The Trouble With Destiny (23 page)

Since making out while all my friends look on is not what I had in mind, I let Russ lead me to the edge of the pool. Hillary and Huck lean down, each grabbing underneath an arm, and pull me onto the deck. I land with a squishy plop, water pouring out of my sneakers.

“That was super graceful, Liza,” Huck says with a pat on the back.

“When we get home, we need to get you some swimming lessons,” Hillary quips. “You went
straight
to the bottom.”

“Thanks, guys, I'm fine,” I say, but before I can congratulate them on their performance (and apologize for acting so crazy on this trip), First Mate Kevin steps toward us, thankfully breaking the spell a soaking-wet Russ has cast on me. He has his clipboard pinched under one arm, and his hands are cupped to his face in a makeshift megaphone. Everyone gathers closer to find out what we're doing up on deck.

“It appears that our little power outage had a residual effect on our electrical system that caused a bit of a false alarm. If we could all make our way back to the auditorium, I believe the judges were just about to announce the winners of the competition!”

Now
I see the tension in my friends. Clarice grabs for Andrew's hand and squeezes so tightly he winces. The percussionists, who are usually tapping out a constant rhythm on anything that's standing still, are now motionless. Even Nicole, she of the newly found serenity, is biting one of her freshly french-manicured nails. Everywhere I look there are tense shoulders, nervous glances, and attempts at deep, cleansing breaths. Suddenly all the teasing and laughter is gone, and the band members turn quietly and make their way back toward the auditorium.

My brain won't let go of thoughts of Russ. I turn to find my rescuer rubbing his shaggy blond hair with a towel. It's a ridiculous gesture, since his clothes are still completely soaked through. His tuxedo shirt clings to his skin, the outline of his chest visible enough that my cheeks start to burn. I reach up and press my cold fingers to my face and look elsewhere, but my eyes just graze down to his black pants with the satin stripe down the leg, also clinging
super
inappropriately. And now the heat is migrating from my cheeks to other parts of my body.

I want another kiss. I want a thousand more kisses. I want to kiss until we get back to shore, and then I want to kiss some more.

But right now, I
need
to see my band collect their prize.

For the first time since I boarded the ship, I'm not nervous. Not about the competition or the band's future. They don't know what I know. They were up onstage, under the lights, in the middle of a tunnel of sound. They couldn't hear it, but I could. Tonight I stood in the wings and watched them give the best performance of their career, and I know they have a good shot at winning. And even though I'm supposed to be grounded to my cabin, I have to follow them. I want to see the looks on their faces. I want to watch Huck make his way to the stage and take the trophy
and
the check. And nothing, not even Mr. Curtis, is going to stop me.

Russ and I follow the band, fighting our way through cruisers with towels and drinks and plates of food until we arrive back at the auditorium. I shove through the doors just in time to see Huck leap up onto the stage to thunderous applause. First Mate Kevin hands him a trophy that's nearly as tall as he is, along with a large white envelope.

Huck hoists the trophy over his head and waves at the rest of the band to join him onstage. They clamber up after him until Kevin is practically mobbed.

“They won!” I say, turning to Russ and flinging myself into his arms. I plant another kiss on his lips, surprised at how normal it feels. Russ pulls back and points toward the stage.

“I think
we
won,” he says. I turn and see Huck scanning the crowd. When he spots me wrapped up in Russ, he points at the trophy and waves us up to join everyone.

I take Russ by the hand and pull him down the aisle with me. We're almost to the stage when a sequined body steps out into the aisle. Demi is holding a slightly smaller trophy in her hands, but the tears from earlier are gone.

“Nice job, band geek,” she says, but a friendly smile warms her face.

“It was them,” I say, giving her a one-armed hug around her trophy. “I wasn't there.”

“Take your glory, Liza,” she says matter-of-factly. “You know you were there all along. You just needed to take a step back to prove it.”

I feel the tears start to well in my eyes, but she swats at me. “No tears, geek! That's my job,” she says with a hand on her hip. “Now get up there and claim your prize! I need to get back to my girls.”

She nods at the Athenas, still in their sequins. They're passing around their smaller trophy, shrugging and looking sour. Coming in second must be a new experience for them, and for Demi too. I give her a quick squeeze, then head toward the stage.

I climb up, Russ close behind, and try to stay off to the side of the crowd. But my friends pull me into the middle until I'm face to face with Huck and the trophy.

“You know I can't take
all
the credit, right?” he says, his nose wrinkling in a smile.

“You guys have no idea what this means,” I say, pointing to the check in Huck's hand. I can feel a lump forming in my throat, and my eyes start to fill. “I mean, this is huge. This is the reason that we can…that we can…” I break off as the words crack in my throat.

