Take It Off (2 page)

I suspect that, besides all that, we were needing more time off from New York than we were letting on. The past couple of months have been filled with more secrets and lies than I can possibly keep straight, but the big ones go about like this:

1) Back in the '80s, when everyone was
making and losing money like crazy, my dad stole money (okay, a lot of money) from just about all of my friends' parents. I spent about two weeks slinking around like a criminal, and it cost me a girl I was pretty into.

2) It turned out that Arno's dad, Alec Wildenburger, is gay, and that:

3) Arno's mom, Allie, was having an affair with Ricardo Pardo, who is a rich and famous artist who is:

a) represented by Alec Wildenburger, and

b) also the father of Mickey, Arno's best friend.

4) Meanwhile, Mickey's mom/Ricardo's wife was having an affair with the guy painting my apartment. Which brings us back to:

5) Me. And I, unfortunately, still have a secret. Or, at least, I hope it's still somewhat of a secret. Before we left, I acted like this totally emotionally stunted dude with Flan, and things may be worse between us than I'm letting on.

6) I especially hope that Patch doesn't know about that, since Flan is his little sister. And she's in eighth grade. Patch doesn't really
have any secrets, besides being generally elusive. But something new in his personality seems to be emerging: He acts more mature and capable, and this change in him has us all more twisted out than everything in 1 through 5 combined.

So, with all of that as recent history, you can see why a couple extra weeks away seemed like a good idea. The plan was for us all to go straight to Ocean Term from my dad's honeymoon. I figured I'd need another vacation after a vacation like that, anyway. And that's how we ended up here, on the
Ariadne
, with a whole lot of other kids. They aren't really a “diverse, international” group—mostly they're Brits and Americans. But that's okay. We can still write it that way on our college applications. And, before I tell you anything else, I should warn you that this trip is going to throw us challenges that that brochure didn't even
hint
at.

The students of Ocean Term were supposed to divide up into their orientation groups and sit quietly in clusters on the deck of the
Ariadne.
It was their third night on the ship, and they had already learned how to turn the evening lectures into covert parties in plain view. There was no moon, and the program director, Roger Barker, was explaining the myths behind various constellations. He used a microphone, and looked at the sky as he spoke and gestured grandly. Meanwhile, the kids carried on quiet conversations and snuck from one group to another. Arno Wildenburger took a flask of Jack Daniels out of his jacket pocket and took a sip.

Arno's group's RA was a British anarchist and antiglobalization protester who called himself Loki. He was more than willing to look the other way.

Already the students were forming cliques and hooking up with each other. It all seemed sort of immature to Arno, like the New Hampshire summer camp that his parents had sent him to in junior high. Still, a
two-week party on a cruise ship with three hundred other kids couldn't be an entirely bad thing.

On the first night, Arno had been irritated that he was stranded in this group with none of his New York crew. But he didn't mind so much anymore. Patch had already become the most talked-about kid on the trip, and of course Arno hated that. Apparently, during Patch's orientation group's day trip through ancient ruins on Delos, Patch had caught some looters trying to make off with the head of an ancient statue of Aphrodite. The island's team of archaeologists had practically asked if they could keep Patch, they loved him so much. And stuff between Mickey and Arno was strained anyway, because of all the parental entanglements that came out around Thanksgiving. They had been steering clear, as it were, since then. There was Jonathan's mooning over Flan, too, which had gotten a little bit annoying. And, oh yes, there was another reason that Arno was glad to be going it alone.

He'd met Suki Davison bright and early Monday morning, during their first orientation meeting. She was wearing a sticker that said: HELLO MY NAME IS: SUKI, BERKELEY, CA. Nobody else had a sticker like that, and Arno couldn't decide whether this made her cute or geeky. (By that afternoon, when at least ten other girls had managed to get the same kind of sticker and Suki's
had disappeared, he decided she was pretty freaking cool.) She was half Japanese and half California WASP, and she had long dark hair and bangs cut in a straight line over her eyes. There was a small tattoo of a Japanese character on her shoulder, and when they went around in a circle and told the group something about themselves, she said, “Yeah, that
is
a tattoo, and yeah, it is my name in Japanese. Now none of you have to ask me about it ever again.”

