Pants on Fire

by Meg Cabot

  “I enrolled last week,” Tommy said matter-of-factly.

  “Tommy!” This was horrible. This was terrible. This was the worst thing I had ever heard in my life. “You—you can’t do this.”

  “Uh, I beg your pardon, Katie, but yes, I can. It’s a free country.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said. My chest felt tight.

  “If you’re upset my attendance is going to cause you to lose your ranking at the top of the class,” Tommy said mildly, “I guess I can see your chagrin. But I never knew you were that competitive—”

  “That’s not it!” I cried. Because I hadn’t even thought of that. It was true that Tommy and I had always competed for first in our class—especially for points in Scholastic Reading Counts—and that since he’d left, I’d held the position with ease, not so much because I’m smarter than my peers (the way I always suspected Tommy was), but because I’m one of the few people in our grade who ever actually studies. Because I sort of like it…a fact my friends accept, though it seems to puzzle them.

  “What I mean,” I went on, “is that they’re going to kill you.”

  “I thought there was no us and them,” Tommy pointed out. “I thought we were all just humans. Or is that not what you told me earlier this evening?”

  “Tommy!” I couldn’t believe he was throwing my own words back at me. Also that he was making a joke out of it. “This is serious! Don’t you understand? This is…this is…” I couldn’t think of a word strong enough to project my feelings on the matter. He’s the writer, after all, not me. I finally settled for: “Tommy, this is suicide!”

  “Your faith,” Tommy said, getting down off the bow and straightening to his full height, “in my ability to protect myself from your friends is really flattering, Katie.”

  I stared at him. I couldn’t believe he could be so…so…hot.

  And so stupid.

  What had happened to him? Tommy Sullivan had never been stupid.

  Then again, I suppose people do change. Tommy Sullivan had never been hot, either. And now look at him.

  Which was actually one of the problems. I couldn’t stop looking at him.

  Well, enough is enough, I decided. And I stalked up to him, tilting up my chin so I could look him full in the face.

  “I am not joking, Tommy,” I said. “If you think anybody’s forgotten what you did, you are sorely mistaken.”

  “No,” Tommy said tensely. “I can see they haven’t even bothered to scrape my name off the gymnasium wall yet—”

  Oh my God. Was everyone going to bring that up today? “Because sandblasting isn’t in the budget—”

  “No,” Tommy interrupted me tersely. “Because they want people to remember. It’s a warning to anyone else who might want to interfere with the almighty Quahogs—”

  “Shh!” I shushed him, looking around to make sure the fishermen beneath the overpass hadn’t heard him.

  “Look at you,” Tommy said with a laugh. “You’re afraid even to say anything negative about them out loud.”

  “No, I’m not,” I insisted. “It’s just that you know how people here are about the Quahogs.” I couldn’t help letting out a frustrated groan. “Tommy, why do you always have to go around antagonizing everyone? Don’t you know you get a lot further in life by being friendly?”

  “That’s a funny way to put it,” Tommy said with a laugh.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what you call being friendly, I call lying. Like how you’re still pretending to love your boyfriend, even though you’re clearly so bored by him, you’ve taken up with another guy.”

  I inhaled to deny this, but he went on, “But I suppose you think it would antagonize too many people if you did the right thing and just broke up with him.”

  “That—” I started to cry, but he cut me off.

  “The thing is, telling the truth can antagonize people. But I’m willing to take the heat. Unlike some people.”

  “But there are some things people don’t NEED to know,” I cried. I couldn’t believe that after all this time, he still hadn’t realized this.

  “Like that their two-time All-State first team defensive end and a number of his teammates cheated on their SATs?” Tommy asked pointedly.

  And there it was.

  He’d said it. Not me.

  It was amazing. All the pain and anxiety from that day four years ago came rushing back, as if absolutely no time at all had passed since then. Suddenly, I was thirteen years old again, in braces and with a wicked case of the frizzies (I hadn’t met Marty yet, or learned about product and scrunching), begging Tommy not to do what he was so bound and determined to, no matter what the consequences.

