Pants on Fire (18 page)

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

“All right, girls,” Ms. Hayes said brightly. “It’s
Quahog 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.

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.”

“Yeah?” Sidney’s smile was brittle. “Well, I do. But it is one thing to be catting around behind your boyfriend’s back with a guy your brother met at football camp, and who’s going to go back to wherever he came from at the end of the season,” she said, stepping into the slinky red number she’d bought at Saks the same day I’d bought my dress. “But it is quite another to be catting around with
Tommy Sullivan
!”

“I know,” I whispered. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Well, if you know that,” Sidney said, slipping her arms through the silky spaghetti straps of her gown, “then
what are you doing it for
?”

“Do you think I
want
to be?” I whispered back. “I can’t help it!”

“Look,” Sidney said. “This is our senior year. We’ve got homecoming…prom…senior trip to the city…
tons of stuff. This is the year we’re supposed to live it up, have the time of our lives, build memories to cherish forever. And how are we going to do that if you are going out with a walking dead man? Because that is what Tommy Sullivan is, Katie. Once Seth and those guys get through with him.”

“I know,” I said mournfully. “But, Sidney, it’s just that…I…I can
talk
to him.”

Sidney looked at me like I’d just said I like to eat pizza without blotting the grease off the cheese with a napkin first.

“You can
talk
to him?” she echoed. “What is that even supposed to
mean
?”

“Well, I mean, between macking.” I knew this was going to be impossible to explain to Sidney. But I had to try. I had to try to make her understand. Because maybe if I could make her understand, I’d understand it a little better myself. “He talks to me about…well, like my photography and stuff. You know Seth never does that. Seth never talks about anything. I mean, about anything besides football. And food.”

Sidney widened her heavily made-up eyes at me.

“You’re only noticing that
now
?” she wanted to know. “You’ve been going out since before ninth grade.”

I sniffled. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. “I know,” I said. “I guess I just…I mean, I was so flattered when he asked me—me, of all people—to go out. And then it just…you know. It was just how things were. Seth and I were a couple. We’ve been going out for
so long. If I break up with him now, what will people think?”

“That you made a mistake,” Sidney said.

“Exactly,”
I whispered painfully back.

Sidney shook her head. She looked faintly amused. “Well. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Honestly, Sidney. I just…I don’t know.”

“Well, you better figure it out,” she said. “And quick. Because if you don’t, someone’s going to get hurt. And I’m not just talking about Tommy. Now turn around so I can zip you up.”

I turned around. She zipped me up. Then she said, “Good. Come on.”

And we ducked back out from between the sheets, just as Ms. Hayes appeared on the other side of the tent flap and, spying Jenna back from her performance with one hand tucked into the crook of her dad’s arm, asked, “Everyone got their escorts? All right. Good. Let’s go, people. Evening wear and question time. And…
go
.”