“I gotta go,” I said to Tommy. “But seriously…you can’t sit here.”

“Technically,” Tommy said, “I can. Especially given that I already am.”

“Tommy.” I shook my head. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “What are you doing here? Seriously?”

“Seriously? I just want to talk to you,” he said, dropping the dry tone. “And from what your brother told me, this is the place I’m most likely to find you without your boyfriend…or should I say,boyfriends?”

I blanched. Suddenly, I had to grip the table harder than ever.

He knew. He knew about Eric.

Only…how? Liam couldn’t have told him, because Liam doesn’t know. I know Liam doesn’t know, because if Liam knew, he’d have yelled at me about it already, on account of being such a fan of Seth’s….

So how had Tommy figured it out?

Then it hit me. First the yacht club…now this.

“Are youspying on me?” I demanded, with an outraged gasp.

“Spying implies sneaking around,” Tommy said mildly. “You’re the one who seems to be excelling at that, not me. Although you should probably know, anyone who turns their car around in the parking lot out back has a perfectly clear view of anything going on between the emergency generator and the bike rack.”

Oh my God!Busted! Tommy Sullivan had full-on busted me making out with Eric Fluteley!

I was sure I was going to pass out. Not that I’d ever passed out before. But this must be what it feels like — a sort of hot feeling, all over, with accompanying dry mouth. No wonder people don’t like it. Never had I wanted so badly to be someone — or someplace — else. Such as Sidney van der Hoff. Or underwater.

“We can’t talk here,” I heard myself murmur.

“Fine,” he said calmly. “Not here. Where, then?”

Good question. Where could we go where neither Seth nor anyone else from Eastport might see us together? Duckpin Lanes was out, for obvious reasons. My house? No way. Ditto Tommy’s grandparents’. What if someone drove by, and saw us together — a Quahog Princess candidate andTommy Sullivan?

Oh, God, this was awful. I was going to be sick. I really was. What did he want? What could Tommy Sullivan possibly want from me?

“How about your dad’s boat?” Tommy asked. “Does he still have it?”

My dad’s boat? Yes. Yes, that might work. It was tied up down at the bight. My dad couldn’t afford the docking fees over at the yacht club. No one goes to the bight, except old men who like to night fish. No one would see us there. No one who mattered, anyway.

“Yeah,” I said. “Down at the bight.”

“Perfect,” Tommy said. And he actually slid out of the booth. I couldn’t believe it, but he seemed to be leaving. He was leaving! It was like a miracle! “I’ll meet you there after your shift. When do you get off? This place closes at ten on weeknights, right?”

My happiness that he was leaving died a quick little death.

“W-wait,” I stammered. “Tonight? You want me to meet you on my dad’s boattonight?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Tommy asked. Standing, he was so much taller than I was that I had to lift my chin in order to be able to see up into his eyes…which, out from under the reflective light of the undersea lampshade, were back to amber-colored. “Because if it is, I could probably find time to meet you there tomorrow morning. But, you know, in broad daylight, anyone might drive by and notice us—”

“Tonight’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I go off shift. A little after ten.”

The edges of his lips curled upward. “Don’t be late,” he said.

And then he was leaving, looking impossibly tall and broad-shouldered and cool amidst all the chubby, pasty-legged tourists waddling around us on their way to the bathroom or the hostess stand or the Gull ’n Gulp merchandise counter, where you can buy anything from a sweatshirt to a pair of boxer shorts, all emblazoned with the wordsGull ’n Gulp.

“Who’s the hottie?” Shaniqua came over to ask, as I continued to stand there gaping after him.

I closed my mouth, which I realized had been hanging open, with a snap.

“Nobody,” I said.

“Right,” Shaniqua said with an evil laugh. “Like that guy last night — the one Peggy said she caught you making out with behind the soda station — was nobody?”

So much for Peggy not liking gossip. Apparently, gossip is fine — if she’s the one dishing it out.

“Not like that guy,” I said quickly. “Nothing like that guy. Do you even know who that was?”

“Last night? Or this one?”

“This one.” I had to tell someone. I just had to. I was going to burst if I didn’t tell someone.

And who better to tell than Shaniqua, who didn’t even grow up in Eastport and only moved here two years ago from New Hampshire in order to live closer to the city, where she’s trying to break into the modeling business?

“That was Tommy Sullivan,” I said to Shaniqua, even though I knew the name would mean nothing to her.