  And the consequences turned out to be far more severe than even I could have foreseen—for both of us.

  “I told you not to run that story,” I reminded him, four years after the fact.

  “Yes,” Tommy said, leaning back against the door to the cabin and folding his arms across his chest—an act that caused his impressively rounded biceps to bulge a little…a sight from which I resolutely turned my gaze, since it made me feel just a tiny bit breathless. “You did.”

  “It wasn’t that I thought it was wrong for those guys to get busted for what they did,” I went on, trying to make him understand something that, four years ago, I hadn’t quite understood myself. “But I still don’t see why YOU had to be the person to bust them for it. You could have gone straight to the editor in chief over at the Gazette. He’d have run it. Mr. Gatch has never been in Coach Hayes’s pocket, like the sports editor.”

  Tommy’s expression, in the moonlight, could only be described as incredulous.

  “It was my story, Katie,” he said. “I wanted to be the one to write it.”

  “But why?” I demanded. “When you had to know how people were going to react?”

  “You know why,” he said. “You know how I felt about sports…and the Quahogs in particular.”

  “Right,” I said. “Which is why I don’t get why—”

  “Because what they did was wrong, Katie,” Tommy explained patiently, like I was still thirteen years old. “They were tarnishing the team. I mean, who were those guys hurting with what they did? Other students, that’s who. Students who were taking the SATs that day and weren’t cheating, students who actually studied. And okay, I wasn’t one of those students, since I wasn’t exactly applying to colleges in the eighth grade. But still. What they did was wrong. And it wasn’t like I didn’t give them the chance to come forward before I ran it.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Like they were going to do that. Scholarships were at stake, Tommy! Besides, they didn’t think you’d have the guts to really do it.”

  “Scholarships?” Tommy laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, that was what everyone was so upset about. That they lost their chance at getting decent scholarships. Come on, Katie. No one cared about those guys’ futures. The only thing that mattered to everyone in this stupid town was one thing, and one thing only: the state championship.”

  “Which they had to forfeit,” I reminded him.

  “As well they should,” Tommy said firmly. “They were a bunch of cheaters. They didn’t deserve to play.”

  “Tommy.” I shook my head. I couldn’t believe, after all this time, he still couldn’t see the magnitude of what he’d done. “They were Quahogs. I told you not to run that article. I told you people weren’t going to like—”

  He held up a single hand to stop the flow of my words. “Don’t worry, I heard you the first time. And I don’t blame you, Katie, for choosing to dissociate yourself from me back then. You did what you had to do, in order to survive. This is Quahog Country. I understand that.”

  He didn’t know. I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. Tommy Sullivan had no idea how I’d managed to pull myself up from the quagmire of unpopularity into which I’d been afraid I’d sink because of my association with him after his story
came out in the Eagle. Or what I’d done to convince my friends—and more importantly, Seth Turner—that Tommy Sullivan and I were far from chums.

  He couldn’t know, or he’d have said something.

  So of course he didn’t blame me.

  Did he have any idea how many nights I’d lain awake, berating myself over and over for what I’d done…or hadn’t done, to be more precise?

  Well, I wasn’t about to tell him. I mean, it’s true I’m a liar, and that, yeah, I’m pretty boy-crazy—a mostly deadly combination.

  But I’m not stupid.

  “If you know that,” I said, “then why on earth do you want to come back here, Tommy?”

  He smiled. It was a nice smile…the kind of smile I remembered seeing on his face back when we’d both moved up to tenth-grade reading level on our Scholastic Reading Counts lists…but we were still in sixth grade.

  “That’s for me to know,” he said, still smiling, “and you to find out. Maybe.”

  I stared at him. I did not like the sound of that. I did not like the sound of that one bit.

