Plus, I wouldn’t have known that I could go up to Deck 11 and serve myself frozen yogurt anytime.
Yum!
There was also so much to take in, and really, a lot of it was unbelievable. Outside, on the upper decks, there was a full basketball court, a rock-climbing wall, a miniature golf course, a roller rink, Ping-Pong tables, swimming pools with miles of loungers, Jacuzzis, and a jogging track. Inside, mostly on Decks 3, 4, and 5, there were theaters, game rooms, a huge arcade, a casino, a bunch of loungey places with different themes, including a karaoke lounge, and an entire mall of stores.
I was actually kinda sore and tired from going up and down so many stairs and racing around each deck, and I was looking around for a place where we could maybe rest for a minute, when all of a sudden an announcement blasts from a speaker right above us.
“Good afternoon! This is Captain Harald. We are looking forward to setting sail shortly, but first we must conduct our muster drill!”
“Oh!” Marissa says. “I forgot!”
“What’s a mustard drill?”
“It’s muster,” she tells me. “No D.”
Then Captain Harald’s voice gives me an actual answer: “We are required by law to conduct this safe-evacuation drill before departure, so please, follow along with the instructions you will be given. We will begin momentarily, so at this time proceed to your staterooms and await further instruction.”
“Come on,” Marissa says. “There’s no getting out of this.”
“What do we do?”
“Make like lemmings.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “It’s like a fire drill.”
We’re barely back at our cabin when announcements start about getting to the muster stations. I knock on Darren’s door, but no one answers, and when a really loud air horn blasts, Marissa shouts, “Come on! Let’s go!” and we head out toward the stairwells.
Marissa’s right about the lemming thing. People are flooding in from all the hallways, and they’re all funneling toward the stairs. “Hey!” we hear from behind us. “Sammy! Marissa!” And when we turn around, there’s Kip, sort of jostling around people to get to us.
“Hey!” I call back, and then something clicks in my head. “Wait—your cabin’s on this floor?”
“Yeah.” He points down our hallway. “We’re in 9584. About midship.”
As we merge in with other people going down the steps, Marissa asks, “Where’s JT?” and then real quick she adds, “We have something that might belong to him.”
“To JT? What is it?”
“I’ll show you later,” she says, which she pulls off okay because we’re hurrying downstairs, and who says she has the handkerchief on her anyway? But I know that she does and that she wants to show JT, not Kip.
And maybe he’s just being helpful or maybe he’s got good intuition, but he volunteers, “He’ll be here.”
“Where?” Marissa asks a little too fast.
He gives her a little smile. “At the muster station. His family’s in 9582, right next to us.”
All of a sudden, I can tell Marissa’s wishing she’d brushed her hair.
And checked her teeth.
And changed her clothes.
JT and his golfy parents and Kip’s fashionista mom are already at our muster station—which turns out to be just some random deck space under life rafts. “There you are!” Kip’s mom says, and she’s not looking too happy with him.
“Sorry!” Kip tells her, then we all file into the little rows that have formed.
JT greets Marissa with a kinda sly grin, which makes Marissa totally blush. And since we’re supposed to stay quiet during the drill, she waits until the all-clear horn blasts before pulling out the monogrammed handkerchief. “Hey,” she says to JT. “Check it out.”
“Whoa,” JT says, taking it. “How’d you get this?”
Marissa turns to me, so I give a little shrug and say, “I was on our balcony and saw it fluttering down, so I reached out and snagged it.” I kinda squint at him and ask, “It’s not actually yours, is it?” because he’s looking like he recognizes it, but if his cabin is on the same deck as ours, how can it be his?
Then Kip’s spiral-cut mom says, “How on earth …?” and she turns to JT’s dad and says, “Lucas, that’s Daddy’s pocket square.”
JT’s dad takes it in his super-tan hand and zeroes his blue eyes in on me. “Where did you say you got this?”
So I explain all over again, and this time I add, “We’re not trying to keep it. We just recognized the initials and thought—”
“Oh, sweetheart, no,” he says. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Thank you very much for making the connection.” Then he turns to Kip’s mom, who also has those amazing blue eyes. “Why would …?”
