A PT Cruiser pulled up behind Eric’s BMW and, because he wasn’t moving, honked. Eric looked behind him, then said, “I better get going. See you at rehearsal, Katie. Nice seeing you again, Tommy. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
“Thanks,” Tommy said, as a still-grinning Eric cruised away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Tommy turned to me and said, “Seriously. You actuallylike that guy?”
“He appreciates my skills with a camera,” I insisted. “Which is more than I can say for a lot of people in this town, who wouldn’t know the difference between a headshot and a seascape.”
“I’m kind of doubting it’s your skills with acamera he appreciates most,” Tommy said dryly.
Giving him a dirty look, I tugged on my bike helmet and, climbing onto my seat, said, as regally as possible for someone straddling a three-speed, “For your information, I amnot that type of girl. I don’t know what youthink you saw behind that emergency generator, but it was only kissing. Something you’re not going to be doing any of with me, by the way.”
“You bring up kissing me an awful lot for someone who claims not to be interested in actually doing it,” Tommy said, looking highly amused. “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”
Furious, I yanked my bike around so it was facing in the opposite direction. I meant to start pedaling away from him without another word. But something made me turn around and ask him angrily, “Tommy, just tell me what you’re doing back here. Is it because you want revenge?”
After which, of course, I could have kicked myself. Because what was he going to say?Yes, Katie, I’m here to get revenge for that thing you did which you don’t know that I know you did, but I do know, and I’m going to take you down for it?
Of course he wasn’t going to admit it. Because then I’d start taking evasive action.
Not surprisingly, he played dumb, raising both his eyebrows and going, “Revenge? On whom? And what for?”
But for once I managed to keep my mouth shut, and instead of being all, “You know what for,” I just pedaled away. Which took a lot of self-control, considering what I wanted to do, which was invite him to come make out with me behind the emergency generator outside the Gull ’n Gulp later.
I know. I seriously need to just give up men entirely. I wonder if Episcopalians can enter convents?
Ten
Eastport takes its annual quahog festival and town fair very seriously. It draws in thousands of tourists and, therefore, millions of dollars of revenue. I have learned from my experience in the food-service industry that people will pretty much put anything into their mouths if it’s been dipped in batter, then dropped into a deep fryer (quahog fritters).
And apparently they’ll pretty much buy anything that has a quaint lighthouse or seagulls painted on it. Better yet, if it has the wordsEastport Quahog Festival printed on it (visors, mugs, T-shirts, even thongs).
Because where else are you going to find a quahog festival? (There’s one in Rhode Island, actually. But nobody in Eastport appreciates it when you mention this.)
To that end, the town council cordons off Eastport Park, across from the courthouse, the day before the festival begins, so they can start setting up all the tables that will be serving food during the Taste of Eastport, and the booths that will be selling quahog souvenirs, beer, and other assorted tchotchkes.
But one of the other good things about riding a bike is that you can pretty much dodge around any kind of barrier set up to keep vehicular traffic out of places. Which is what I did in order to get to the end of the park, where they’d set up the temporary stage in front an enormous white tent (which was there for the pageant contestants to change costumes in, before coming out onto the stage), where the Quahog Princess pageant was being held.
I was way early for rehearsal, of course. Another thing about riding a bike is that you never have to waste time looking for a parking space. I locked up to a nearby park bench (something I wouldn’t have dared to do on a normal day, but since the park was technically closed to the public, I knew there wouldn’t be anybody to yell at me for it) and slipped into one of the metal folding chairs that had been set up for the pageant’s audience, hoping I’d escaped the notice of Ms. Hayes, the pageant director.
Yeah. The Quahog Princess pageant is run by the wife of the coach of the Quahog football team, who is also our school’s drama director. Ms. Hayes, a former Quahog Princess herself, parlayed her win into a shot at Miss Connecticut, and when she won that, at Miss America. She didn’t win that crown, but she made it into the top five semifinalists through her crafty utilization of double-sided tape. She’s still definitely the most glamorous woman in Eastport — if by glamorous you mean big hair and pink Lilly Pulitzer capri pants, of which Ms. Hayes is fond. Eric, of course, adores her.
“Well, if it isn’t Katherine Ellison,” Ms. Hayes screeched when she saw me…which, unfortunately, didn’t take long. “You have your camera with you, I presume?”
I had the Sony my parents had given me for my birthday in my backpack. I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I ran into Stan Gatch just now over at the Super Stop and Shop, and he said he’d run photos from today’s rehearsal in tomorrow’s paper to generate publicity for the event if we get the shots to him by five. Think you can manage that?”
“Sure,” I said, wondering if Ms. Hayes actually remembered I wasn’t there to take photos, but to bein the pageant.
But a second later she proved she did remember, when she barked, “Well, might as well make yourself useful now. Get up here and help me move this piano, since you’re the one who’s going to be playing it.”
I dragged myself up on stage and, under Ms. Hayes’s direction, helped the sound guys — who were there to make sure all the mikes were set up correctly — move the piano to the side of the stage, where it would be out of everyone’s way until my number.
“There, that’s better,” Ms. Hayes said, dusting off her hands likeshe’d been the one doing the hard labor. Only she hadn’t, on account of not wanting to mess up her pink-and-whites. “Now, where are the other girls? Tardiness isnot an attractive trait for a Quahog Princess.”
“Here I am, Ms. Hayes,” Sidney called as she hurried down the aisle between the rows of folding chairs toward the stage. Morgan Castle — clearly coming from ballet practice, since she was still in pink tights, with her hair in a bun — was following her, lugging a duffel bag, presumably with her street clothes in it. Jenna Hicks — looking flushed and uncomfortable in her many layers of black clothing, given the heat — took up the rear. She had the earbuds to her iPod in, and appeared to be off in her own little world. As usual.
“Oh, good,” Ms. Hayes said. She was clearly in no mood to waste time. From what I’ve come to understand from Seth, in this way, she’s a lot like her husband, Coach Hayes. “Well, let’s get to it.”
The next hour was spent going over our blocking (where we were supposed to stand on stage for the various events). Since the town elders had long ago decided that a bathing suit competition was way too racy for a family-themed event like a town fair — that sort of thing, they felt, belonged to Miss Hawaiian Tropic contests on South Beach — there were only three events in the Quahog Princess pageant: our introduction; the talent portion; and evening gown, which was also when they trotted out the question-and-answer segment.
The introduction part was easy. We just had to stand there on stage while the mistress of ceremonies — Ms. Hayes — introduced us. After that, we went off stage and into the tent to change costumes for our talent portion. Since my talent — playing the piano — didn’t require a costume change (although Ms. Hayes tried to convince me to wear a red-white-and-blue sequined body stocking left over from the parade scene from some long-ago Eastport High production ofThe Music Man— which I categorically refused to do), I got to go first.