Which was fine by me, because then I got my part over with that much faster.

Which Ms. Hayes says isn’t the true spirit of entertaining, but whatever. I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Jenna Hicks didn’t look too upset that her number was last…and not because of the whole saving-the-best-for-last thing, either. She truly did not want to be up on that stage. I was surprised she’d made it to rehearsal at all. But when I asked her, she said she’d had no choice: Her mom had dropped her off. Jenna’d rear-ended someone the month before, and her own car was still in the shop.

“And if I don’t place in this freaking pageant,” Jenna explained, “my mom won’t pay the deductible to get my car fixed.”

“Harsh,” I said, a little shocked. I was kind of glad, hearing this, that my parents take zero interest in my extracurricular activities.

Although I did wonder why Jenna didn’t just get a bike. I mean, why are people so dependent on cars, anyway? It’s not like there’s anywhere Jenna goes (comic book store, Oaken Bucket) that she couldn’t just pedal to, if she wanted to. Then she could tell her mom to go ahead and keep the money for the deductible, and quit the pageant.

I felt bad for Jenna, though, because, even with no-talking Morgan, there was no way she was going to place in the pageant. Her talent, for one thing, was reciting Denis Leary’s monologue from the movieDemolition Man — the one about supporting the right to smoke cigars in the non-smoking section and run through town naked, covered in green Jell-O — a speech not likely to make her particularly popular with the judges, who tend to favor baton-twirling over orations that praise social anarchy.

And Jenna’s answers, when Ms. Hayes interrogated her during the rehearsal for the question-and-answer segment of the pageant, bordered on hostile.

Although I guess I could understand why all she said when Ms. Hayes asked, “Jenna, please tell the audience what you love most about quahogs,” was, “Because they have a hard protective outer shell…like me.”

Ms. Hayes hadn’t been super receptive to that one.

“Now, Jenna,” she said. “You can do better than that. You want the audience — and, more importantly, the judges — to warm to you, to root for you. You want them to like you, don’t you?”

To which Jenna responded, “Not particularly,” causing Sidney to let out a snorting sound as she tried not to laugh.

“Miss van der Hoff,” Ms. Hayes snapped. “If you can’t control yourself…”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Sidney said, still looking as if she were going to crack up any minute.

“Now, Jenna,” Ms. Hayes went on. “You want to win, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jenna said, thinking, no doubt, of her car.

“Well, then. Maybe you could attempt to be a little morelikable. Let’s try a different question. Remember, you could receive any one of these questions tomorrow night — they’re randomly chosen by the judges. Jenna, in your opinion, what are some traits you consider important in a Quahog?”

Jenna blinked at her. “You mean like…juiciness?”

Ms. Hayes looked to the sky, as if she were asking the Lord for support.

“No, Jenna,” she said. “I meant the team, not the food. Let’s try something else. Something easy. Jenna, how would you define true love?”

Jenna just looked at Ms. Hayes like she was crazy.

It’s kind of funny that, as Ms. Hayes was asking this, I saw Seth stroll up under the trees, looking tall and cool and hotter than ever, his dark-blond hair flopping sexily over one eye as he grinned up at me.

And I knew, with a burst of clarity greater than any I had ever experienced in my life, what the definition of true love was. It was as if I’d suddenly hit the auto-focus on the camera of my mind. True love was Seth Turner — simple, trusting, loving Seth.

And I was filled with a happy, joyous feeling. Who cared if Tommy Sullivan had come back to town? Who cared if the reason he was there was to get revenge on me for what I’d done to him four years ago? Who cared if he’d caught me making out with Eric Fluteley?

Who cared if every time I looked at him I was consumed with a desire to fling myself at him and run my fingers through his hair and lick his face all over? Everything was going to be all right.

Because I had Seth. Sweet, happy-go-lucky Seth, who even now was straddling a metal folding chair out beside Sidney’s boyfriend, Dave, and making faces at me from the audience, trying to crack me up during rehearsal.

Except that my burst of clarity was short-lived. Because barely a minute later — Ms. Hayes had moved on to Morgan, asking her what she loved most about quahogs, and Morgan was stammering something about quahogs being an important source of protein for the area seagulls — Eric Fluteley came striding down the aisle.

And I was horrified to feel my heart swell with love forhim, too! I mean, he just looked so cute, with his dark, curly hair and button-down shirt turned up at the elbows, and his spotless, neatly pressed khakis and sly wink in my direction.

