Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise (2 page)

Or, at least, their common sense.

Him sending a car service to get us to the dock didn’t hurt, either. Mrs. McKenze actually gasped when she heard it was how we were getting to Los Angeles, and I could tell I was suddenly a friend she
wanted
her daughter to hang with instead of the “hazard” I’d been before. Why a week away with a musician didn’t register as a hazard to her was beyond me, but like I said, common sense didn’t apply.

Marissa was over the moon about going on the cruise. She’d been on cruises before with her family, pre–financial meltdown/divorce. “It’s awesome, Sammy. You have no idea! You can’t even picture it, it’s so amazing! It’s like twenty stories of a Las Vegas resort steaming through the ocean!”

I’ve been to Las Vegas, so that didn’t help sell me on the idea at
all
.

And since she hadn’t actually met my dad in person yet, she’d blown the whole thing way out of proportion. People would ask us what we were doing over spring break, and she’d say, “Sammy and I are going on a celebrity cruise!”

“It’s not a celebrity cruise!” I’d tell her through my teeth.

“Sure it is! Your dad’s a celebrity and he’s playing on the cruise!”

“He’s playing one night. That’s all!”

But it was like she couldn’t help herself. She kept letting it slip out until finally I told her, “Knock it off or stay home!”

Her eyes had gotten huge. “You wouldn’t do that to me!”

“Yes, I would! The whole situation is embarrassing enough without you doing this!”

Which it was. It had only been about six weeks since I’d found out that my dad was Darren Cole of Darren Cole and the Troublemakers, and I was still pretty weirded out by it. Partly because going from being poor to finding out you’re the daughter of a rock star puts you smack-dab in the middle of some really strange territory, and partly because people at school love to gossip and Darren Cole being my father became Big News fast.

It was amazing to see how many new “friends” I suddenly had, too. People who’d made fun of me before were now kissing up to me.

Thanks, but no thanks.

And Darren had set me up with a cell phone—my first one ever, if you can believe that. At first I was like, Wow, this is so cool! But then my mother started calling. And texting. Like, constantly. It made me wish I
didn’t
have a phone, because instead of just being able to come up with some excuse about where I was or why I was late, I was now on a buzzing leash.

What’s weird was that she wasn’t checking up on me or being, you know,
supervisorial
. Since she’d moved to Hollywood, we’d really grown apart, and now she was using the phone as a way to try to reconnect.

Either that or she was worried or jealous or whatever because Darren was texting me, too, trying to get to know
me, asking me things that she was clueless about. I mean, how embarrassing is that? Keeping your daughter from her dad for almost fourteen years and then having her dad know things about her that you don’t?

So between her being all, Come to L.A. for the weekend! Let’s go shopping! and Darren texting things like, “Dream pet?” and “Favorite color?” and “Worst subject?” I was the one hiding and avoiding and “forgetting” to turn on my phone.

I was really relieved when Darren told me I couldn’t use my phone on the cruise—something about “sky-high international rates.” But I think it also had to do with the whole point of the cruise, which was us getting to know each other, not constantly texting.

I was also relieved when he told my mother that she couldn’t come on the cruise with us. He didn’t say it because he didn’t like her—they were obviously back to being nuts about each other—but because with her around, there was no way I was going to relax and he knew it. So he told her no, even though that meant she was going to miss my fourteenth birthday.

I was secretly happy not to have her around on my birthday, seeing how she’d totally messed up the last one. Grams, I kind of felt bad about because she’d not only been at every one of my birthdays, but she’d also been there for me on all the days in between. But she was married to Hudson now, and the two of them were doing a slow transition from the Senior Highrise, where Grams and I had been living for the past two and a half years, to Hudson’s house on Cypress Street.

There was nothing slow about
my
transition out of the Highrise. Hudson invited me to live with them and,
boom
, I was gone. And my cat, Dorito,
loved
prowling around. So at first I didn’t really get why Grams couldn’t just abandon the Highrise and live happily ever after on Cypress Street, but Hudson explained that it was hard for Grams to give up her independence so spontaneously.

I guess Las Vegas weddings have their aftershocks, even when you’re a senior citizen.

