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 and Tommy 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 boat tonight ?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Tommy asked. Standing, he was so much taller than I was that I had tolift 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 words Gull ’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.
“ The Tommy 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
“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 and Tommy 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 boat tonight ?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Tommy asked. Standing, he was so much taller than I was that I had tolift 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 words Gull ’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.
“ The Tommy 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
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