His voice just trails off, but apparently his sister understands what he’s asking. “Maybe it was symbolic of letting him go?” she says. “You know how attached they were.”
JT’s dad frowns. “Or maybe Bradley had it. Mom said they’re in the suite next to her.”
“Of course they are,” the Fashionista grumbles.
“It’s just a room,” JT’s dad tells her quietly.
“I hate the way he works her!” she says through her teeth.
JT’s dad can tell we’re listening, so he clears his throat and says, “You know …”
Now, you can practically see his thoughts jumping on a turbo golf cart and racing around in his head. And after some silent conversation with Kip’s mom, which involves blue eyeballs, blond eyebrows, and little shoulder shrugs, he turns to Marissa and me and says, “How would you two like to see the sail from the Royal Suite? That’s where the boys’ grandmother is staying, and I’m sure she would love to meet her grandsons’ new friends.”
Then JT’s mother says, “Grandma Kate is very nice.”
“And she’d be fascinated to hear the story of your daring rescue!” JT’s dad adds with a super-sparkly smile.
I blink at them. “My daring … it wasn’t daring.”
JT’s dad gives me a wink and a grin. “I’m sure you could make it sound daring, hmm?”
So okay. Going up to some granny’s “Royal Suite” with a bunch of people I don’t know and turning a simple hanky snatch into some wild, daring rescue was not what I wanted to do.
What was the big deal anyway?
But Marissa’s giving me a wild-eyed look, which is a combination of Please, please, please, and I can’t believe this is happening! so I finally give in and say, “Sure.”
And that was the turning point.
We’d just been sucked into the mad, mad world of Kensingtons.
FIVE
The “Royal Suite” turned out to be a stateroom even Marissa didn’t know existed. It was on Deck 10, very near the elevators and on the same side of the ship as our room, and instead of a room number, there was a brass plaque with a crown that said ROYAL SUITE.
It was huge. I’m talking grand-piano huge. It had a big sitting area with white couches and a black marble wet bar and Roman pillars and gold-plated fixtures and … space. Even with all the Kensingtons gathering inside it, there was space.
The minute we walked in, I felt totally awkward. Let’s just say scribbled-on high-tops and worn jeans totally clash with Royal Suite décor.
“Grandma Kate,” on the other hand, definitely belonged. She was wearing a coral-colored top, a string of pearls, an enormous diamond ring, and … white slacks.
My mind flashed back to catching the handkerchief, and I tried to picture where our room was compared to the Royal Suite. We were one deck down, and basing on where the elevators were, about two doors closer to the front of the ship.
Or maybe just one, seeing how the room sizes were so different.
What that meant was that I was probably looking at the same white pants I’d seen earlier, which for some reason made me feel even more uncomfortable.
But Marissa was too impressed with the suite to worry about not belonging in it. “A grand
piano?” she whispers. “This is unbelievable!” But in between taking in the ritz of the suite, her eyes keep flicking back to JT.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper back, because I’m starting to feel like I’ve been sucked onto some alien ship and that any minute all these blond-haired, blue-eyed people will transform into fangy monsters and I’ll never outlive being thirteen.
Marissa’s obviously not feeling the alien vibe. “We’re here because we were invited!” she gushes.
“But why?” I eye Grandma Kate as she’s hugging JT and Kip. “They’re having a family reunion—we don’t belong here!”
A voice behind me whispers, “Please stay,” and when I whip around, there’s JT’s mom. Her mouth twitches to one side like she’s either trying to smile or hide the pain of a toothache, and I’m clueless about why she’s whispering or twitching or wanting us to stay. Her eyes are brown, though, and for some reason that makes me feel a little less weirded out. Like, okay, I’m trapped in a room with a bunch of blond-haired, blue-eyed aliens, but one of them’s an imposter who also might be looking for a way out.
And then all of a sudden we’re being waved over by JT’s dad. “Sammy! Marissa! Come meet Kate and tell her about the pocket square.”
I hesitate, but JT’s mother gives us a little nudge and says, “Kate loves kids. Go on.”
