“Ha ha,” I’d laughed weakly. “It really worked.”

Still, it was nice of them. I mean, to be so supportive. Well, I guess they’re my sponsor, so they have to be.

And since there’s always a lull between four o’clock, when my evening shift begins, and five, when the first dinner customers start arriving, it was kind of fun to sit around eating cake and looking out at the water.

At least it was fun until Shaniqua, straddling the railing over the water beside me, went, “So what’s the deal with this Tommy Sullivan guy who came in yesterday? Is he really the one who ratted out the Quahogs all those years ago?”

Jill, who was straddling the railing on my other side, sucked frosting off a finger and said, “Yeah, and how can I get his number? Because that boy is fine.”

I felt a sudden, completely irrational urge to push Jill into the water. Which is weird because I really like Jill.

Instead of pushing Jill off the railing, I answered Shaniqua’s question. “Yes. Tommy’s really the one who ratted out the Quahogs all those years ago. He was covering a game for the middle school paper, theEagle, and he went into the men’s locker room over at the high school to interview some of the players before the game, and overheard them bragging about having cheated off another kid when it turned out the proctor at the place where they were all taking the SATs was a huge Quahog fan, who let them get away with it.”

Shaniqua looked disgusted. “You mean if they hadn’t been bragging about it, they never would have gotten caught?”

“Probably not,” I said. “But, you know. They never thought some little kid from a middle school paper would rat them out. But Tommy included their quotes about the exam in his article, and Mr. Gatch, from over at theGazette, read the article and checked the guys’ scores, and…well. Coach Hayes was forced to forfeit the state championship because he lost most of his team.”

Jill flipped around some of her long, shiny blond hair. “Wow. That is, like, tragic.”

“What’s tragic about it?” Shaniqua wanted to know. “Those guys cheated and got what was coming to them. So why wasTommy the one who got his name spray-painted across the outside wall of the gym?”

“Well, you know how this town is about the Quahogs,” I said with a shrug, hoping she wouldn’t notice how my cheeks had suddenly flamed up.

“Stupid jerks,” Shaniqua said, although the actual noun she used to describe the citizens of Eastport was more colorful thanjerks. And not appropriate for a potential Quahog Princess to repeat.

And then we all had to get off the railing and come inside because a busload of German tourists had just pulled up. And by seven o’clock, we were full. Things didn’t slow down again until just before eleven, which is when we close on Thursday nights. I was so beat, I had to call Seth and tell him to not meet me after work.

And okay, the truth was that the thought of making out with Seth after work in his four by four in the parking lot held about as much appeal as the thought of kissing — I don’t know. A quahog, or something. The bivalve, I mean.

But I reallywas tired. It had been a long day. And I needed to get a good night’s sleep, on account of the pageant tomorrow night, and all. So it wasn’t just an excuse. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Still, when I walked out to the rack to unlock my bike after work and heard someone call my name from the parking lot, all the tiredness disappeared from my body.

Because it wasn’t Seth’s voice.

It wasn’t Seth’s voice at all.

Thirteen

Seriously. It was like I’d been struck by lightning or chugged a million Red Bulls, or something, I was suddenly so wired. All those trays of quahog fritters I’d been hauling around? All those bowls of quahog chowder I’d been handing out? My muscles didn’t even feel them anymore.

That is hard-core. I mean, that a mereguy could make me feel that way. Even when I first started going out with Seth — when I realized that, out of all the girls at Eastport High, he actually likedme, and not any of the Tiffanys and Brittanys he could so easily have had — he never made me feel that way.

And I have to say, I really, really hated Tommy Sullivan for that.

“What do you want?” I turned around to demand in my rudest voice.

Only the words died away a little when I saw how hot he looked, leaning against the front of his Jeep in a circle of light thrown down from the parking lot’s single streetlight. His was the only car left in the lot — everyone else had gone home already. The pier was completely quiet — except for the lap of the water against the retaining wall, and some crickets underneath the emergency generator.

I couldn’t help but notice, in the light from the street lamp, that Tommy’s arms were folded across his chest in such a way that his biceps were really kind of bulging out beneath the short sleeves of his slim tee.

He had one foot propped back on his front bumper, revealing a hole in the knee of the jeans he’d changed into. I couldn’t stop staring at the tanned skin that hole revealed, even though it was just a knee. It was like I was hypnotized or something.