She wasn't the kind of cool girl that Arno was used to hanging out with in New York. But she had that sort of laid-back California thing going on that made her a most-desirable in this kind of alternative education setting. When Loki asked if anyone had any questions or problems during orientation, her hand shot up and she said, “I am very concerned that Ocean Term has decided to serve meat in its cafeteria. I don't want to impose my views on anyone else, but I'd just like to say that financially supporting the meat industry seems contradictory to everything this program stands for.” It wasn't cool, but Arno had to admit it was sort of sassy. Besides, she had really long legs, and Arno, who was six one, thought he made a better-looking couple with a girl who was almost as tall as he was.

Arno snuck another sip of the Jack and leaned toward Suki, who was sitting cross-legged next to him
and listening to the lecture. He was close enough that when he breathed deeply, and then exhaled, the hair around her ear moved slightly. She smelled exotic and familiar at once, like the perfect mix of incense and girl's skin.

“It's pretty cold out,” he said, even though it wasn't remotely chilly. “You want a nip?”

“Thanks,” she said, turning her face so that her nose almost touched Arno's. After she took a sip, she looked back up at the stars. Barker was saying, “And if you look to your left you can see Dorado, and you're lucky, because you can only see it in January, and …”

“This is probably where I should ask you about your sign,” he said, “but that's not really how I do things.”

She smiled. “That's good,” she said, and took another swig before giving the flask back to him. “You're from New York, right? I bet you've never even seen stars like this.”

He looked up. The sky above them glittered with stars. “No,” he said, “guess not. So … what do kids do for fun in Berkeley?”

“Probably about the same as you and your friends do,” she said. He laughed, because he doubted it. “You know, party, cause drama.”

“I'd like to get in some drama with you.”

“Yeah, that might be a good time.”

Barker had finished his talk and was winding up his evening messages.

“I'm very pleased with our exploration of Delos,” he was saying. “I'd like to congratulate one of Ocean Term's students in particular. Yesterday, he was able to stop bandits from stealing an ancient and sacred piece of art. Patch Flood, ladies and gentleman.” Patch stood up sheepishly next to him and half waved at the crowd. Everyone murmured. Barker continued, “You could all learn a little something from him about the importance of embracing and protecting ancient cultures. Now, we'll reach Sicily by morning, and there will be day trips tomorrow for those interested …”

“That's one of my guys from New York,” Arno said to Suki.

“Really? Barker thinks he's pretty special.”

“Yeah, well …” Arno stopped when he saw Mickey, on elbows and knees, coming toward them.

“My group sucks,” Mickey hissed.

Loki looked over and glared at them to be more quiet. Apparently anarchy had its limits.

“Suki Davison, meet Mickey Pardo,” Arno said. He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed that Mickey was interrupting what was happening with Suki, or that he was trying to act like they were totally cool, when obviously they'd been sort of distanced for weeks, even on
Jonathan's stepmom's awesome yacht.

He also didn't really want Suki meeting his guys. Even Arno, as he had learned with Jonathan's trashy cousin Kelli, was occasionally played by girls.

Mickey did a quasi-somersault and landed between Suki and Arno. “Suki,” he said, “righteous.”

“Another one of my guys from the city.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, Arno, got any whiskey?” Arno passed Mickey the flask and he took a swig. “So where's the party tonight?”

Arno and Suki shrugged. Barker's voice came over the microphone: “All right, girls and boys,
buona serra
! And just a friendly reminder: Anyone caught with illegal substances tonight will be flying home tomorrow. The RAs will be doing room checks at midnight, so you have about an hour to do what you have to do before bedtime.”

The kids gave a collective groan and then started to stand up.