So we go over to the sitting area, where nobody’s sitting.
Well, except Kip, who’s off by himself on a stool at the wet bar.
Now, JT’s golfy parents and Kip’s spiral-cut mother look like they’re forty-five or fifty, so Kate has to be older than Grams, but while Grams’ face looks soft and has wrinkles, Kate’s looks very … polished. Like someone buffed her cheeks smooth and anchored the corners of her mouth up a little into a permanent, pleasant smile.
Her hair’s also very styled. It’s thick and blond and swooped back with a dramatic gray streak in the bangs. And even though her eyes aren’t that same brilliant blue as JT’s or his dad’s or Kip’s mom’s, they’re still blue.
Standing next to her is a woman who looks a lot like her, only not as swooped or polished. She seems nice enough, too, giving us a little don’t-be-afraid wave over.
“Hello, girls,” Kate says, flashing a pearly smile. Her voice is low and warm and not at all old-lady-like. “I’m Kate and this is my sister, Ginger. So glad you could join us!”
Marissa’s all of a sudden tongue-tied—probably because JT’s watching—so I say, “I’m Sammy and this is my friend Marissa.”
“So what’s this I hear about you rescuing my husband’s pocket square?” Kate asks as she holds it in her manicured hand.
And that’s when I notice that on the coffee table in front of her is a framed picture of a smiling older man. It’s beside a fairly large, squatty silver-and-gold vase that has a beautiful diamond pattern going around it. And I’m wondering why the vase has a lid, when it hits me that it’s not a vase.
It’s an urn.
All of a sudden, my stomach goes topsy-turvy because I know what’s inside the urn.
JT Kensington.
Well, the original JT Kensington.
What’s left of him anyway.
Now, having old JT in an urn on the coffee table is better than having him laid out in a casket—which, believe me, could definitely have fit inside the Royal Suite. But still. The whole time I’m telling my little story about snagging the handkerchief out of the air, I’m thinking that this situation is just weird. Why would the High Priestess of Blond Aliens take her dead husband’s ashes with her on a cruise? Or to a family reunion? What are they going to do—sit around and talk to the urn? And how can she be standing there so pleasantly, listening to me so intently? Actually, why is everyone listening to me like they had never heard the story before?
Why are these crazy, blue-eyed aliens acting so interested?
Well, except JT, who’s obviously only interested in Marissa.
Anyway, when I’m all done talking, Kate has a sort of sweet, sentimental smile on her face as she says, “Perhaps John wasn’t ready to leave us.”
Kip’s mother scowls. “He had a heart attack, Mother. Of course he wasn’t ready.”
“Teresa …,” Kate warns.
“Well, it’s true!” Teresa snaps. “John Tyler Kensington never voluntarily relinquished control of anything!”
JT’s dad shakes his head. “Are we talking about Dad or the handkerchief?”
“She’s the one connecting the two,” Teresa grumbles.
There’s a moment of awkward silence, and then JT’s dad says, “So it was you, Mother? You let the handkerchief go?”
“Of course,” she says. “And it was pure joy to watch it fly.” She sniffs the hanky and smiles like it’s a bouquet of roses. “And I think it’s very symbolic that fate has brought it back to me.”
Well, no, I’m thinking, I brought it back to you. And it’s a hanky, lady, not your husband!
And then, ding-dong, I’m saved by the bell.
That’s right, the Royal Suite is so big, it’s equipped with a doorbell.
“That must be Bradley and the girls,” Kate says, her blue eyes twinkling. “The reunion is complete!”
Still, for all her twinkling, no one moves a muscle to get the door. And since this seems like the perfect time to make our escape, I grab Marissa and say, “Well! It was nice meeting all of you and—”
“No, wait!” JT’s dad says, and JT’s mom actually steps in front of us, blocking our way. “Please stay,” she says softly.
And that’s when it all becomes clear.
We have been abducted by aliens!
“Please?” she whispers, and something about those brown eyes makes me back down. Plus Ginger’s already heading for the door, so my beautiful, smooth exit is completely messed up.