Grams and Hudson
had
thrown a little pre-birthday cake-and-ice-cream party for me, which was nice, but also sort of strange because thirteen wasn’t actually over yet and my mother was trying too hard to make up for last year’s fiasco. The best part of the party was definitely that Casey was there and had customized a pair of gray high-tops for me by writing on them with a black Sharpie. Both shoes were covered with things like “Shortcut Sammy Rides Again!” and “Holy Smokes!” and “Dive for the Bushes!” Plus he’d drawn little pictures that brought back funny memories. There was a pig labeled “Penny” and some skulls labeled “Not Candy!” and a headstone labeled “Sassypants.”

And then there was the heart with “S+C Forever” in it.

It was the most amazing present ever.

My mother tried her diva best not to show it, but I know she was sort of miffed that I was way more excited over some “scribbled-on shoes” than I was about the dainty charm bracelet she’d given me.

The bottom line is, my mother doesn’t get me, which is why I was glad Darren had told her she couldn’t go on the cruise. I mean, birthday or not, and getting to know
my rock star dad or not, sharing a cabin with Marissa was going to be a whole lot more fun than sharing one with a person who disapproves of everything from my high-tops to my attitude. And really, the fact that Darren seemed to understand that went a long way toward making me think that being trapped on a boat with him for six days might actually be all right.

Still. When we’re at the Long Beach dock waiting for Darren to show up, and Marissa suddenly points and squeals, “There he
is
,” I can tell she’s going to be trouble. So I grab her and get right in her face. “No squealing. No fawning. No gushing or gawking or … or fainting! He is just a guy. Just. A. Guy.”

There are masses of people swarming around and checking their luggage at different stations, but when I look over to where Marissa had pointed, I spot Darren right away. Maybe it’s the Louis Vuitton sunglasses. Or the blazer he’s wearing instead of the beachy clothes so many other people are wearing.

Or maybe it’s the boots.

Who wears boots on a cruise?

“Sammy!” he calls, flashing a great big smile.

He’s got no luggage. No suitcase, no guitar, no nothing.

And that’s when it hits me—he’s not coming.

Something’s come up and he can’t make it.

I can feel myself get mad and hurt and withdrawn all at once.

Like I haven’t had enough cancellations and gushing apologies and pathetic excuses from my diva mother?

But, hey, just another reality check—I should be used to getting them handed to me by now.

“Sammy!” he calls again.

I do give him a nod, but Marissa doesn’t catch it. “Why aren’t you answering him?” she asks, and then does a big, dopey wave that people in Hawaii could have seen.

“We canceled?” I ask when he gets up to us.

He slips the Louis Vuittons down his nose and looks at me, eye to eye. “Canceled? Why would we be canceled?”

“Where’s your stuff?” I ask, looking around like, Hello, stuff …?

“It’s being loaded in with the band’s gear.” He has a quick conversation with our driver/escort and signs some papers, and then all of a sudden he calls out, “Marko! Marko, over here!”

Marissa whips around to look, then whips back and whispers, “Who’s Marko?”

“The drummer,” I tell her, and before you know it, he’s standing right there, in board shorts and a cool gray T, with his shaved head and a little piratey earring, smiling from ear to ear, going, “Dude! The ship is
huge
.”

Darren slaps his shoulder and checks him over with a grin. “You goin’ on a cruise or something?”

“Dude, I am so ready!” Then Marko smiles at me and says, “Hey-yo, Sammy!”

Darren pulls out a big envelope of paperwork from inside his sports coat. “Let the adventure begin!”

“Uh, I’m Marissa?” Marissa says, putting a hand out.

Darren pumps it. “Darren.” He turns to Marko. “And this is my best friend and troublemakin’ timekeeper, Marko.”

Marko shakes her hand and says, “Nice to meet you, Marissa,” but as Darren starts to walk, she looks around a little and asks, “Aren’t we waiting for the others?”

Darren looks over his shoulder at her. “The others?”

“The rest of the band?”

Darren smiles at her. “Glad you’re on the lookout for trouble, but Drew and Cardillo aren’t meeting up with us until later.”

