By the end of the class, the kids are exhausted. “Wow,” one father says as he practically scrapes his son off the floor. “I’ve never seen kids so happy after a craft activity. You really know what you’re doing!”
I force that smile onto my face and silently hand over the towel lobster that his son “made,” trying to tell myself that I’m not a big ol’ fake.
You can sit right there,” Ian says, pointing to an armchair in the corner of the Hot Spot. Despite this morning’s name change and décor boost, it looks like the only people who hang out here are the crew members. I have yet to see a single passenger inside. At least that means it’s a nice, quiet spot, and the perfect place for me to help Ian run through his scenes where no one has to see me embarrassing myself.
“So where do we start?” I ask, plopping down.
“This scene.” He slides over a script that’s covered in scribbles and crossed out notes. “Stefan keeps changing his mind about the lines and the blocking. That’s why I want to run over the newest stuff a couple more times. Let’s go from here.” He points to the middle of the page and then starts doing his lines from memory.
We go back and forth like that for a few minutes, Ian acting and me reading the lines from my chair. I have to admit that Ian is really good. I actually believe that he’s the Pig King. He even makes his body look kind of pig-like as he walks around.
“Okay, on your feet,” he says when we’re done running through the lines. “The whole scene takes place while the two characters are dancing, so we should try it that way.”
“Um, what?” I sink backward into my chair. “You asked me to help you run lines. Dancing wasn’t part of the deal.” I glance around the lounge, mortified at the thought of anyone seeing me tripping over my own feet, but the place is as empty as ever. Not even Matthieu or any of the other employees are around. They’re probably napping in the back room.
“Besides, how can I read from the script and dance at the same time?” I add.
“You only have a few lines. You’ll be fine.” He grasps my hands and pulls me out of the chair. “Sorry, kid. I need a waltzing partner, and you’re it.”
“Don’t call me ‘kid.’ How old are you anyway?”
“Thirteen,” he says, pushing a couple end tables out of the way.
“Wait, really? You’re my age?” (Almost.) “How did you get a job on board when you’re not sixteen?” Most cruise lines require employees to be at least eighteen, which is why Katy and so many of the other teenagers on the ship came to work here instead.
“How did you?” He lines up my arms so that they’re in waltzing position.
“I asked you first.”
He ignores me and starts humming the music under his breath. Then we start waltzing, and I mean really waltzing, as if we’re on one of those dancing-with-famous-people TV shows. Even though I have no idea what I’m doing and it’s not easy to keep your balance when the floor is rocking under you, Ian leads so well that I barely trip over his feet or mine. As we twirl around the room, we start running lines, and I’m amazed that I’m able to remember them without the script after all.
When we’re done, Ian steps back and actually applauds. “Not bad,” he says. “Maybe they should have you dance in the show.”
I snort. “Trust me, sleeping onstage is about all I can handle.” And then for some reason, I find myself telling him about the time I burst into tears during the second grade production of Rumpelstiltskin.
“Shh,” Ian says in a dramatic whisper. “You’re not supposed to use names like that, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” I whisper back with a laugh. “Sorry. I mean Whuppity Stoorie.” Yup, that’s the Scottish version of Rumpelstiltskin. In the Scottish tale, the character is a tricksy fairy instead of a weird little guy. The woman who plays her on the ship is barely my height and keeps her head down all the time—probably in embarrassment—so she looks even shorter.
“Anyway,” Ian says. “That was years ago. Maybe you’d be better now.”
I shake my head. “Trust me. I was freaking out onstage last night, and all I had to do was pretend to be asleep.” I don’t mention the fact that I actually passed out for part of it. Definitely too embarrassing to admit.
“You just have to practice. I used to be really shy, but I love performing, so I didn’t let that stop me.”
“But you make it look so easy!” I say. “You’re a total natural.”