  “You can’t possibly think,” I sputtered, trying one last time to convince him how foolish he was being—because, truthfully, I wasn’t at all sure I was going to be able to stand it if that gorgeous face of his got smashed in, “that you can just waltz into Eastport High next week and be welcomed with open arms.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tommy said breezily. “All the guys I got in trouble are long gone by now.”

  “But their siblings aren’t,” I reminded him. “Like Seth.”

  “You really think Seth remembers how it went down?” Tommy asked.

  “Of course he remembers, Tommy,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Tommy said. “Am I the only one who recalls that Seth Turner used to think trees give off cold air because when you stand in the shade it’s cooler than in the sun?”

  I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. It’s true Seth isn’t the brightest bulb in the garden, but…

  “That was the fifth grade!” I cried.

  “My point exactly,” Tommy said. “By fifth grade, you and I pretty much knew that cold air came from fronts out of Canada. Seth, Sidney, and the rest of them? Not so much. But I guess you’d know better. They were always your friends. Though I gotta say—I think poor, dumb Seth deserves better treatment. Because, really, Katie. Eric Fluteley? That guy’s no better than the rest of them.”

  “Oh, like you’re so great,” I cried dramatically. Because of course I felt guilty. Because I knew perfectly well that Tommy was right. I was taking advantage of Seth’s trusting, innocent nature. And I felt rotten about it. Really. “Going around, spying on people—”

  “Observing the world around me,” Tommy corrected me. “It’s what a good journalist does. So…am I to take it from your reaction to all this that you, too, will be one of the people giving me the cold shoulder in the halls of Eastport High next week?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “That depends. Are you going to give me the same deal you gave Jake Turner and those guys, and let me be the one to break the news to Seth about Eric and me, before you do it?”

  “Katie.” He looked mock-offended. “I’m a narc, it’s true. But only when it’s for the common good. Your sneaking around with Eric Fluteley behind your boyfriend’s back hurts no one but your boyfriend—and possibly Eric. It’s entirely your business.”

  I nearly sagged with relief. “Oh,” I said. “Good.”

  I was about to say that no, of course I wouldn’t be one of the people giving him the cold shoulder in the halls of Eastport High next week…that I would do everything I possibly could to help him try to assimilate…when he went on, as if I hadn’t even said anything:

  “Of course, I do think you might want to ask yourself why it is that you can’t seem to be satisfied with just one guy. Or even with two, if all that hair twirling and looking up at me from underneath your eyelashes means what I think it means.”

  I gaped up at him in total shock. No. No way. Had he just…had he just implied—more than implied, flat-out stated—that I’ve been flirting with him?

  Flushing beet red—with anger, I told myself. Not embarrassment. Because I hadn’t been flirting with him. I hadn’t…much—I took a step backward, away from him, preparing to head back toward the pier, away from Tommy Sullivan and those bright ever-changing eyes of his. That’s how NOT interested in flirting with Tommy Sullivan I was. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to even hint that I might have been doing any such thing.

  Well, I’d show him. I’d leave my dad’s boat without another word. And as for not giving him the cold shoulder next week in the halls of Eastport High, well, no way was I going to give him the satisfaction of being friendly. Since he was obviously the kind of person who mistook friendliness for romantic overtures—

  Except that the first step I took as I backed away from him landed on my bicycle helmet, and I completely lost my balance and would have landed flat on my butt at the bottom of Dad’s boat…

  …if Tommy hadn’t thrown out his arms and caught me just before I hit the deck.

  It was only natural that I flung both of my arms around his neck. Not that I thought he was going to drop me—he seemed to have the situation well in hand—but, you know. You can never be too careful.

  How long we stood like that—our arms around each other in the moonlight, with the sound of the lapping water in our ears, and our gazes locked on the other’s—I’ll probably never know. Long enough for me to start feeling positively light-headed—although that could have been the Dramamine.