And then another blond is joining the alien hive. This one’s older and his hair is definitely abandoning ship. And even though he’s paunchy and not at all tan and there’s nothing much fashionable about his businessman clothes, he’s definitely got those Kensington eyes.
Kate gushes, “Bradley!” like he’s a dashing prince there to rescue her. And after a kiss-kiss she asks, “Where are Brooke and the girls?”
“The flu!” he says. “First it was the girls, then Brooke caught it.”
Kate’s jaw drops. “So they’re not coming?”
He shakes his head. “I barely made it myself. They’re miserable, and very disappointed.”
“Well, at least you’re here,” she says, giving him another kiss-kiss. “Now say hello to your brother and sister.”
“Like they said hello to me?” he asks, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Kate gives him a stern look. “Bradley …”
He turns and seems a little thrown to see me and Marissa, but he gets over that quick and puts on a diplomatic smile as he looks at his blue-eyed, alien siblings. “Hello, Lucas, hello, Teresa.” Then he turns to JT’s mom and says, “LuAnn,” and then says, “Johnny,” to JT.
Everyone nods and says some version of hi, and then Kip calls out, “Hey, Uncle Bradley,” from his bar stool.
“Oh, Kipchoge. Didn’t see you there.”
Kip hops off the bar stool and moves in. “And this is Sammy and Marissa.”
I give Bradley a kind of awkward smile and wave, then say, “And Sammy and Marissa have got to get going.…”
Trouble is, before I’ve had the chance to move one step, there’s a really loud, long horn blast from outside.
“The sail!” Kate cries. “Let’s all go out to the deck!”
Now, what I’m thinking is, That was no sail! That was a huge, farty foghorn! And there’s no way I’m going out on a deck with these scary blond aliens!
But JT swoops in and grabs Marissa’s elbow and says, “Come on,” and off they go.
Which leaves me stuck.
“Sorry,” Kip tells me as everyone’s filing out to the suite’s enormous private deck. He says it under his b
reath, and when I look at him, I can tell he totally gets that I’m feeling trapped.
The foghorn blasts again.
Loud and long.
“Why do they want us to stay?” I whisper.
“Kensingtons won’t fight in public,” he whispers back.
“We’re not public.”
He eyes me. “You’re as close as they could get.”
“But … what’s there to fight about?”
He laughs. “A lifetime of resentments?” Then he lowers his voice even more and says, “But mostly money. Should be interesting when Grandmother does the big reveal tonight.”
I whisper louder over another foghorn blast. “What big reveal?”
“Oh, you know—what’s going to happen with the company now that Grandfather is gone.”
“What company?” I whisper.
He stares at me for a minute, like he can’t quite believe I’m asking. “Kensington colognes? Perfumes? Creams?” He grins. “Haven’t you noticed how good we all smell?” Then he adds, “I thought for sure your friend had figured it out.”
I blink at him a minute as all this sinks in. I’d seen ads on billboards and in magazines and on TV … their regal, script K had been around since I could remember.
No wonder they were in the Royal Suite!
I shake my head. “Marissa hasn’t made it past the blue eyes.”
He snorts and kinda rolls his brown eyes. “Yeah. And then there’s that.”
We’d been sort of hanging back as we’d talked, so we were the last ones to reach the deck doors, but just as we’re about to join the rest of the alien hive, the doorbell rings again.
“I hope that’s Noah,” Kip says, doing a quick U-turn toward the front door.
I do a U-turn, too. “Who’s Noah?”
“Ginger’s son. He’s my mom’s cousin, although uncle is a better description.” He tosses me a look over his shoulder. “He’s also the ship’s cruise director.”
“What’s a cruise director?”
“He’s like the cruise MC. He makes it look easy, but it’s actually a really big job. If the captain’s like the president, Noah’s the vice president.” Kip laughs. “And he’s way more fun then the rest of my family combined.” He whips open the door, and there’s a middle-aged man with kind of kinky, ginger-colored hair and a great big smile. “Kip, m’man!” the guy says as he comes inside. “How’s the fam? Everyone comfy?”
Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise Page 4