He shrugs. “I want to be on Broadway and stuff when I’m older, but it takes a lot of work. You pretty much have to be perfect. That’s why I hate seeing someone like Smith getting this big chance at the lead in the show when he hasn’t even practiced at all.”
I remember that first day when I thought Ian was such a snob for saying bad stuff about Smith, but I guess he has a point. “Is that why you’re so serious about running lines?”
“Yeah, and because of my dad. He’s not too happy about me wanting to go into theater, says I’ll need a real career when I grow up. I’m hoping this summer will convince him.”
Suddenly, a woman comes into the Hot Spot and starts looking at the smoothie menu. Not only do I notice her because she’s the only non-employee here, but she also has a really interesting scar on her elbow. It looks like a smiley face.
Before I know it, my camera is in my hand, and I’m covertly snapping pictures through a nearby fern.
“What are you doing?” Ian asks, trying to look at my camera screen.
“Shh!” I wave him away. When I’m sure I’ve gotten a good shot, I put the camera away. “Sorry, I’m working on a project.”
“On elbows?”
“No, on moles and scars. It’s for my friend back home. She’s had this collection going for years.”
“Interesting. So you’re really into photography, huh? I always see you with that camera.”
“Yeah, I like taking pictures of animals—birds and seals and stuff. Way better than photographing body parts.”
“That sounds hard,” he says. “Don’t animals usually run or fly away before you can get a good shot?”
“Mostly, yeah, but sometimes, if you’re really quiet, it’s like you’re not there, and they do what they would do if they were all alone. I guess those are the best pictures of people too. The ones that don’t look fake.”
He nods. “Yeah, I hate fake people. I can always tell when someone’s putting on an act.”
“Is that why you’re always so blunt?” I can’t help asking.
“You’re one to talk!” he says, laughing. He looks at the clock, and his smile fades. “Well, thanks for your help. I should get to my real rehearsal.”
“No problem.”
“You should come watch. The dwarves are going to be there.” He gives my side a little jab with his elbow. “One dwarf in particular.”
“Shut up!” I cry, pushing him away.
“You could wow him with your dancing,” Ian says in a singsong voice. “Sweep him off his pointy feet!”
“You’re so immature,” I say, rolling my eyes, but I can’t help smiling a little.
Thanks to Ian’s help, I manage to get through another night of the show, and it feels like a miracle. I do spend the whole time nearly hyperventilating on the mattress, but hopefully it just looks like my sleep-breathing is very deep and steady.
Backstage after the show, Katy comes scurrying in. For once, she’s not wearing her fish tail, and I’m actually kind of surprised to see that she has legs.
“Ainsley, there you are!”
“Let me guess. My mom’s looking for me?” It’s been over twenty-four hours since the last crisis. I figured the calm wouldn’t last.
“She’s waiting for you at the Oven,” Katy says. “Or the Hot Spot. Whatever it’s called now.”
I start to rush away, but Katy grabs my elbow. “Hold on a second,” she adds. “Um, can you do me a favor?”
Seriously? Do I have “ask me for a favor” written on my forehead? “What’s up?” I ask.
>
Katy glances around and then whispers, “I’m supposed to judge a cannonball competition at the pool at noon tomorrow, but I heard Smith say he was going to be working out then. So I was thinking if I go to the gym while he’s there, maybe I can get a chance to talk to him again. So … will you judge the competition for me?”
“Won’t they notice that I’m not a mermaid?”
“You can dress up in your Briar Rose outfit. No one will care. They love princesses!”
I hesitate. The last thing I want is to get in trouble for being in the wrong place.
“Please, Ainsley?” Katy tucks her hands up like little paws and puts on her best pleading puppy face. “I’ll be your best cruise friend?”
I can’t help laughing. “You already are my best cruise friend.” If she’s really so into Smith and his slug lips, I guess I could help her out. “Okay, fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you!” Katy cries with a squeal. “You’re the best!”
When I get to the Hot Spot, I hope to see the place hopping. And it is … kind of.
