by Meg Cabot
“Because you were my friend,” I said quickly. The tears weren’t just gathering under my eyelashes now. They were starting to spill out from under them. Frustrated—because I didn’t want him to see I was crying—I turned around and plunked down so that I was sitting on the bike rack.
“Was that what we were?” Tommy asked.
And now I knew that that thing was in his voice, that thing I hadn’t been able to put a name to until now. It was bitterness.
And it made me cry out, “Yes, of course! I may have been a crappy friend to you, Tommy. But I was still your friend. I wanted to do right by you. As much as I could do, in my admittedly limited capacity.”
“Hey.” Now Tommy’s voice was gentle. I still couldn’t look up at him—because I was ashamed of my tears. But I could see his feet move into my sight range. He was wearing black suede Pumas. “Katie. You’ve got the wrong idea. I never blamed you. I thought it was cool, what you did…changing the word to ‘freak.’ I could handle being a freak.”
“Then…why did you leave town?” I asked his feet.
“Because my parents couldn’t handle having a son who’s a freak,” he said with a laugh. And the next thing I knew, he was sitting on the bike rack next to me—though I was still careful not to look into his face. “They didn’t think it was good for me to be in Eastport. They wanted me to get a good education, not be worrying all the time about people spray-painting my name on buildings or beating me up. So they pulled out. It was probably the right thing for them to do. Who knows?”
I said, still unable to raise my gaze higher than his knees, “But then…why did you come back? And don’t say you can’t tell me. Because otherwise I’m going to know it’s to get revenge on me. Which you’ve managed to do, and pretty good. The whole town hates me now. Practically.”
“Nobody hates you,” Tommy said. Now there was laughter in his voice. “Except Seth, maybe.”
“Seth definitely hates me,” I said, thinking mournfully of Seth’s terse message, asking for his jacket back.
“Yeah, well, Seth always was an idiot,” Tommy said. “Just like his brother, he wants to blame everybody else for his own mistakes.”
“I was a jerk to him, though,” I admitted mournfully. “I was a pretty big jerk to you, too.”
“You weren’t a jerk,” Tommy said. “You were just freaked out. About starting high school with everyone hating you. I think it was natural to want to distance yourself from me.”
“Really?” I risked a glance at his face, trying to gauge the bitterness level.
But all I saw was his smile. Which made my heart lurch.
And of course, after that, I couldn’t look away.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But you redeemed yourself last night. That was quite a speech.”
“Not really,” I said, chewing on my lower lip. Because I hadn’t been able to avoid noticing that, in the light from the afternoon sun, Tommy’s own lips looked particularly inviting.
What was wrong with me? Why didn’t my body seem to know that my brain had sworn off boys? For good?
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Tommy said, bumping his shoulder against mine.
He meant it, I knew, as a friendly gesture. He didn’t do it to make electric shocks of desire go shooting through me.
But that’s exactly what happened.
Which is why I looked away from him, and said, “I’m taking a vacation from guys,” as fast as I could. Because I was reminding myself—as well as letting him know—that physical contact, even shoulder bumping, was off the menu.
“Really?” Tommy definitely sounded amused now. I had to risk another glance at his face, just to see if he really was laughing at me.
He was.
And he still looked hot as ever.
My cheeks burning, I hunched my shoulders and looked away from him again.
“It’s not funny,” I said to the tops of my sneakers. “You were right. I need to learn to understand myself better—and, like you said, like myself better—before I get into any more romantic relationships. Telling the truth for a change is a start. But I have a long way to go.”
I decided against telling him about Phase Two of my plan…the convent and/or all-women’s college. Better to take it one day at a time at this point.
“That sounds like an excellent plan to me,” Tommy said.
My shoulders slumped a little. I don’t know why I was so disappointed in his response. I guess I hadn’t exactly thought he’d try to talk me out of it.
But I thought he’d at least have said something like, Too bad. I was about to ask you out.
But this is just an example of how much I really do need to take a vacation from boys.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, if it’ll cheer you up a little,” Tommy went on. “It’s about why I’m back in Eastport. Well, part of the reason. But it’s got to stay a secret till tomorrow morning. So you have to promise not to tell.”
“Okay,” I said, instantly curious.
He reached down and pulled up a backpack that had been sitting in the gravel near my bike. Unzipping it, he took out a newspaper. I recognized the standard for the Gazette. It was the Sunday—tomorrow’s—edition.