“Shit, I gotta get back to my group,” Mickey said. “See you later.”

Arno waved at him exaggeratedly. “Buh-bye.” It was about time he got going.

“And
you
,” Mickey said, pointing to Suki, “I will definitely be seeing later.”

“Hey, have you seen my friend Patch?” David Grobart asked a little redheaded Brit who was standing by the edge of the deck and having a last cigarette before the teachers kicked everyone downstairs. He'd been looking for his friends for half an hour, and if he didn't find them soon he was going to have to go back to his room by himself. Then he'd never find out where the party was.

“Patch
Flood
?” the girl asked incredulously. She flicked her cigarette over the edge and turned to walk away. As she did, she called after him, “Your friend? Yeah,
right.
”

That was a new low for David, and already he was having a terrible time. It was just like summer camp, except worse. At least in summer camp there were lots of other guys who sat around awkwardly at night. David had been in good company then. But on the Ocean Term's cruise ship, sailing under a perfect, star-littered Mediterranean sky, David was pretty sure he
was the only awkward guy on board.

And to make matters worse, he was kind of drunk. One of the guys in his orientation group had brought a thermos of Irish coffee and they'd all had some of it. In fact, he must have had more than he realized. And then there were the one or two (two or three?) beers he and the guys had had in Patch's room, before evening lecture. As he walked downstairs to the student cabins, he felt increasingly unsteady.

The movement of the water and the lowness of the ceilings only contributed to his disorientation. Back home in New York, he was a basketball player for Potterton. He was six four, and known for occasional bouts of sensitivity. The halls, which were filled with girls in tank tops and their chatter, seemed to be closing in on him. David walked by, catching snippets of conversations. Who so-and-so liked, wasn't so-and-so a bitch, which room they should meet at after room check. He wandered aimlessly for a while, and then he did the same thing he would have done in New York. He headed for Patch's room.

Patch's room was sort of out of the way, and there were fewer and fewer kids the closer he got. As he turned on to his hall, he heard voices, and then he was pretty sure he saw Patch: He was leaning against the wall and pretending to listen to some big guy talk. But
he wasn't listening. Even David, in his sorry state, could tell that. He looked bored.

“Hey, Patch,” David called. He was so glad to see him that he started to run. As he did, his toe caught in the carpet and he fell flat on his face. Humiliation washed over him. He lay with his head down for a minute, trying to think how he might play this off. As he thought, footsteps came down the hall toward him.

“David …?” he heard Patch say.

Then an older man's voice said, “Sailor, are you …” David lifted his eyes and looked straight into the ruddy face of Roger Barker. His fat, saliva-strung mouth was forming the word: “Drunk …”

“Uh, Doctor Barker …,” Patch was saying. But in order to preserve his dignity, and because he couldn't think of anything else to say right then, David had to admit it.

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly.

“Stephanie!!!!!”
Barker roared.

Before David knew what was happening, one of the other teachers had appeared and he was being dragged through the halls. They went up and down stairs, and finally, when David had absolutely no idea where they were anymore, they reached a small cabin. It was even smaller than David's cabin, which was small to begin with.

Barker sat him down on the bed. “Sailor,” he said again, “let's be serious now. Are you drunk?”

“Yes.” David choked out the word. The cute girl from the brochure was standing behind Barker. Apparently, she worked for him now.

“There is no drinking on this ship, sailor. I am forced to call your parents and expel you from the program. Now, what is your full name?”

“David Grobart, sir.”

Barker turned off the light and left. David heard the lock click. He lay on his back and tried not to think about his situation, but of course, that was impossible. How absurd that
he
was the one who got into trouble. Arno was probably in some girl's room right now, using a minimum of four contraband substances. Mickey was probably taking a very illegal midnight pleasure dip in the pool. But it was David who had ended up in the hole. And then, of course, there were his parents. The Grobarts were both therapists, and try as they might to “be cool” with everything, David already knew that they would treat his expulsion as a personal blow to their already very fragile psyches.