“Wow,” Marissa whispers as Darren leads us to a line where we’re supposed to turn over our luggage. “Is he your dad or what?”

“Shh!” Then I ask, “What do you mean?”

“His eyes, the way he smiles, the way he—”

“Shh!”

“How can you be so matter-of-fact about this? This is awesome!”

And I know she’s right.

I know that it is.

And the truth is, I have butterflies.

Not nervous butterflies.

Happy
butterflies.

I can’t quite believe we’re here, doing this. I can’t quite believe that nothing’s “come up,” that nobody’s flaked, and that I’m going on a cruise with … with my dad.

“Why are you crying?” Marissa whispers.

I shake it off. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

I nod and roll my luggage up closer to Darren and Marko.

Let the adventure begin!

After we turned in our luggage, Darren and Marko led us inside a big metal building where we went down some corridors, passed through security, and wound up in a warehouse where we got in a long, zigzagging line.

I did a lot of gawking because it was all new to me, but the only thing Marissa seemed to be impressed by was Darren.

“Knock it off!” I finally told her, because she was watching his every move. And she did knock it off for a whole minute, but then went back to staring.
“Marissa,”
I said through my teeth.

“Sorry!”

And since I knew that wouldn’t last, I decided to make up a distraction. “If you’d quit staring and look around a little, you’d notice
you’re
being watched.”

That made her eyes fly open. “I am?”

“Those guys?” I whispered, nodding at the backs of two boys in the zag ahead of our zig. “They were definitely checking you out.”

Now, since the line is snaking back and forth, it doesn’t take too long for those same two boys to be facing us
instead of walking away from us. And since Marissa is now on high alert, she starts checking
them
out, and before you know it, they’re noticing that the cute girl in the line behind them is watching them. So then they
do
start checking her out and pretty soon my little lie has become reality.

Amazing.

Anyway, while we’re zigging and zagging and scooting forward in line, Darren and Marko are oblivious because they’re all intent on filling out forms. Darren seems really
serious
about it, too, checking and double-checking paperwork and passports and birth certificates, shuffling stuff around until it’s in some special order.

“Did she give you my forged birth certificate?” I finally ask, and really, I meant it as a joke because I figured my mom had, you know, confessed her sins. And since the paternity test had come back saying I was his kid, it wasn’t like a birth certificate that had the wrong year on it was going to mess that up.

But the minute it’s out of my mouth I know that it’s a stupid thing to joke about. His eyebrows go flying. “There’s a
forged
one?”

“Uh, never mind.” I try to wave it off. “It had to do with getting me into school early.”

“Why would she …?”

He’s obviously still clueless about my mother’s sneaky ways. So I just shrug and say, “It was cheaper than paying for day care? But I wound up being a ‘behavioral problem’ and got held back.”

“So … you did kindergarten twice?”

“Mm-hmm.” I grin at him. “Scarred me for life.”

Marko chuckles. “Troublemaker.”

And I eye Darren and tell him, “I did thirteen twice, too.”

“Thirteen …?”

Darren’s voice trails off again, but Marko figures out what I’m saying. “So Lana didn’t tell you that she’d enrolled you in school early until last year?”

I nod and give a little snort. “It was some birthday, let me tell you.” I mock my mom’s voice, going, “Terribly sorry to break it to you, darling, but you’re going to be thirteen all over again.” I look at Darren. “You have no idea how happy I am to be leaving that number behind.”

Darren stares for a minute while it all sinks in, and I have to laugh because Mr. Cool Rocker Dude is not looking cool at all. He’s looking flustered. And worried. Like he’s just realized he’s in the deep dark woods without any weapons.

Marko laughs, too. “Take a breath, bro. It’ll be okay.”

Right then Marissa grabs me and whispers, “The blond one has
gorgeous
eyes,” and that’s when I realize that the whole time I’ve been talking about doctored birth certificates, Marissa’s been checking out the boys I’d told her had been checking
her
out.

I roll my eyes.

“What?” she says, all defensively.

“You’re such a butterfly.”

“A butterfly?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a
social
butterfly?”

“No. Just a butterfly. You know, pretty, fluttering around, checking things out but not quite landing …?”