by Meg Cabot
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 the right choice?
Or had I just made the easiest 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 even like 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. She still 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’s Quahog time!”
Eighteen
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.
I saw other people I knew as well, including Mr. Bird and his wife from Eastport Old Towne Photo, and even Seth’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Turner. There was no sign of his brother Jake (thank God), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at the Taste of Eastport with his friends and could wander over at any moment. There were a lot of people standing in the back, including Shaniqua and Jill, who’d apparently managed to escape the Gull ’n Gulp booth for a few minutes in order to watch.
Sitting in front of them, in the last row of folding chairs, still chomping on an unlit cigar—and still playing solitaire—was Mr. Gatch.
And sitting beside him was Tommy Sullivan.
Tommy wasn’t playing solitaire. Tommy was watching the action on the stage intently, with his arms crossed over his chest in that way that made his biceps bulge, and that had made Sidney elbow me while Ms. Hayes was talking, and mouth, “McHottie.”
Which was totally true (about Tommy being a McHottie). But didn’t help matters, really.
Still, it was going about as well as could be expected. We got through the introductions part, and then there was the frantic stampede back to the pageant tent to change for the talent segment (except me, since I was going first). I just calmly took my place at the piano, and cranked out my piece. “I’ve Got Rhythm” is the only song I can play, but I play it well, because I like it. If I weren’t tone deaf, I’d have sung along…“Old Man Trouble, I don’t mind him. You won’t find him round my door.”
Except, of course, Old Man Trouble has been hanging out round my door. Quite a lot, actually. At least, lately.
And the truth was, I did sort of mind him. As I played, I found myself thinking not about the fact that I was playing the piano in a pageant in front of two or three hundred people. Oh, no. I wasn’t thinking about that at all.
Instead, I was reflecting on the fact that, if Tommy Sullivan hadn’t come back to town, I wouldn’t even know what trouble was. Seth and I would still be making out every night after my shift at the Gull ’n Gulp.
And Eric and I would still be making out every day before it.
Then Tommy Sullivan had come along, and it was almost as if—and this was the weirdest thing of all—I couldn’t even think about making out with anyone else. What was that about?
Maybe Tommy Sullivan was Old Man Trouble. My Old Man Trouble.
And the real trouble was, I liked finding him round my door. What was up with that?
I guess my thinking about all that while I played lent some real passion to the performance, because people totally applauded when I was done. With, like, gusto. The Tiffanys and Brittanys even shrieked. I knew they were just doing it to show my brother that they liked me, which probably wasn’t too smart of them, since I wasn’t high up on Liam’s list of favorite people just then. But whatever. I even heard some whistling that I’m pretty sure came from Tommy Sullivan’s direction.
But I ignored it, took my bow, and got off the stage, so the sound guys could move the piano, and Morgan could come out to do her performance of Laurey’s dream sequence.
Back in the pageant tent, everyone said, “Good job,” but, I mean, come on. It’s just a song on a piano. I knew the real performance of the night was going to be Morgan’s. Not that Sidney’s Kelly Clarkson song wasn’t pretty good, too. But, you know.
We were sitting there listening to Morgan’s toe shoes tap on the temporary stage (you couldn’t really hear the music she was dancing to from where we were, because the speakers were all facing the audience), when Eric, who’d been peeking through the tent flap out onto the stage, even though Ms. Hayes had told him not to, twice, went, “Oh my God. He’s here.”
My blood turned instantly to ice, because I knew exactly who he was talking about.
But Sidney and Seth and everyone else didn’t.
Which was why Sidney was like, “Who’s here?” She had already changed into her singing costume behind a set of sheets Ms. Hayes had hung up in one corner of the tent for this purpose, and was absently adjusting the spangled fringe on her leotard.
“Tommy Sullivan,” Eric said. “He’s sitting in the back row, next to Mr. Gatch, from the Gazette.”
There was a mad scramble for the tent flap. Everyone raced over to see Tommy Sullivan.
All except for me.
“That’s not Tommy Sullivan,” Sidney declared, when she’d had her turn at the flap (there was only room for one person to look at a time, if you didn’t want Ms. Hayes to notice you looking).
“Um, I beg your pardon, Sid,” Eric said. “But it is.”
“It’s Tommy Sullivan, all right,” Seth agreed. “I’d recognize those freaky eyes of his anywhere. Remember how they’d change colors all the time?”