But it’s not full of kids. It’s scattered with people of all ages wandering around with their tablets and cell phones, all looking confused.
“I thought there would be free Wi-Fi here,” I hear a woman say to her friend. “It says it’s a hot spot.”
“Maybe it’s broken. Let’s ask the people at the bar.” They go over to where Matthieu and a couple of other frazzled employees are trying to explain why they don’t serve alcohol and why there’s no free internet access.
“This place stinks,” a man tells his wife. “It’s like it was made for kids or something. And what’s with the palm trees?” They leave, looking disgusted.
I go over to Mom who’s in the corner with her face in her hands. “I don’t get it,” she says. “In my old cruise ship days, I had every club filled to capacity. Maybe I’ve lost my touch.”
“No, you haven’t,” I assure her. “You can’t get everything right on the first try, that’s all.”
She sighs. “I’ll figure out a way to fix this … somehow. Maybe we can have a sock hop!”
I fight back a groan. No one my age would want to go to a sock hop. But Mom is already seriously doubting herself, so I have to be supportive. “Yeah, maybe,” I say. “Is this why you had Katy find me?”
She shakes her head. “Captain Thomas asked to see us in a few minutes.”
A chill goes through me. “Both of us?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” she says, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself. She glances at her watch. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
When we get to Captain Thomas’s office, I expect to find a dimly lit maze of telescopes and star charts … and I’m totally right. The only thing I wasn’t imagining was a huge fish tank in the corner of the room with nothing but a small octopus inside. The creature is about the size of my head, but it’s actually weirdly cute. That doesn’t mean the captain hasn’t trained it to be an aquatic assassin or something, so I make sure to keep my distance.
“There you are,” he says. “Sit.” He waves us toward a couple of chairs with his hook hand, making the compass inside it spin. I have to say that in the dim lighting, it looks pretty cool. I suddenly feel as if we’re actually in a pirate movie.
“First off, I should tell you that Pink Fairy Pool Time was a big success,” he says. “We’ve had a lot of positive reviews from passengers.”
“Oh good!” Mom says. She pats my hand. “Nice thinking, Ains.”
For a second, Captain Thomas gives me something that might even count as a smile, and I actually start to relax. But then his lips curl downward, and he adds, “But there are some other matters we need to discuss.”
I swallow so hard, it makes my throat hurt.
“All right,” Mom says softly, her nostrils twitching like crazy.
“It’s come to my attention, Lydia, that your daughter has not been following the rules.”
“Wh-what?” I sputter. All I’ve been doing since I stepped foot on this ship is following rules!
“I’ve been informed that you’ve been using your camera while you’re on duty,” the captain says. “There have been reports of you breaking protocol and photographing passengers.”
My jaw sags open. I want to deny it, but I can’t. Because it’s true. All those pictures I’ve been taking of moles and scars for Alyssa! I thought I was being sneaky, but clearly not sneaky enough.
I’m not the only one who’s broken the rules. He’s singling me out because he hates me. I know it! If I hadn’t called him Captain Hook to his face, he would have let this whole camera thing slide.
“Do you have any proof?” Mom asks him.
“If Ainsley would be willing to hand her camera over for inspection, I think we’ll see that the allegations are true.”
“You don’t have to,” Mom tells me, but I sigh and pull it out of my pocket. If I refuse to show it to him, I’ll look guilty. Maybe he’ll appreciate that I’m being honest. Aren’t pirates all about honor?
Captain Thomas takes the camera from me and flips through a few of the pictures. His lips get thinner and thinner as he goes. Finally, he stops and his eyes widen. I bet he’s looking at all the pictures I’ve sneakily taken of moles and scars and thinking what a weirdo I am.
“I think it’s best if I hang on to this for now,” he says, turning my camera off and sliding it into a desk drawer.
“What?” I cry. “You can’t do that! That’s my property.”
