?”
“Actually, it’s a two-thousand-dollar camera,” Mr. Bird said, adding, almost as if he were defending me (but then, seeing as how he was Mr. Bird, I knew this wasn’t possible), “She’s paid off almost sixteen hundred dollars of it already.”
Tommy shook his head.
“No wonder you’re going for Quahog Princess,” he said to me, almost pityingly.
Something about the way he was looking at me made even more blood rush to my face. It was almost like—I don’t know—he felt sorry for me, or something.
Which is ridiculous, because if there’s anyone on the planet Tommy Sullivan should be feeling sorry for, it’s Tommy Sullivan.
“Thanks, Mr. Bird,” I said, throwing my prints and my wallet into my backpack and zipping it up. “See you next week.”
Then I headed for the exit, ignoring Tommy, who trailed along behind me.
It wasn’t until he sauntered over to where I was unchaining my bike from the ornate iron rack it was locked to that I lost it.
“Seriously, Tommy,” I said, straightening up from where I’d been bending over my combination lock.
“It’s Tom now,” he said calmly. He’d slipped a pair of Ray-Bans over his eyes, so I couldn’t see what color they were today. But I was guessing amber.
“Tom. Whatever,” I said. “ What do you want from me?”
He didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled by my question. He didn’t even bother to answer it. “What are those prints for? The ones you just picked up?”
“I—I don’t know.” The question threw me. We weren’t talking about me. We were talking about him. And what a freak he is. Still is. “Are you trying to get back at me fornot hanging out with you anymore after the whole cheating scandal came out? Is that it?”
“So are you going to have a show?” Tommy wanted to know. “A photography show? As your talent for the pageant?”
I kept right on staring at him. “A show ? What are you talking about? No, I’m not going to have a photography show for my talent. Are you insane? Did you even hear what I said before? What was I supposed to do, Tommy? You were a social pariah.”
He ignored my question about his mental health. Also the part about being a pariah.
“Why not?” he asked, apparently in reference to my having a photography show. “You should. Those photographs are really good, Katie. Well, the ones with people in them.”
Okay. Now this was just too weird. He was giving me pageant tips?
“First of all,” I said, bending down to yank my bike lock from the rack, “since when do you know anything about photography? And second of all, you have to perform something at a beauty pageant. You have to sing or dance or something.”
Tommy’s eyebrows went up. “Wait…you’re singing?”
I glared at him. I can’t believe he remembered that I’m tone deaf.
No. Wait. I can, actually. Leave it to Tommy Sullivan to remember every negative thing there is to know about me.
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m playing piano.”
His eyebrows went up even further. “Oh, God. Not ‘I’ve Got Rhythm.’”
I couldn’t believe it. Truly. I couldn’t believe he remembered.
“What?” I demanded. “I’ve gotten a lot better at it since eighth grade, you know.”
“I’ve never understood your obsession with that song,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Especially since you don’t have any.”
“Any what?” I asked.
“Rhythm,” he said.
“I do so!” Now I really couldn’t believe it. “God, Tommy! And for your information, I did not want you to kiss me last night, okay? I already have a boyfriend.”
“Two of them,” Tommy reminded me.
“Exactly. Whatever you think was going on last night…well, it wasn’t. It was all in your imagination. I mean, don’t even flatter yourself.”
“And here comes one of them now,” Tommy said.
“One of what?”
“Your boyfriends.”
I followed his gaze, and nearly choked on my own spit. Eric Fluteley was pulling up beside us in his dad’s
“Actually, it’s a two-thousand-dollar camera,” Mr. Bird said, adding, almost as if he were defending me (but then, seeing as how he was Mr. Bird, I knew this wasn’t possible), “She’s paid off almost sixteen hundred dollars of it already.”
Tommy shook his head.
“No wonder you’re going for Quahog Princess,” he said to me, almost pityingly.
Something about the way he was looking at me made even more blood rush to my face. It was almost like—I don’t know—he felt sorry for me, or something.
Which is ridiculous, because if there’s anyone on the planet Tommy Sullivan should be feeling sorry for, it’s Tommy Sullivan.
“Thanks, Mr. Bird,” I said, throwing my prints and my wallet into my backpack and zipping it up. “See you next week.”
Then I headed for the exit, ignoring Tommy, who trailed along behind me.
It wasn’t until he sauntered over to where I was unchaining my bike from the ornate iron rack it was locked to that I lost it.
“Seriously, Tommy,” I said, straightening up from where I’d been bending over my combination lock.
“It’s Tom now,” he said calmly. He’d slipped a pair of Ray-Bans over his eyes, so I couldn’t see what color they were today. But I was guessing amber.
“Tom. Whatever,” I said. “ What do you want from me?”
He didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled by my question. He didn’t even bother to answer it. “What are those prints for? The ones you just picked up?”
“I—I don’t know.” The question threw me. We weren’t talking about me. We were talking about him. And what a freak he is. Still is. “Are you trying to get back at me fornot hanging out with you anymore after the whole cheating scandal came out? Is that it?”
“So are you going to have a show?” Tommy wanted to know. “A photography show? As your talent for the pageant?”
I kept right on staring at him. “A show ? What are you talking about? No, I’m not going to have a photography show for my talent. Are you insane? Did you even hear what I said before? What was I supposed to do, Tommy? You were a social pariah.”
He ignored my question about his mental health. Also the part about being a pariah.
“Why not?” he asked, apparently in reference to my having a photography show. “You should. Those photographs are really good, Katie. Well, the ones with people in them.”
Okay. Now this was just too weird. He was giving me pageant tips?
“First of all,” I said, bending down to yank my bike lock from the rack, “since when do you know anything about photography? And second of all, you have to perform something at a beauty pageant. You have to sing or dance or something.”
Tommy’s eyebrows went up. “Wait…you’re singing?”
I glared at him. I can’t believe he remembered that I’m tone deaf.
No. Wait. I can, actually. Leave it to Tommy Sullivan to remember every negative thing there is to know about me.
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m playing piano.”
His eyebrows went up even further. “Oh, God. Not ‘I’ve Got Rhythm.’”
I couldn’t believe it. Truly. I couldn’t believe he remembered.
“What?” I demanded. “I’ve gotten a lot better at it since eighth grade, you know.”
“I’ve never understood your obsession with that song,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Especially since you don’t have any.”
“Any what?” I asked.
“Rhythm,” he said.
“I do so!” Now I really couldn’t believe it. “God, Tommy! And for your information, I did not want you to kiss me last night, okay? I already have a boyfriend.”
“Two of them,” Tommy reminded me.
“Exactly. Whatever you think was going on last night…well, it wasn’t. It was all in your imagination. I mean, don’t even flatter yourself.”
“And here comes one of them now,” Tommy said.
“One of what?”
“Your boyfriends.”
I followed his gaze, and nearly choked on my own spit. Eric Fluteley was pulling up beside us in his dad’s
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