Мэг Кэбот - Pants on Fire

“I know,” I said mournfully. “But, Sidney, it’s just that…I…I cantalk 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 cantalk to him?” she echoed. “What is that even supposed tomean?”

“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 thatnow?” 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.”

“Hey,” Seth said, appearing at my side and offering me his arm. “You look good, babe.”

“Seth,” I said. And then my throat closed up.

He blinked down at me with those sleepy brown eyes. “What?”

I wanted to speak. I did. I wanted to say something, then and there…

…Only I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t know how to say it.

“My name’s Katie,” I said, instead, grabbing hold of his arm. “Not babe. Okay?”

His confused gaze turned quizzical. “What’s the matter, ba — I mean, Katie?” he wanted to know. “Are you mad at me? What did I do?”

And I realized he was wearing that bewildered puppy look again.

And I couldn’t stand it. I really couldn’t stand it a second longer. Old Man Trouble wasn’t just hanging around my door.

He had set up permanent residence in my life.

I was in hell.

So of course I said, “Nothing. Never mind,” to Seth.

Because that is what I do.

I lie.

And we went out onto the stage.

“Miss Castle.” Ms. Hayes had made an elaborate display of shuffling the judges’ questions — written down on index cards — so it couldn’t be said that any one girl had been helped out by any particular judge by getting thrown an easy one. “Please tell this audience — and our esteemed judges — some characteristics of a Quahog.”

“Certainly,” Morgan said, looking ravishing beside her equally stunning escort. I hadn’t been wrong about Eric and Morgan: Together, they were prettier than a wedding cake topper.

And from the audience I’m sure you could barely tell how much Eric was sweating beneath his tux. Enough so that his pancake makeup was glistening (Eric was the only guy who’d agreed to stage makeup when Ms. Hayes offered, but that’s because he’s used to it, on account of all his work in the theater).

“A quahog,” Morgan began, in a small voice, “is a mollusk—”

“A little louder, dear,” Ms. Hayes said, in a treacly tone completely unlike the one she’d used to yell at us during rehearsal. “The judges can’t hear you. And neither can the audience.”

“Oh,” Morgan said, lifting her mike a little higher. “Sorry.” We were using the clip-on microphones, because the hand-helds had never started working. But because there weren’t enough to go around — and nowhere to clip them, on our evening gowns — we just had to hold the tiny microphones in our hands, and speak into them. “A quahog is a mollusk, and as such, displays characteristics we’ve come to expect from mollusks, such as spitting and burying themselves in the sand.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Ms. Hayes cleared her throat and glanced nervously at the judges.

“Oh, wait,” Morgan said, catching on. “You mean a Quahog like the football players? Or a quahog like the kind people eat?”

“Er,” Ms. Hayes said. “The former, dear.”

“Oh.” Morgan backpedaled, trying to figure out the right thing to say.

I felt bad for her. I really did. Especially since it wasn’t easy for a non-shy person to get up on that stage in front of all those people, with those bright lights shining down on us, and all this pressure. Not like the Oaken Bucket was counting on Morgan to win to draw in more business, or whatever.

But I’m sure Morgan needed the prize money, for new toe shoes, or whatever it is ballerinas buy with prize money.

Still, it had to be even worse for her, being so shy and all.

Morgan blathered something about how Quahogs are strong and true (whatever), which was clearly designed to please the judges and seemed to work. Score one for Morgan. Actually score two because her dance routine had been way better than anything the rest of us had done for our talent segments.

Then it was Sidney’s turn, and Ms. Hayes said, “Miss van der Hoff. Can you tell me what true love is?”

Naturally, Sidney took the Biblical route with her answer, since judges love that stuff. They eat it up like…well, quahog fritters.

“‘Love is patient—’” Sidney said, in her most sincere voice — the same one she uses when she was too busy partying to do her homework, so she tells the teacher her grandmother was sick and that she (Sidney) was at the hospital all night visiting her. “‘—Love is kind.’”

Yeah. Right. Try telling that to Seth. He looked super depressed over the way I’d spoken to him just before we’d gone on stage. What had I been thinking? Why had I been so mean to him? What’s wrong with me? I mean, it’s true Seth’s never been the shiniest knife in the drawer.

But that had seldom bothered me. Not before now.

Okay, let’s be honest: Not until Tommy Sullivan came back.

“‘—Love is not rude. It is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs—’”

Huh. Unlike Seth Turner. And the thing is, it’s so bogus. Because Tommy never even did anything to him. All Tommy had ever done was tell the truth…a truth that had needed to be told, because Tommy was right: It wasn’t fair that Quahogs got special treatment.

And how stupid was Jake Turner, anyway, to go around bragging about cheating, and in front of an impressionable little eighth grader? Jake Turner had ruined his own future, not Tommy.

“‘—Love always protects, always trusts—’”

The way Seth had always trusted me not to mack with other guys behind his back. Why did I do that, anyway? I mean, what was I looking for? Who was I looking for?

Because it’s not that Seth is a bad kisser. He’s an exceptionally good kisser.

Just not as good as someone else who’d kissed me recently. And I’m not talking about Eric. I mean, Seth’s and Eric’s kisses had never made my heart race the way a certain someone else’s had. And their kisses had never made me long to wrap my legs around them. And their kisses had never made me think about them at odd random moments when I was supposed to be thinking about what drinks to pour at the soda station, or where I’d left my eyelash curler.