to tell than Shaniqua, who didn’t even grow up in Eastport and only moved here two years ago from New Hampshire in order to live closer to the city, where she’s trying to break into the modeling business?
“That was Tommy Sullivan,” I said to Shaniqua, even though I knew the name would mean nothing to her.
Except that I was wrong. Because Shaniqua’s jaw dropped.
“The Tommy Sullivan?” Her eyes were wide.
“Um,” I said.
“Miss.” One of the seniors from the tour bus was trying to get my attention. “Miss, we’re ready to order now.”
“Be right there,” I said to him. To Shaniqua, I said, “Wait…you’ve heard of Tommy Sullivan?” Seriously, this whole thing had gotten WAY out of proportion if even aspiring models from New Hampshire had heard of Tommy…..
“Heard of him?” Shaniqua shook her head. “How could I not have? All you have to do is drive past the middle school, and there it is, spray-painted right on the outside of the gymnasium wall: TOMMY SULLIVAN IS A—”
I cut her off before she could say it. “Yeah. I know. They’re still trying to raise the money to sandblast it off.”
“Is that why it’s still there?” Shaniqua shook her head. “I always wondered. They could paint over it….”
“You can’t really paint over Day-Glo orange,” I said. “I mean, unless you use black. And that’s not one of the school colors.”
Shaniqua wrinkled her nose. “Well, it sure looks tacky. I heard that gym was brand-new, too, when it happened. How could someone do something so stupid?”
I shrugged, suddenly feeling as if, instead of being underwater in the ocean, the ocean was inside me—cold and vast and very, very lonely. “You know how kids can be.”
“That poor guy,” Shaniqua said, gazing after Tommy’s departing backside. Which, can I just say, was every bit as good-looking as his front side? “What’d he do, to have something like that spray-painted about him on the side of the school?”
“Miss!” cried the old folks at my tour bus tables.
“Um,” I said, as I started toward them. Saved by the tourists. That was a first. “Duty calls!”
Okay.
Okay, so I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble. Tommy Sullivan knows about me and Eric Fluteley. Tommy Sullivan—Tommy Sullivan, of all people—saw me with Eric Fluteley.
And okay, whatever, we were just kissing. That’s all I’ve ever done with any guy, including my steady boyfriend of four years.
But that won’t matter if Tommy spills the beans. People won’t care. I will still be the girl who cheated on a Quahog. Not just any Quahog, but Seth Turner, the brother of Jake Turner, the most beloved Quahog of all time…the very same Quahog whose promising career was cut so brutally short by none other than…
…Tommy Sullivan.
“Katie, I hope it was okay that I put that guy in the corner booth,” Jill said, on her way to seat a middle-aged couple at a two-top by the water. “I asked him if he was a Quahog, and he said he was.”
I had to laugh at that—albeit sarcastically. I mean, Tommy may be out to ruin my life to get me back for ruining his…
…But at least he’s still got his sense of humor.
“Yeah, Jill,” I said. “Not so much.”
“Seriously?” Jill looked stunned. “But he’s so cute. I just assumed…he told me he goes to Eastport.”
What? Nice. Good thing to know I’m not the only liar in town for a change.
“Jill,” I said. “That guy moved away from here four years ago.”
“Wow,” Jill said. “Well, I won’t seat him in the VIP booth again if he ever comes back.”
Wait…what was I doing?
“Oh, no,” I said. “If he comes back, you can totally seat him in the VIP booth.” Because if Seth and those guys ever catch him there, they’ll pound him, and my problems will be solved….
No. That’s just wrong. I can’t count on my boyfriend to get me out of this one. I got myself into it, and I was going to have to get myself out.
Which meant, first and foremost, calling Seth at my earliest op
portunity, and telling him not to come meet me after work for our usual makeout session before I pedal home.
“Are you sure, babe?” Seth sounded concerned. And why wouldn’t he, since I’d told him that the reason I couldn’t meet him was that I thought I was coming down with a mild case of e. coli?
“Totally,” I said into the phone, trying to sound like someone suffering from a bacillus in their blood. “I don’t want you to catch it from me.”
Except of course e. coli can only be contracted through contaminated food or water. But Seth isn’t exactly in AP Bio, like I am. Which isn’t to say he’s dumb. His talents just lie in regions other than the academic.
“So let’s just take a raincheck on tonight,” I said. I was crouched behind the soda station, so Kevin, the assistant manager—who, in the way of all assistant managers, was an even bigger tyrant than Peggy, the actual manager—wouldn’t catch me on the phone while not on break. “I’ll probably be better tomorrow.”
“Really?” Seth sounded a bit happier. “I thought e. coli was, like, super serious. I thought you had to go to the hospital for it, and stuff.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Not the twenty-four-hour kind.”
Okay, so whatever. I’m not the only liar in town. But I am definitely the biggest. Seriously, has there ever been a bigger liar than me, in the history of Eastport?
Still, at least I feel bad about it. I detected no hint of remorse in Tommy for lying to Jill that he goes to Eastport High. Whereas, I really do always feel terrible every time I lie to Seth.
Fifteen minutes after I punched out from the Gulp, I pulled up to the marina on my bike, and looked out at the near-empty parking lot, with the boat masts sticking up out of the water beyond it. I stood there in the still evening, looking at the moths who flew up, attracted by the white light from my bike lamp, and listening to the lap of the water. It was hard to figure out which car was Tommy’s. I could only see a few beat-up trucks—but those seemed to belong to the old men clustered with their fishing poles below the bridge, beneath which striped bass were rumored to congregate at night.