“Turn to the sports section,” Tommy said.
I did. And was shocked by what I saw.
“That’s you!” I cried.
Because it was. There was a new column along the left-hand side of the page—the high school sports beat. And there, next to a byline that read TOM SULLIVAN, was Tommy’s picture.
“That’s what you came back for?” I cried. “Because Mr. Gatch offered you the high school sports beat?”
“Well, partly,” Tommy said. “But you can see why I’m not too worried about those guys—what did you call it? Oh, yeah—having any kind of blanket party on me. I don’t think Coach Hayes—or anyone else, for that matter—would take too kindly to the Quahogs beating up the reporter who’s going to be covering their games all year.”
“Tommy,” I breathed, looking down at his photo. He looked totally great in it. Maybe I’d cut it out, and when I was living in the convent, I could look at Tommy’s photo and remember what it was like to be kissed by him. “This…this is really impressive. It really is. Mr. Gatch has never hired anyone as young as you before. I mean, to have their own column.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “It was a pretty strong incentive to come back, I’ll admit. My parents weren’t too thrilled about it, but when I explained how good it would look as part of my college applications, they finally agreed to let me give it a try.”
“Well,” I said. I handed the paper back to him reluctantly. “I, um. I guess I must have sounded really stupid, going on about thinking you were here because of…well. Me.”
“Not that stupid,” Tommy admitted with a smile, as he stuck the paper back into his bag. “Because you were partly right.”
I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, hey, I almost forgot,” he said, ignoring my question. “I have something of yours.”
“Of mine? What?”
And he reached into the backpack again, and this time drew out something bulky, wrapped in a brown paper bag.
“What is it?” I asked, taking hold of it curiously. “What—”
But the minute my fingers went around it, I knew.
“Tommy!” I cried, springing up from the bike rack and pressing the thing in the bag to my heart. “No. You didn’t.”
My mouth said the words. But my hands, clutching the camera to me, said something else entirely—they said, Mine. Because it was like they were home.
“You’re right.” Tommy was grinning. “I didn’t. Mr. Gatch did. Well, he and Mr. Bird, really. You know how much they both hate the Quahogs. Oh, and here.” Tommy reached into his backpack and pulled out an envelope, which he slipped into my hands. “Your money back. So you can give it to your parents, to put toward the sandblasting.”
I just shook my head in wonder. The t
ears had come back.
But they were a different kind of tears from before.
“Tommy,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. And don’t think you’re getting that camera for free, either. Mr. G expects you to work it off taking photos for the paper this year. I was hoping you’d cover the games with me. What do you say?”
I shook my head some more. “Tommy…why? I mean…why are you being so nice to me? After what I did?”
He shrugged, getting up from the bike rack. “Are you kidding? I’m the one who owes you. If it weren’t for me, you’d have placed in that pageant last night. Jenna Hicks only placed because you dropped out.”
Which was when I noticed something, despite my tears. Or rather, I noticed something missing. From the Gull ’n Gulp parking lot.
“Tommy,” I said, blinking back the tears. “Where’s your Jeep?”
“Oh,” he said. He had bent over to unlock a chain around a mountain bike parked beside mine. “Parked back at my grandparents’ place. I figure, you know, if we’re going to be hanging out, I’m better off with pedal power, if I’m going to keep up with you.”
I just looked at him. When he’d successfully removed the chain, he straightened up and noticed my stare.
“What?” he asked, looking puzzled. “You wouldn’t get in my car, anyway.”
“Tommy.”
My heart was beating slowly and steadily beneath the Leica I was pressing to it. It wasn’t fluttering. It wasn’t hammering. It was just thumping. Ka-thump. Ka-thump.
“What you were saying before, about why you came back.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry as the gravel beneath my feet. “You said I was partly right. That it was because of me.”
“Oh,” Tommy said, his gaze on mine. “That.”
I didn’t look down this time. I looked right into those amber-gold-green eyes of his.
“Yes,” I said. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Overhead, a seagull screamed. “That.”
“Well, I’ll admit,” Tommy said finally. “I was curious.”
Ka-thump. “About what?”
“About whether or not I was still in love with you,” Tommy said.
KA-THUMP.
“You were in love with me?” I echoed. “You mean…in the eighth grade?”
“You sound shocked to hear it,” Tommy said wryly. “I guess I hid it pretty well.”
