Мэг Кэбот - Pants on Fire

“But it’s like he’s in a cult, or something,” I said. “I mean,elitists in society? Just who is that supposed to be? The people in this town who don’t think just because you’re a Quahog, you should get extra-special treatment? I mean, beyond the corner booth at the Gull ’n Gulp?”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about, Katie,” Liam said, narrowing his eyes down at me. “Or should I say,who you’re talking about. And Coach Hayes had something to say abouthim, too.”

“Him, who?” I demanded. Even though I knew perfectly well.

“Tommy Sullivan, that’s who,” Liam boomed down at me. Ever since his voice changed, he likes making it sound deeper than it actually is. On the few occasions he’s ever actually home to pick up the phone when one of the Tiffanys or Brittanys calls, he lowers his voice even more, saying, “Hello?” in a tone so deep, he sounds like freaking James Earl Jones. “Coach Hayes said some people in Eastport would be so jealous of our greatness, they’d even stoop to making up lies about us—”

I thought my head was going to explode.

“Tommy Sullivan may be a lot of things,” I shrieked at my brother. “But he is not a liar!”

Unlike me.

“Oh, right!” Liam snorted in disgust. “Give it up, Katie. Tommy Sullivan was just jealous because he knew he’d never be a Quahog, so he—”

“Oh my God,” I burst out. “You’ve drunk the Kool-Aid!”

“I drank Gatorade,” Liam shouted back. “Not Kool-Aid! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I ignored him. It was time to seek help from a higher power. Or two. “Mom,” I said. “Dad. Liam’s drunk the Kool-Aid.”

“Stop saying that!” Liam screamed.

“Katie,” my mom said, stabbing the Pause button on the answering machine and cutting off a Brittany, mid-giggle. “Please. Don’t be so dramatic. And Liam, stop screaming. I can’t hear our messages.”

“And I can’t hear the TV,” Dad said, turning up the volume on his golf tournament.

“Mom,” I said, trying hard not to be dramatic. “Would you please tell Liam that Tommy Sullivan did not make up the story about Jake Turner and those guys cheating on their SATs?”

“Yes, he did!” Liam cried. “Coach Hayes told us all about it! He said the press is full of members of intelligentsia, who will stop at nothing to make Quahogs look like fools, because they’re jealous of their athletic prowess—”

“Coach Hayes obviously hasn’t seen Tommy Sullivan lately,” I muttered.

“—and that the year the Quahogs had to forfeit the state championship will forever be a black mark on the history of Eastport because of the act of one envious person—”

“That is ridiculous!” I yelled, knowing I was being dramatic again, but unable to help myself. “Tommy didn’t write that story because he was jealous! He wrote it because it wasn’t fair that the Quahogs got special treatment from the proctor of that exam! I mean, they’re just a bunch of football players! Why should they get to cheat on the SATs if nobody else does?”

“I told you,” Liam said angrily. “They didn’t cheat! It was a conspiracy! Coach Hayes told us so. And that’s a nice way for the girlfriend of this year’s team kicker to talk, by the way. I wonder how Seth would feel if he knew you think his brother’s a cheater.”

“Oh, bite me,” I snarled at him.

Which is exactly when Tommy Sullivan’s voice filled the kitchen. At first I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I thought he was actually there, in the room with us.

Then I realized it was a message he’d left on the answering machine, which Mom was playing back.

“Hi, Katie,”Tommy said, his deep voice solemn.“It’s me, Tom. Tom Sullivan. Look…about last night — I still don’t understand exactly what happened. I — look, just call me, would you?” Then he gave his cell number.“We need to talk.”

Then he hung up.

And I realized the gaze of every member of my family was on my face. Well, except my dad’s, since he was still watching golf.

Liam was the first to speak.

“TommySullivan?” He was sneering. He was most definitely sneering. “You andTommy Sullivan? Oh my God! Mwa ha ha ha!”

That’s when I went for him.

I managed to grab a nice handful of leg hair, and was tugging mercilessly — Liam screaming shrilly in pain — when suddenly I was seized by the waist from behind, and lifted straight up into the air by my father.

“The updo,” I shrieked. “Watch the updo!”

“That isenough!” my father roared, setting me down again on the opposite side of the bar separating the kitchen from the family room, so that Liam and I were in different rooms. “I have had it with the both of you! I am trying to watch GOLF!”

“She started it,” Liam said sulkily, rubbing his leg.

“Youstarted it!” I yelled at him. “You’re the one who told Tommy Sullivan where I work! If you had just kept your big fat mouth shut about my private business—”

“That’s it.” Mom had on her One More Word and You’re Grounded face. “Liam. Katie. Go to your rooms.”

“I can’t go to my room,” I declared. “I have my Quahog Princess pageant in—” I threw a glance at the clock. “Oh, great. Half an hour. Now I’m going to be late.” I glared at Liam. “Thanks a lot, nimrod.”

“Why bother going?” Liam shot back. “You’re not going to win. Not when everybody finds out who you were hanging out with last night—”

“SHUT UP!” I shrieked.

And stormed from the house.

I don’t know how my parents can be so casual about this whole thing. I mean, this thing with my brother, becoming one ofthem.

Although, now that I think about it, that’s exactly what Tommy accused me of being. Right? I mean, didn’t he express wonder at how I’d assimilated?

And I’d told him he was wrong, that there is nous versusthem.

But according to what Liam says, Coach Hayes obviously thinks there is. And if Coach Hayes thinks that—

Oh, God, what’swrong with me? I’ve let Tommy Sullivan into my head! It’s bad enough he seems to be setting up permanent occupancy in my heart (if that is the correct place for someone you can’t stop thinking about kissing, and not somewhere a little more southerly). Now I’ve got him in my subconscious, too!

It was with dark thoughts such as these that I arrived at the pageant tent. It wasn’t as easy to get there today as it had been yesterday, because the park was open to the public now, and the place was packed with locals and tourists alike, enjoying the Taste of Eastport. Every restaurant in town (except the chains) had booths set up. I had to get off my bike and walk it at the park’s entrance, because there were too many people milling around for me to bike through.

I spied Shaniqua and Jill working at the Gull ’n Gulp booth, and gave them a wave as I pushed my bike past. They waved back and each mouthedGood luck! but didn’t have time to chat. The line for quahog fritters was about a mile long, and Peggy was keeping an eagle eye on the staff, to make sure they didn’t give the customers more than the single fritter (and dollop of sauce) their food ticket allotted.

I walked my bike toward the pageant stage and saw that a few people had already taken seats in the folding chairs in front of it. One of those people was Mr. Gatch from theGazette. He was smoking a cigar and playing solitaire on one of those electronic games you can get at Kmart. So I knew better than to go over and ask him, again, what Tommy Sullivan had been doing in his office.

Instead, I wheeled my bike around to the back of the changing tent behind the stage and locked it to a small sapling. I knew the workers from the parks department wouldn’t like that, but there were no bike racks, and all the park benches were taken by tourists digging into their quahog fritters. My bike secured, I grabbed my garment bag and lifted one of the flaps of the changing tent.