Hillary steps out of the group. “Liza, we know,” she says. I glance up at her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, the edge of her tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her concert dress. “We
know,
” she says again, one eyebrow raised.

I look around at the group and notice their smiles are wider than a regular win would suggest. Molly and Ryan have their arms around each other, and Andrew is behind Clarice, holding her tight. The percussionists are all bobbing their heads, and the flutes have their hands clasped in a long chain.

“You
knew
?” I ask, and they all nod, a few “duhs” rising from the crowd. “But how?”

Hillary swings around next to me and bumps my hip with hers. “Well, we knew
something
was up when you went all psycho over needing to win first place in the competition,” she says.

“And then that Lenny guy told us at breakfast the other day,” Ryan pipes up from the back. “By the way? That guy's an ass.”

“So I've heard.” I laugh, and Russ gives my hip a squeeze. “I thought if I kept it from you guys, you'd be more natural. You wouldn't freak out.”

“And how did that work out for you, Liza?” Huck asks, tipping the trophy until the little gold band director on top bops me on the nose.

“Yeah, yeah,
you're
the boss now,” I say, shoving it playfully back at him.

Huck glances around the crowd, shoving the envelope deep into his pocket. “Only thanks to your letter.” He takes a pause and we look into each other's eyes and I know, even if I don't deserve it, that he has forgiven me. “So now that we've had our after-school-special moment,” he says, hoisting the trophy, “how 'bout we go party?”

A cheer rises from the group, and the grins grow wider. As we file out of the auditorium, Sofia pokes her head out of the banquet room across the hall. A sculpted gray curl falls out of her elegant updo and lands in her face. She blows it away with her lower lip out, and then turns to us. “I hear there's cause for celebration?” she asks.

“There
is,
” I reply, pointing at Huck and the trophy.

“Well, this is the place for celebrations!” she says. She pops the door open with her hip and gestures us in. Through the doorway, I can see that the room has been converted into a giant wedding venue.

As my bandmates gather around me, Sofia's eyes go to Russ, who's waiting, still dripping. His blue eyes are trained on me, a wide smile on his face.

“So I take it from the moony smile that strapping young man is giving you that everything worked out?”

I grin at her. If I weren't still soaked from the pool, I'd throw my arms around her and give her a hug. “You were right after all,” I say. “Are you sure you want a bunch of high school kids to crash your wedding?”

First of all, in a sea of stiff black fabric, we're all more dressed for a funeral than a wedding. Plus, I've seen these guys at a buffet. They can
eat.
She may need to order a second wedding cake.

“Darling, the more the merrier!” she says with a wink. “That's life lesson number two.”

With Russ on one side of me, my hand clasped in his, and Huck and the trophy on the other side, I know I have every reason to heed Sofia's advice. So I tug Russ through the door behind me, gesturing for everyone to follow.

Sofia's party-planning skills apparently took a page right out of her own personal philosophy book, because there's more than enough food and cake to feed the marching band, the Athenas, and probably an entire football team. The room is filled with elegantly dressed partygoers in pastel silks and chiffons and crisp dark suits, the ladies with elegant floral arrangements on their wrists or pinned to the front of their dresses. Some are scattered about the various round banquet tables, munching on wedding cake and sipping from champagne flutes, but most of the guests are gathered on the parquet dance floor just to my left. They're paired off, swaying to the sounds of a gentle jazz band. A few of the more ambitious couples perform more elaborate box steps, spins, and dips, but all wear wide, sparkling grins, heads thrown back in laughter as they move about the floor. In the center of the crowd is a group of women who seem to be elbowing and jostling for position while trying to act nonchalant. Sofia stands on a raised platform in front of the jazz band, a circle of white and pale pink roses atop her head.

The band stops, and all the couples turn toward the front with a round of applause. The lights all dim save for the ones over the stage, casting Sofia in a swath of warm light. When the crowd quiets, she looks around, raising a bouquet of roses that match the ones on her head.

As soon as Sofia spots me standing just inside the door, she gives me a wink and a smile. Then she turns her back to the crowd and tosses her bouquet. Only it's a bit more than a toss. It's a full-body, two-handed heave, and the bouquet soars high over the crowd. It's coming straight at me, so I raise my hands to block it from beaning me in the face, and it lands right in my grasp.

Rose petals rain down onto my sneakers, and about forty well-coiffed heads whip around to see who stole the bride's bouquet.

I peer through the flowers at the looks that start as confusion and soon turn to frustration. You do
not
mess with a single woman's bouquet, apparently, but I was only trying to keep from getting smacked in the face with a floral arrangement. I make an
oops
face at the crowd and attempt a shrug.

“Ah, my dear young friend Liza here is the lucky catcher of the bouquet!” Sofia chirps into the microphone perched in front of a saxophone player. “And now it is time for a dance! Who will dance with our lovely Liza?”