Except that I was wrong. Because Shaniqua’s jaw dropped.

“TheTommy Sullivan?” Her eyes were wide.

“Um,” I said.

“Miss.” One of the seniors from the tour bus was trying to get my attention. “Miss, we’re ready to order now.”

“Be right there,” I said to him. To Shaniqua, I said, “Wait…you’ve heard of Tommy Sullivan?” Seriously, this whole thing had gotten WAY out of proportion if even aspiring models from New Hampshire had heard of Tommy…..

“Heard of him?” Shaniqua shook her head. “How could I not have? All you have to do is drive past the middle school, and there it is, spray-painted right on the outside of the gymnasium wall: TOMMY SULLIVAN IS A —”

I cut her off before she could say it. “Yeah. I know. They’re still trying to raise the money to sandblast it off.”

“Is that why it’s still there?” Shaniqua shook her head. “I always wondered. They could paint over it….”

“You can’t really paint over Day-Glo orange,” I said. “I mean, unless you use black. And that’s not one of the school colors.”

Shaniqua wrinkled her nose. “Well, it sure looks tacky. I heard that gym was brand-new, too, when it happened. How could someone do something so stupid?”

I shrugged, suddenly feeling as if, instead of being underwater in the ocean, the ocean was inside me — cold and vast and very, very lonely. “You know how kids can be.”

“That poor guy,” Shaniqua said, gazing after Tommy’s departing backside. Which, can I just say, was every bit as good-looking as his front side? “What’d he do, to have something like that spray-painted about him on the side of the school?”

“Miss!” cried the old folks at my tour bus tables.

“Um,” I said, as I started toward them. Saved by the tourists. That was a first. “Duty calls!”

Okay.

Okay, so I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble. Tommy Sullivan knows about me and Eric Fluteley. Tommy Sullivan — Tommy Sullivan, of all people — saw me with Eric Fluteley.

And okay, whatever, we were just kissing. That’s all I’ve ever done with any guy, including my steady boyfriend of four years.

But that won’t matter if Tommy spills the beans. People won’t care. I will still be the girl who cheated on a Quahog. Not just any Quahog, but Seth Turner, the brother of Jake Turner, the most beloved Quahog of all time…the very same Quahog whose promising career was cut so brutally short by none other than…

…Tommy Sullivan.

“Katie, I hope it was okay that I put that guy in the corner booth,” Jill said, on her way to seat a middle-aged couple at a two-top by the water. “I asked him if he was a Quahog, and he said he was.”

I had to laugh at that — albeit sarcastically. I mean, Tommy may be out to ruin my life to get me back for ruining his…

…But at least he’s still got his sense of humor.

“Yeah, Jill,” I said. “Not so much.”

“Seriously?” Jill looked stunned. “But he’s so cute. I just assumed…he told me he goes to Eastport.”

What?Nice. Good thing to know I’m not the only liar in town for a change.

“Jill,” I said. “That guy moved away from here four years ago.”

“Wow,” Jill said. “Well, I won’t seat him in the VIP booth again if he ever comes back.”

Wait…what was I doing?

“Oh, no,” I said. “If he comes back, you cantotally seat him in the VIP booth.” Because if Seth and those guys ever catch him there, they’ll pound him, and my problems will be solved….

No. That’s just wrong. I can’t count on my boyfriend to get me out of this one. I got myself into it, and I was going to have to get myself out.

Which meant, first and foremost, calling Seth at my earliest opportunity, and telling him not to come meet me after work for our usual makeout session before I pedal home.

“Are you sure, babe?” Seth sounded concerned. And why wouldn’t he, since I’d told him that the reason I couldn’t meet him was that I thought I was coming down with a mild case ofe. coli?

“Totally,” I said into the phone, trying to sound like someone suffering from a bacillus in their blood. “I don’t want you to catch it from me.”

Except of coursee. coli can only be contracted through contaminated food or water. But Seth isn’t exactly in AP Bio, like I am. Which isn’t to say he’s dumb. His talents just lie in regions other than the academic.

“So let’s just take a raincheck on tonight,” I said. I was crouched behind the soda station, so Kevin, the assistant manager — who, in the way of all assistant managers, was an even bigger tyrant than Peggy, the actual manager — wouldn’t catch me on the phone while not on break. “I’ll probably be better tomorrow.”