The Boy Is Back by Meg Cabot (1)

If you were actually driving, you wouldn’t be checking your phone. I know you. You never break the law. You clearly took I-65 (even though I warned you not to since it’s under construction), and now you’re stuck in traffic.

You HAVE to go to that link right now. It’s about Reed Stewart. . . .

Why would I want to read something about a guy I broke up with ten years ago, and haven’t thought of since?

Oh, right. You don’t think about Reed Stewart at all.

That’s why you still have your prom photo with him on the bulletin board above the treadmill, and every time Reed is in a tournament, you record it.

I happen to be at my ideal weight in that photo and am using it for inspiration.

And I record EVERY golf tournament. Graham asked me to take lessons with him at the public range this summer. We both think it will be a good way to pick up new clients.

The lumbersexual plays GOLF?

Oh, wait, of course he does. Everyone knows a lumbersexual is just a metrosexual with a neatly trimmed beard. Why wouldn’t he enjoy a sport that is a symbol of everything that’s wrong about our country, a metaphor for our greed, disregard for the environment, and historic oppression by the patriarchy?

Did you skip breakfast again this morning?

For your information, I had a cinnabun from the café at Bloomville Books.

Well, you obviously need more protein. I’ve asked you repeatedly to stop calling Graham a lumbersexual.

Would you prefer that I call him a cheesemonger?

You know that Graham isn’t a cheesemonger. He is the successful owner-operator of the only wine and cheese boutique in a fifty mile radius.

Seriously? That’s what he’s calling it? A boutique? He so needs to get over himself. It’s a wine bar, Beck. A wine bar that also serves cheese and has a really dumb name.

What’s wrong with the name Authentic?

And you seem surprisingly hostile towards the patriarchy for someone who is currently dating a cop.

What’s wrong with the name Authentic? How about everything. It implies that wine and cheese sold elsewhere is inauthentic, which is factually incorrect. The wine and cheese I buy at Kroger is as authentic as the wine and cheese Graham sells at his place.

And if you’re talking about Henry, yes, I suppose he is one of the oppressors. But he looks AMAZING in his uniform—and out of it.

Nic, honestly, you have got to eat less sugar in the morning.

And you were right about I-65. I’m stuck in what looks like a war zone between a concrete railing, a backhoe, and a jackhammer that is pounding so loudly I can hardly hear myself think.

Could you please call Mrs. Blumenthal for me and let her know I’m going to be late? I’d do it, but all she’d hear is jackhammering.

Fine, I’ll call Mrs. Blumenthal for you, but only if you click on that link.

Seriously, you HAVE to, Beck. It’s not even about Reed. It’s about his parents.

And it’s all anyone in town is going to be talking about tonight at the tasting at AUTHENTIC.

OK. But please don’t use all caps. You’re 24 now, not 12.

Just do it. Click it. Cliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick it.

I said I would!

Where are you? There’s a break in the jackhammering and I’ve been trying to reach you. Why aren’t you picking up?

Seriously, where are you? I need to talk about this before they—oh, ugh, too late! Either let us move or STOP WITH THE HAMMERING!

Anyway, Nic, this has to be some kind of mistake. Reed’s parents would never do something like that.

Could you call Henry and just double check with him that the paper got this story right? He must know someone who was at the station last night when the Stewarts were brought in. Because there is no way this story about them can be true.

Oh, they stopped hammering again! Call me! CALL ME ASAP!

Nicole, it’s not that I care or anything, but Judge Stewart married half the people in this town, including Mom and Dad. The courthouse is named after him.

So there is no way a man of his stature is going to try to con Tiffany Gosling of all people out of a restaurant bill. There is just no way.

Where did you go, anyway? You better not have made a run back to Bloomville Books for more cinnabuns. You know we can’t leave the phones unstaffed . . . or even worse, let Mom answer them. Remember what happened last time!

And even if it IS true, Judge Stewart couldn’t possibly have known the stamp was only worth $4! He would never cheat a waitress, especially Tiffany. If I remember correctly, her mom was the one who had a trailer in that park that was being bought out by those developers, and Judge Stewart ruled that the developers had to pay her the cost of the trailer AND the land it was sitting on if they wanted her to move. So now she’s living in a condo in Tucson.