I turn to Huck. “Ready to cut a rug?”

Huck is still in his concert tuxedo, so he fits right into the crowd of wedding reception guests. In my frayed cutoffs and T-shirt, still sticking to my body from the pool, we're an oddly matched pair, but I don't care. I fling my arms around his neck. The bouquet smacks him in the back of the head, and I hear him chuckle.

“No need to resort to violence, Liza,” he says, pulling away just enough to settle me into a slow-dance pose. “I'll dance with you.”

“Thanks, Huck,” I say, my words drowned out by the jazz band moving into a version of “At Last” by Etta James. I lean in to whisper an apology. “I never should have talked to Curtis about cutting you. You're the heart and soul of the band, and even if you weren't, you're my best friend. And friends don't do that to friends. I'm so,
so
sorry.”

“I get it,” he says, his eyes downcast. “I suck at oboe. That's not news. I just never thought I'd hear it from you.”

“But I didn't care,” I tell him, giving him a light squeeze at the back of his neck. “The band without you isn't the band. And you proved that up there tonight. And that's what I was trying to tell Mr. Curtis when you overheard.”

“So you snuck out! I wondered if there was a jail cell strong enough to hold you,” he says, wagging a finger at me. “We were good, huh?”

“Better than good! More like incredible.
You
were incredible,” I say. I tap him on the chest and feel it puff up in response.

“Yeah, I didn't suck,” he says. “Thanks for the encouragement, by the way.”

I shrug. “You didn't need it.”

Huck stops shifting from foot to foot and drops his arm, reaching into his back pocket. He produces my baton and holds it out to me. “I believe this is yours?”

I shake my head and push his hand back. “No way. That's all yours now. You are a way better drum major than I was.”

Huck cocks his head. “You know, if I'm drum major, I'm going to need a partner in crime,” he says. He spins me out with his left arm, then jerks me back in until my back is to his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist. “You game?”

I wouldn't have it any other way.

We dance through the end of the song; then the band kicks into Sister Sledge's “We Are Family,” and the crowd explodes. Anyone left at their table is up and on the dance floor, hands waving and booties shaking. An elderly man who looks like he hasn't had his own teeth since sometime in the last millennium waltzes by, fingers waving in the air, his head tossed back in a big guffaw. A woman who looks to be his wife, or maybe just an admirer, follows him, flashing a mischievous smile as she gooses him on the behind.

“Don't get frisky, Lydia!” he calls over his shoulder, but he turns and winks at her in a way that simultaneously warms my heart and turns my stomach.

I see Sofia through the crowd getting dipped by husband number four, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone look happier in my life.

Huck follows my sightline, and when he spots Sofia and her husband mid-dip, he grabs me, pulls me in tight, and dips me low, too. I let out a laugh that comes straight from the gut. Huck gives me a tug and I roll back up to standing. I have to stop for a moment and blink through the head rush, and when my vision clears, I find myself staring at a tall blond football player in a tux.

Huck steps away so Russ can cut in, right as the band moves into a slow song I don't recognize. Russ grabs my hand and pulls me in with a spin and a dip that practically has our noses bumping. I throw my head back in a full-body laugh. I haven't felt this happy, this
relaxed,
in I don't know how long.

Russ, it turns out, is quite the dancer. He explains that his dad, in an effort to improve his coordination on the field, signed him up for a ballroom dance class. Russ threads the fingers of one hand through mine and sets the other firmly on my waist. While most everyone else under the age of sixty-five sways from one foot to the other like we're at a middle school dance, Russ leads me around the floor in some kind of smooth two-step that has me both grinning and swooning.

“Hey, where did you get a tux on such short notice?” I ask.

“It's Mr. Curtis's,” he says. “Turns out we're the same size. He brought it in case he needed to conduct, I guess. Luckily he didn't.”

I glance over at Huck, who is slow dancing with the enormous trophy. Lucky indeed.

The jazz band transitions easily into a bouncy Latin rhythm. Huck hoists the trophy in the air and starts dancing through the crowd with a fierce butt waggle. It takes only a few beats for Hillary to join him, her hands on his hips, her head tossed back as she mirrors his booty shake. More and more people join up, band members and Athenas mixed in with the wedding guests. They snake through the crowd, grabbing people. The line makes its way past us, and I see a familiar gray head shaking in time to the music.

“You moving forward, my dear?” Sofia calls out.

“Yes, ma'am!” I say, and reach for her waist, pulling Russ along behind me. We shimmy and shake and trot around the dance floor. During the drum solo, I feel Russ lean in and plant a soft kiss on the back of my neck, and I lean into him. But I'm careful that, even in his arms, I keep moving forward.

Because if there's one thing I've learned from
Destiny,
it's that you never know what's going to happen next…and it just might change your life.