Not that it was working.

“Still,” I added. “Second place is a thousand dollars.”

Tommy whistled. “That’s some scratch.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I really want to get the new digital Leica—”

“Still doing the photography thing,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing away a sudden onslaught of memories of all the times he and I had done stories together for theEastport Middle School Eagle, him writing them, me doing the photography — and spending the whole time praying fervently that Sidney didn’t find out how much I actually enjoyed being with someone as fatally uncool as Tommy. Probably it was better, under the circumstances, not to think about that.

Still, I couldn’t help asking, because I was curious, “How about you? Still writing?”

“You’re looking at the former editor in chief,” he said, “of Hoyt Hall Military Academy’s weekly paper,The Masthead.”

“No way!” I cried, forgetting how weird this whole thing was in my excitement for him. I mean, editor in chief…that’s big. “That’s so great, Tommy! Editor in chief?”

Then I thought of something, and my grin faded. “Wait…did you sayformer editor-in-chief?”

He nodded. “I resigned. Something better came along.”

“What could be better than editor in chief?” I asked wonderingly. Then, because it had just hit me, I cried, “Wait…military academy?”

He shrugged again. “No big.” Then — I guess because of my expression, which was still dismayed — he added, “I didn’t hate it, Katie. I mean, it wasn’t like in the movies. For one thing, it was co-ed. Thank God.”

I blinked. I’d forgotten, in those few moments, all about hating him. Instead, I just felt really, really bad.

Although, who I felt worse for — him or me — was debatable.

“Oh, Tommy,” I said. “That’swhere you went after…here?Military school?”

“Iwanted to,” he assured me with a laugh. “I thought I could use some self-defense tips. After what happened back here, and all, before I left.”

So that was what he’d meant when he’d said, back at the restaurant,They can try.

And why he was so cut.

“I’m surprised you came back at all,” I said, staring down at my shoes…my Pumas, because it’s tough being on your feet all night in flip-flops. “I mean…you have to hate it here.”

“Eastport?” Tommy sounded amused. “I don’t hate Eastport. I love Eastport.”

“How can you say that?” I asked, looking up in surprise. “After what those guys did to you?”

“You can love a place while still hating certain things about it,” Tommy said. “You should know all about that.”

I blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, look at you. You’re running for Quahog Princess, but you can’t stand quahogs.”

I gasped — though secretly I was relieved all he’d turned out to be referring to was my hatred of quahogs, the bivalve.

“I don’t hate quahogs anymore,” I lied, quickly climbing to my feet.

“Oh, right,” Tommy said with a sarcastic laugh. “You wouldn’t touch a quahog with a ten-foot pole! You always said they tasted like rubber.”

“They’re an acquired taste,” I lied some more, annoyed because he was right…quahogsdo taste like rubber to me. I don’t understand how anybody can stand them, let alone host a town fair in appreciation for them. “And I finally acquired it,” I lied further. Really, it is amazing what a string of lies I can work up, when properly motivated.

“Sure, you did,” Tommy said sarcastically, uncrossing his arms — causing me to notice, as he did so, how large his hands had gotten since I’d last seen him. Our hands used to be exactly the same size.

Now his looked as if they’d be capable of swallowing mine whole.

I dragged my gaze from his hands — wondering, as I did so, why I couldn’t stop thinking about how those big hands would feel on my waist, if Tommy Sullivan happened to reach out and grab me and drag me toward him and start kissing me….

Not that he’d given me any indication that kissing was on the agenda. It was just that with the moonlight and the sound of the water and the fact that he’d gotten so hot and the fact that I’m basically addicted to kissing, it was sort of hard not to think about it.

Tommy apparently wasn’t having any problem resisting these kinds of thoughts. At least if his next question was any indication.

“So. Seth Turner. I guess that finally worked out for you, too.”

I knew what he meant. I knewexactly what he meant. Because Tommy had been one of the few people I’d let in on the secret of my crush on Seth, way back in sixth grade. I’d figured telling Tommy had been safe enough, considering he had no friends but me. So who would he tell?

“Yes,” I said primly. Where was he going with this, anyway?

“He must be an acquired taste, too,” Tommy observed.