“But—” Sidney turned away from the flap and toward me, her expression perplexed. “That’s the guy we saw at The Point the other day. The one you said—”
I shook my head at her. Just once.
I don’t know if she read the panic in my eyes, or saw the way my heart was pounding through the thin fabric of my dress.
But she closed her mouth abruptly and moved out of the way to let Jenna Hicks look out the tent flap.
“That’s Tommy Sullivan?” Jenna made an appreciative sound. “He’s hot.”
“What?” Seth actually sounded offended. “He is not!”
“Oh, he’s hot,” Jenna said, straightening up, and looking at Sidney and me. “Don’t you guys think he’s hot?”
“Um,” I said, with difficulty, my mouth having gone bone dry.
“I wouldn’t know. I only have eyes for one guy,” Sidney said, wrapping her arms around the pale-blue padded shoulders of her boyfriend. Dave grinned at her. The look Sidney shot me over those padded shoulders was pointed.
“Um,” I said, still trying to summon the ability to speak. “Me, too.”
And I put my arms around Seth.
Only he shrugged them off. Because he was busy pacing.
“I can’t believe he’s really back,” Seth was saying, as he paced. “And that he showed up here. Here, of all places! What does he think he’s doing? He’s got to know he’s going to get his ass kicked.”
“Hey,” I said. Which is exactly when Morgan came in through the tent flap, her performance over, and said to Sidney, “You’re up.”
Sidney squared her shoulders.
“Good luck, Sid,” Dave said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “You’re going to do great.”
“I know,” Sidney said, looking indignant—as if the thought she might do anything less than great had never occurred to her. And in truth, it probably never had—and she disappeared through the tent flap.
“Dave,” Seth said, as if there’d been no interruption. “Let’s call the guys and have them meet here after the pageant. We’ll give Tommy a little welcome back party.”
“Can’t,” Dave said. “You know we gotta take the girls out to celebrate when they place.” He glanced at Jenna, and added, “Sorry. No offense.”
“None taken,” Jenna said affably. “I know I don’t stand a chance.”
“The girls can wait,” Seth said, looking at me. “Can’t you, babe?”
I just stared at him. For some reason, I was completely unable to speak. Morgan was the one who said something, from behind the strung-up sheets, where she was changing into her evening wear.
“You guys,” her disembodied voice said, sounding disgusted. “Why can’t you just leave Tommy Sullivan
alone? What did he ever do to you?”
“Everyone knows what he did,” Seth said. He actually looked kind of shocked by Morgan’s question.
“Yeah,” Jenna said mildly. “But that was, like, so long ago. Eighth grade or something, right?”
“And besides,” Morgan said, from behind the sheets. “He didn’t even do it to you.”
“He dissed my brother,” Seth said, looking outraged. “That’s like dissing me!”
Jenna looked at me. “Katie,” she said. “You gonna help out here, or what?”
But I still couldn’t speak. I don’t know why. I just…couldn’t.
“I think you guys should just let it go,” Eric said. “I mean, not that it’s any of my business.”
“You’re right,” Seth said sharply. I mean, for Seth. “It’s not.”
“But what do you want to go stirring up trouble for?” Eric wanted to know. “Just let it go. You’ll live longer.”
“You think that guy could take me?” Seth demanded, incredulously, pointing at himself.
“Christ, Seth,” Dave said. Now he was the one peering through the tent flap, only at Sidney. “He’s right. Just let it go. It was a long time ago. Okay, Sidney’s done. Everybody tell her she did a good job.”
Sidney came through the tent flap, looking flushed and happy. Judging by the thunderous applause, her song had gone over well. No big surprise, Sidney being perfect, and all.
“Come change with me,” she said, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me toward the changing corner squared off by the hanging sheets, just as Morgan, elegant in a pure white sheath dress, came ducking out from behind them.
“Nice dress,” Sidney commented, as she pulled me along behind her. “Cavalli?”
“Armani,” Morgan said.
Sidney nodded knowledgably. “Cool.”
Then we were behind the protective curtains, and Sidney, struggling out of her leotard, said in a low voice, “Katie. What are you doing? I mean, seriously.”
“I don’t know,” I replied miserably, wrenching off my own dress and reaching for my evening gown—a frothy pink thing Sidney had talked me into buying at Saks. “I don’t know how it happened. Honest.”