  Which is the only explanation I can give for why my own eyes started drifting closed, and my mouth started getting closer and closer to Tommy’s, until suddenly he broke the silence between us by whispering, his breath warm on my face, “Katie.”

  “Hmmmm?” I asked, fluttering my eyelids.

  “Do you think I’m going to kiss you, or something?”

  “Oh, Tommy,” I sighed, and closed my eyes in anticipation of an intense, soul-searing lip-lock.

  Except that the next thing I knew, Tommy Sullivan had let go of me.

  Seriously.

  Oh, he didn’t drop me, or anything. It’s just that one minute I was lying in his arms, and the next, I was completely vertical and on my own two feet again.

  As I blinked up at him in confusion, Tommy said, with a wry smile, “I think you’ve had enough kissing for one day, Katie. Come on. Let me drive you home.”

  Obviously, I was totally insulted. Not to mention completely mortified. What is wrong with me?

  I had no choice, of course, but to refuse his offer of a ride. Even if I hadn’t had my bike with me, I’d sooner have walked than ridden home with a cretin like Tommy Sullivan.

  Except that it was pretty hard to keep thinking of him as a cretin when he insisted on cruising along behind me in his car—the Jeep Wrangler, it turned out—to make sure I got home in one piece. Because, he said, even with lights and a helmet, he didn’t think it was safe for me to ride a bike in the dark, what with all the drunk drivers they bust on Post Road every night.

  Which—okay, I’ll admit—was totally sweet of him. Seth doesn’t even follow me when I’m on my bike to make sure I get home all right. And he’s my boyfriend, not my mortal enemy.

  But then Tommy had to blow any warm feelings I might have been harboring for him by stage-whispering my name when I was halfway across the dew-dampened lawn to the front door after parking my bike.

  I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to speak to—let alone see—him ever again.

  But it had been nice of him to follow me home.

  And—well, whatever. He really does have totally cute lips.

  So I stopped, then turned.

  “What?” I demanded in my least friendly voice.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for kissing later,” he had the gall to assure me, in a voice that made it clear he was doing everything possible to keep from
bursting out laughing.

  I was so mad, I practically hurled my bag at his head, wet bathing suit and all.

  “I wouldn’t kiss you,” I informed him acidly, not even caring if Mrs. Hall, our snoopy neighbor from next door, overheard me, “if you were the last guy on earth!”

  But Tommy didn’t even have the sense to be insulted. He just laughed and drove off.

  And it was definitely a MWA ha ha ha evil laugh, and not the ha ha kind.

  Eight

  “Honey, are you feeling all right?” Mom wanted to know, poking her head into my room before she went off to work the next morning.

  “Yeah,” I said, in some surprise. It’s not often my parents ask after my health, which is exemplary, aside from the motion sickness thing. Usually they’re more worried about Liam, who has a tendency toward sports-related injuries. “Why?”

  “Well, honey,” Mom said. “It’s almost nine o’clock in the morning, and you’re usually up and out the door by now. You have to admit, being in bed at this hour is highly unusual behavior. For you.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just…thinking.”

  That my life is officially over.

  “Without your iPod on?” Mom smiled. Because I can’t think—much less do homework—without listening to music. Preferably loud rock music. “Heavens, it must be about something serious. You’re not even on the phone with Sidney.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well, this isn’t something I can really talk to Sidney about.”

  “Oh,” Mom said. “I see. What, about Seth?”

  Oh, God. I shook my head quickly. “No. Not really.”

  “Well,” Mom said. I could tell she was totally hesitating—do her parental duty, and open a whole can of worms she’d probably be happier not knowing about, and risk possible lateness to work? Or just say Have a nice day, and keep moving? She seemed to remember Dr. Phil’s Step-by-Step Plan for Creating a Phenomenal Family, and said, “You know you can always talk to me, don’t you, Katie? Is it something to do with”—she lowered her voice, even though Liam was already outside with my dad, tossing around a football before Dad left for work, and couldn’t overhear—“boys?”