“You don’t know him,” I said, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. Because Sidney and I had read inGlamour that guys like girls who play with their hair.

Although what I was doing, trying to make Tommy Sullivan like me — you know,that way — I don’t think I could have explained in a million years.

“Well, well, well,” Tommy said. He didn’t seem to notice my hair-tucking thing.

Which — I know! I was totally flirting with Tommy Sullivan!Tommy Sullivan, the most hated person in all of Eastport.

But I couldn’t help it.

“Thingshave changed since I’ve been gone,” Tommy went on. “Especially you.”

“Oh,” I said, uncomfortably aware of just how wrong he was. “I’m not so different than I used to be.”

“Maybe not on the inside,” Tommy said. “But on the outside? You’ve done the whole clichéd caterpillar-to-butterfly thing.”

Which, you know, was kind of funny, seeing as how he was one to talk.

“I just got my braces off,” I said. “And got highlights, and learned how to scrunch my hair.”

“Don’t be modest,” Tommy said, almost like he was impatient with me. “It’s not just how you look, either. You seem to have miraculously avoided all stigma from having associated with me all those years ago. In fact, from what I’ve observed, you’re one of the best-liked, most popular girls in town.”

“Besides Sidney,” I pointed out, observing that his eyes, in the moonlight, looked neither green nor amber, but almost silver. Also that his lips were very manly and strong-looking.

Who would have thought skinny Tommy Sullivan would grow up to have such nice-looking lips? Not me. That’s for sure.

“Sidney’s always been popular,” Tommy agreed. “But not as universally liked as you seem to be. You’ve got the whole package — pretty, friendly, hard-working, kind to the elderly”—I wondered how he could possibly know that, then remembered my tour bus—“talented, top of the class…now that I’m not around anymore to give you some competition — daughter of two well-liked locals, sister to a future Quahog. In fact, except for your apparent inability to stick to just one guy at a time, you’ve turned out to be perfect Quahog Princess material.”

I’d gotten so carried away, hearing all the good things he was saying about me, that I’d sort of leaned toward him and made myself available to be snatched up and made out with…assuming that any second he was going to put his arms around me and start kissing me.

But when he got to the part about my inability to stick to just one guy at a time, I glared at him and cried, “Hey! That’s not fair! I can’t help it if guys are attracted to me.”

“You could probably help making out with them behind emergency generators,” Tommy pointed out dryly.

I scowled.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Tommy,” I snapped. “But I’m not sticking around a second longer if you’re just going to insult me.”

And I whirled around to go.

And just as I’d hoped he would, he reached out and grabbed one of my arms, right above the elbow, and dragged me back toward him.

“Not so fast,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not through talking to you.”

“Oh, you’re through, all right,” I assured him, peeking up at him from beneath my eyelashes (anotherGlamour tip). “You’ve done nothing since you got back to town but spy on me, and then insult me to my face. You’d better not have come back here to write some horrible exposé about Eastport, or something, Tommy, or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” he asked, still sounding amused. “Drop me like a hot potato and pretend you never knew me, let alone come over to my house after school to do our Scholastic Reading Counts quizzes together and eat my mom’s homemade peanut butter cookies? Oh, wait. You already did that.”

I didn’t care what he was saying, though. Because he still had hold of my arm. His hand was so big, his fingers and thumb almost met around it.

And, now that I was standing so close to him, I could smell the faint scent of his aftershave.

It’s hard to stay mad at any guy who smells good.

“Well,” I said in a slightly warmer voice, “if you’re not writing some horrible exposé about Eastport, whatdo you want with me, then?”

“I just wanted to tell you something,” Tommy said, looking down into my eyes.

But instead of kissing me, as I was beginning to think he might, he said, “I’ve enrolled at Eastport High. I’ll be going there this fall.”

Seven

“WHAT?”

I yanked my arm from his grasp.

“Wait a minute…when you saidformer editor in chief did you mean…Tommy, are you back in Eastportpermanently?”

“Yes,” he said calmly.

“That’s what Jill meant,” I said, starting to pace the length of my dad’s boat (thirty feet, bow to stern), “when she said you told her you went to Eastport High. Because youdo go to Eastport!”