I mean, honestly, why would he go to all the trouble of saving Tiffany’s mom just so he could cheat her daughter?

Where are you?????

Sorry. I’m on the office line with Mrs. Blumenthal. I called her, like I said I would. Boy, is she a talker, or what? I can’t remember if we’re going to need to order a Dumpster for her mom or what? I know how you love a Dumpster.

No to the Dumpster for Mrs. B. She’s the one who hoards Princess Diana memorabilia, remember? She’ll be able to take most of it to her new retirement home, and whatever’s left her daughter wants us to try to sell online.

But who even cares about that? What about the Stewarts? Have you talked to Henry about them? Are they really under arrest? What’s happening???

Whoa, whoa, whoa. That’s a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t even thought about Reed Stewart in ten years.

Stop it! I can not care about Reed Stewart and still be concerned about his parents. What did Henry say???

Henry says a buddy of his was working the night shift when the Stewarts were brought into the station.

He said Judge Stewart seemed to have no idea what was happening. He was smiling and waving to everyone and handed the booking officer their doggie bag from Shenanigans and asked if he could keep it in the staff fridge until he and Mrs. S made bail, because it had mozzarella sticks in it.

He said they were both super cheerful about getting arrested, like it was all a big joke.

Nicole! OMG! That’s terrible.

Yeah, it’s definitely not good. Although Henry says it’s a pretty popular con these days.

What is? What are you talking about?

Faking dementia in order to scam restaurants out of free meals.

Henry says that’s why Tiffany called the cops in the first place. She didn’t want to, but the night manager made her. This is the third time this year something like this has happened at Shenanigans . . . although usually the customers find “worms” in their salad.

What? NO! Nicole, I hope you let Henry know that the Stewarts aren’t like that. They’re the loveliest, most generous people alive. They would never try to scam a restaurant out of a free meal. Remember when they gave me that gold Gucci watch for my 18th birthday? I’d only been dating Reed for a month at the time, but I think they felt bad for me, because Dad had just gotten diagnosed.

Plus, they live in a mansion! It’s listed with the National Register of Historic Places. They belong to the country club.

People like that do not knowingly rip off Shenanigans.

Uh, no offense, Beck, but rich people—even judges—do commit crimes.

Reed certainly did, as I think you, of all people, would remember.

Not funny.

And I don’t see how someone in our line of work—who sees elderly people suffering from dementia every day—can not be aware that this is EXACTLY what this could be.

And I don’t see why someone who claims to be so over her ex—especially an ex who treated you the way Reed did—is so concerned about his parents.

I told you: Because however Reed Stewart might have treated me, his parents were always very kind. They don’t deserve to have their reputations ruined over what sounds to me like a little misunderstanding. Or possibly senile dementia.

Um, it’s the Bloomville Herald, Becky. Hardly anyone reads it, let alone gets their reputation ruined over it. I sent you that link because I thought you’d find it funny. I didn’t think you’d get so upset about it.

The fact that you ARE so upset makes me worried.

Worried about what?

Worried about how you’re going to react if his parents DO have senile dementia or whatever, and Reed comes back after all these years to deal with them. I’m dating a cop, not a lawyer.

What are you talking about?

Well, Henry can’t get you off for vehicular manslaughter if you decide to finally get revenge on Reed for what he did to you on prom night.

Oh, ha ha. Very funny.

You know, Reed’s got two siblings who still live right here in Bloomville. I’m sure they’re going to handle it—if there’s anything to handle, which I doubt, since, like I said, the whole thing is probably nothing but a silly misunderstanding.

So what you’re saying is that if Reed came back, it would make no difference to you.

Right. I’m in a committed relationship, remember?

I remember. With the lumbersexual.

Stop calling him that!

And what happened with Reed was ages ago. Would you like to be constantly teased and reminded about the guys YOU dated in high school?

Ew, no.

I rest my case.

OK, traffic’s starting to move. Gotta go. I’ll pick up salads for us for lunch on the way home.

DON’T GET THEM FROM SHENANIGANS!

Don’t worry, I won’t.

Or will I?