Oh, yes. I hate Tommy Sullivan.So much.

“Hey,” he said, unfolding his arms — but not unpropping his foot — when he saw me turn around. “Thought I’d find you here. What’s up? My grandmother said you called.”

I tried to stop myself. I really did.

But the next thing I knew, I was leaving the protection — from kissing a boy who is not my boyfriend — afforded me by the bike rack and emergency generator and walking across the parking lot toward him. It was like I was one of the zillions of moths that were batting around the light from the street lamp above us, drawn not to the glow above our heads, but to whatever it was Tommy Sullivan was giving off.

Which I was starting to suspect was serious pheromones or something. Because how else could I explain why I couldn’t seem to stay away from him, despite the fact that he was very obviously back in town in order to destroy me?

“Yeah,” I said, when I’d gotten close enough to him to see that his eyes were amber in the light from the street lamp. More yellow than amber, actually. I don’t think it was a trick of my imagination. Tommy Sullivan’s eyes looked as if they were gold. “I called you. I…I wanted to tell you something.”

“That’s what I figured.” Tommy was looking down at me curiously. “Hey, are you all right? You look kind of…funny.”

“I’m fine,” I said, licking my lips. And I wasn’t even trying to be flirty! My mouth had just gone really dry. I don’t know why. I just kept looking into Tommy’s eyes and thinking,They really do look like gold. How is that even possible? How can someone have goldeneyes?

“Um,” Tommy said. “Well, you didn’t leave your cell number. So I couldn’t call you back. I tried your house. But your dad said you were here.”

“Oh,” I said. Tommy, unlike Seth and Eric, didn’t wear any jewelry. His neck was unadorned by chains, leather cords, or pooka shells. All he had on was a watch, one of those big strappy waterproof kinds. I decided that the no-jewelry look suited him.

“So.” He’d raised his eyebrows. He still looked curious. “What did you want to tell me?”

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop staring at him? I was acting like one of those stupid lovestruck girls who’d been hanging around my brother at the gym. Only without the giggling. Which was ridiculous, because I amnot in love with Tommy Sullivan. In fact, I hate Tommy Sullivan.

Which reminded me.

“What were you doing today in Mr. Gatch’s office, down at theGazette?” I finally got enough control of myself to ask.

“That’s why you called?” Tommy asked, looking incredulous.

“No,” I said. Suddenly, I was blushing. So he wouldn’t notice, I pulled out the clip holding up my ponytail, then ducked my head so my curly hair fell over my face. Then I hurried over to lean against the front of his Jeep beside him, so he could only see my profile. “I just want to know what you were doing there. Is that why you’re back in town, Tommy? Because you’re writing some kind of story for Mr. Gatch?”

“What did Mr. Gatch say,” Tommy asked, “when you asked him?”

I blushed even harder. How had he known?

Except that I knew how. Tommy knew me. Too well.

I kept my gaze on the asphalt, bits of which were sparkling a little in the circle of white light thrown by the street lamp. “That it was none of my business.”

“Uh-huh.” Tommy folded his arms again. “And what does that tell you?”

“That it’s none of my business,” I said grudgingly.

“Well.” Tommy shrugged. “There you go, then.”

I had forgotten this about him. How frustratingly stubborn he could be. Which is surprising (that I’d forgotten), since it was that stubbornness which had gotten us into this mess in the first place.

“Tommy,” I said. “Thinkabout what you’re doing — whatever it is. Don’t do anything to make people hate you.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Tommy asked, laughter in his voice. “Everybody in Eastport already hates me. What could I possibly do to make them hate me more?”

“I don’t know,” I said, turning toward him, not caring anymore if he saw my burning cheeks. “But, Tommy, you should know…Eric told everybody about you being back in town, and Seth…Seth wasn’t happy.”

“I’d imagine he wouldn’t be,” Tommy said with a smile that could only be called cynical.

“Tommy, I’mserious,” I said, reaching out to lay a hand on one of Tommy’s folded forearms. Only to make sure he realizedhow serious I was. Not because I wanted to touch him. Not at all. “Sidney said she wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning something. Seth and Dave and the rest of the team. Something like…like a blanket party.”