And I couldn’t help but remember how sexy he was as Bender inThe Breakfast Club, and how hot he’d been as Jud, and how complimentary he always was about what he called mychi, or life force, which he says seems really strong, and that probably we were soul mates in a past life.

How is a girl supposed tonot kiss a guy who says all that to her?

“Miss Ellison.”

So, okay. Maybe Idon’t know what true love is. Maybe I really do need to take a break from boys, instead of looking up the girl-to-guy ratios at the colleges I’m interested in attending next fall, and basing my decision on where to go on who has the highest number of guys (Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, seventy-five guys to every twenty-five girls. Which sounds just about right to me. Although I’m not actually sure where Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute is, or if they have a photography program. But with that many guys, who even cares? I’ll major in microbiology if I have to).

“Miss Ellison!”

Sidney elbowed me, hard, and I realized Ms. Hayes was talking to me.

“Yes, ma’am?” I asked, as Sidney smirked.

“Your turn, Miss Ellison,” Ms. Hayes said stonily. “Please tell our audience — and our judges — what you love most about quahogs.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” I said, with the smile Sidney had chosen as my best that night we’d practiced our Quahog Princess smiles for hours in her bedroom mirror. “I love their tender succulence — especially when they’re floating in a bowl or cup of the Gull ’n Gulp’s world-famous quahog chowder. Mention my name — Katie Ellison — and get a free cup all weekend!”

Out in the audience, Seth and Dave burst into enthusiastic applause. Even Ms. Hayes looked pleased.

“Excellent response, Katie,” she said. “That’s one the judges will love. Did you hear, ladies, how Katie managed to mention her sponsor in her answer?”

“I don’t have a sponsor,” Jenna reminded us. “My mom’s paying for this.”

“Which is why your response should have been something along the lines of,What I love most about quahogs are the hot and tasty quahog cakes my mom makes for me on cold wintry days,” Ms. Hayes said.

“My mom doesn’t make quahog cakes,” Jenna said. “She’s too busy with her Pilates workouts.”

Ms. Hayes lifted her gaze toward the sky again. Then she said, in measured, even tones, “I think that’s enough for the question-and-answer segment, girls. Let’s move on to evening gowns, since I see your escorts are here….”

The guys stood up and ambled over to the stage, where we greeted them with enthusiastic embraces. At least, Sidney and I did. Morgan Castle, not being on kissing terms with her escort, apparently, sidled shyly up to him and said, “Hi,” while staring at her feet in her Aerosoles mary janes. Jenna, however, stayed where she was, center stage. It soon became very apparent, even to the sound guys, who were so clueless that they’d thought Sidney’s Kelly Clarkson song was country-western, that we were one guy short.

“Miss Hicks,” Ms. Hayes said, carefully patting her enormous, bouffanty hairdo, which a gentle breeze from the sound was in danger of collapsing. “Where is your escort?”

Jenna looked down at the toes of her combat boots (seriously…her feet had to be sweating so much. I wouldnot want to be there when she pulls those things off). “I don’t have an escort,” Jenna said softly.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Hicks?” Ms. Hayes said. “You have to speak up, honey. I can’t hear you if you mumble.”

“I DON’T HAVE AN ESCORT,” Jenna yelled.

Ms. Hayes looked astonished. Clearly, from her expression, in the history of the Eastport Quahog Princess pageant, there had never before been an entrant who hadn’t shown up with an escort.

“Are you saying you don’t knowany young man who would be willing to act as your escort, Miss Hicks?” Ms. Hayes demanded.

“No one who would be caught dead doing something this lame,” Jenna mumbled.

“Excuse me, Miss Hicks?” Ms. Hayes went from looking astonished to looking irritated in about a second flat. “What did you just say?”

“I said no, I don’t.” Jenna looked like she wanted to die on the spot. I didn’t really blame her.

“Well, one of you boys escort her, then,” Ms. Hayes said, pointing one of her pink-and-whites at Seth, Dave, and Eric — who all exchanged panicked glances, as if to say,Not me, man. Youdo it.

Ms. Hayes, however, doesn’t take any more guff from her players — the dramatic kind — than her husband takes from the football kind.

“Eric,” she said flatly. “You do it.”

“I’d love to, Ms. Hayes,” Eric said in his most actor-y voice. “But I’m Morgan’s escort.”