“Super well,” I said. Ka-thump. And, in spite of all my best intentions, I found myself taking a step toward him. “I had no idea.”
“Well, you were pretty hot, even then,” he pointed out. “I don’t know if it was the braces or the frizzy hair that did it.”
KA-THUMP.
“Was that what the peanut butter cookies were all about?” I asked, taking another step toward him.
“Absolutely,” Tommy said. “My plan was to lure you into my romantic clutches with Scholastic Reading Counts quizzes and peanut butter cookies. Not very sophisticated, but the best I could come up with at the time. It was eighth grade, after all.”
One last step, and I was standing directly in front of him, so close that I had to tilt my chin up in order to look into his eyes. With his sunglasses on, I couldn’t see what color they were just then. But I was betting bright, ocean green.
“And?” I asked.
He looked down at me, his gaze unreadable, thanks to the Ray-Bans.
“And what?”
“And are you still in love with me?” I asked.
He grinned. “What do you care? I thought you were taking a vacation from guys.”
“I am,” I assured him. Good-bye, convent. Good-bye, all-women’s college. “From every guy but you.”
Which is when he took his sunglasses off. And I saw that his eyes were bright green, just as I’d suspected they’d be.
“In that case,” he said, “the answer is yes.”
But the truth is, I’d already forgotten what the question was. Because I was too busy kissing him.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown, Barbara Cabot, Sarah Davies, Michele Jaffe, Laura Langlie, Amanda Maciel, Abigail McAden, and especially Benjamin Egnatz.
About the Author
Meg Cabot is the author of many bestselling, critically acclaimed books for teens, including the Princess Diaries books, the Mediator series, the 1-800-Where-R-You series, ALL-AMERICAN GIRL, READY OR NOT, TEEN IDOL, AVALON HIGH, HOW TO BE POPULAR, and PANTS ON FIRE, as well as NICOLA AND THE VISCOUNT and VICTORIA AND THE ROGUE. She also writes books for adults, including THE BOY NEXT DOOR, BOY MEETS GIRL, EVERY BOY'S GOT ONE, SIZE 12 IS NOT FAT, SIZE 14 IS NOT FAT EITHER, and QUEEN OF BABBLE. She currently lives in Key West and New York City with her husband and a primary one-eyed cat named Henrietta, as well as various backup cats.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Books by
MEG CABOT
ALL-AMERICAN GIRL
READY OR NOT: AN ALL-AMERICAN GIRL NOVEL
TEEN IDOL
AVALON HIGH
HOW TO BE POPULAR
PANTS ON FIRE
NICOLA AND THE VISCOUNT
VICTORIA AND THE ROGUE
THE BOY NEXT DOOR
BOY MEETS GIRL
EVERY BOY’S GOT ONE
SIZE 12 IS NOT FAT
SIZE 14 IS NOT FAT EITHER
QUEEN OF BABBLE
The Mediator Books:
THE MEDIATOR 1: SHADOWLAND
THE MEDIATOR 2: NINTH KEY
THE MEDIATOR 3: REUNION
THE MEDIATOR 4: DARKEST HOUR
THE MEDIATOR 5: HAUNTED
THE MEDIATOR 6: TWILIGHT
The 1-800-Where-R-You Books:
WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES CODE NAME CASSANDRA
SAFE HOUSE
SANCTUARY
MISSING YOU
THE PRINCESS DIARIES
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME II: PRINCESS IN THE SPOTLIGHT
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME III: PRINCESS IN LOVE
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV: PRINCESS IN WAITING
VALENTINE PRINCESS: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME IV AND A QUARTER)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV AND A HALF: PROJECT PRINCESS
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME V: PRINCESS IN PINK
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VI: PRINCESS IN TRAINING
THE PRINCESS PRESENT: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VI AND A HALF)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VII: PARTY PRINCESS
SWEET SIXTEEN PRINCESS: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VII AND A HALF)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VIII: PRINCESS ON THE BRINK
Illustrated by Chesley McLaren:
PRINCESS LESSONS: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
PERFECT PRINCESS: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
HOLIDAY PRINCESS: A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
Credits
Jacket photo © 2007 by Karen Pearson
Jacket design by Sasha Illingworth
Copyright
PANTS ON FIRE. Copyright © 2007 by Meg Cabot LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition JUNE 2009 ISBN: 9780061971945
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