“We have strict codes of conduct on this ship for a reason. Any breach can be dangerous to the passengers and the crew.”
“Captain, please—” Mom says, but I can hear her voice quivering. I realize she’s as scared of him as everyone else is. And if she loses this job … I think back to how things were only a few weeks ago—and about the fact that she’s already barricaded herself in a meat locker.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “I messed up, and I have to face the consequences.”
Captain Thomas’s eyebrow goes up, as if he might be a tiny bit impressed. “Very well. If your performance has improved by the end of the week, I’ll return your apparatus to you when we arrive in Fort Lauderdale.”
I nod, trying to bite back the stinging feeling in my throat. The cruise isn’t even half over. How am I supposed to spend the rest of the trip without my camera? I’ve had it by my side practically every minute for the past couple of years, so even a few days will feel like forever. And what if I see an amazing scar or mole for Alyssa’s collection and won’t be able to document it?
When we leave the captain’s office, Mom gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Ains. I feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t dragged you here—”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I tell her, and I’m sure it’s not. I’ve been really careful about not taking pictures with Spies nearby, but someone told the captain about my camera. And the only person who was with me when I was taking pictures of passengers was Ian. I should have known his nice guy act was too good to be true. Once a pig, always a pig.
So why do I feel so weirdly disappointed?
In the morning, as the ship makes its way to San Juan, I find another note from Mom along with a brand-new sign to put over the entrance of the former Oven.
“The Cool Spot?” Katy reads over my shoulder. “Is that really better than the Hot Spot?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, “but at least people won’t be trying to check their email there anymore. Plus, it doesn’t sound like they’ll burn up alive the minute they go inside.”
“True,” Katy says, but I can tell she’s not sold.
“Mom says she thinks it’ll ‘attract the young folks.’ ”
“Do you think it’ll work?” Katy asks.
“No, but I can’t tell her that. She’ll …” What can I say? That Mom might crumble if I don’t wave my pom-poms at all her ideas? That’s not exactly something I can admit to
a girl I’ve only known for a few days, especially when Mom is also kind of her boss. So instead, I shrug and say, “It’s worth a shot, right?”
“Do you need help putting up the sign?” Katy says.
“Thanks, but that’s okay.” I’m sure I’ll figure it out.
“Don’t forget, you’re judging the cannonball contest today.” She giggles. “Do you think I should wear lipstick to the gym? Will that make it too obvious that I’m only there to talk to Smith?”
“I doubt he’ll notice,” I say, which Katy seems to take as an encouragement to cover her entire face with makeup. She looks great, though, and I kind of wish she were my older sister or something. Then maybe I’d actually know how to put on mascara. If Smith weren’t so full of himself, he actually might notice her. “Good luck,” I tell her before heading out for the day.
A few minutes later, I’m standing on tiptoe on a wobbly barstool over the entrance of the lounge, trying to get the tape on the back of the sign to stick before I topple over. Maybe I should have accepted Katy’s offer to help, but it’s too late now. At least Ian the Traitor doesn’t waltz by and try to catch me in his arms or something.
Finally, I manage to get the sign up without injuring myself. Then I go replace some of my pathetic paper palm trees with snowflakes. Lame, yes, but it’s better than bare walls.
When I get to the activity center, I’m shocked to see there are probably twice as many kids as yesterday. Word must really be spreading that the towel-folding class is a chance for kids to go hog wild. Great.
“What are we making today?” Nathan asks, sounding oddly eager.
“Um … what would you like to make?” I haven’t even had a second to look through the towel-folding book again. Not that it matters anyway, since the kids will probably shoot down whatever I come up with.
He furrows his brow, his glasses sliding down his nose. “You don’t know what we’re doing today, do you?” He doesn’t wait for my pathetic response. Instead, his face brightens. “Can I choose?”
He looks so excited that I sigh and hold out the towel-folding book. “Fine. But pick something easy.”
Once Upon a Cruise Page 6
