Antsy Floats by Neal Shusterman

“This is your chance to have foods you’d never order in real life, like frog’s legs and rabbit.”
    To which my mom said, “If any of you order rabbit, I’m disowning you.”
    I had the venison and told her I was eating Bambi.
    After the main course, music began to play, and the waiters left everyone’s desserts melting at the serving stations. Then, standing in the aisles, they led the whole dining room in what must be a cruise ship’s version of the seventh-inning stretch. In other words, they did the Macarena.
    The Macarena is one of those things that has fallen into that funk-filled purgatory of purged pop culture. You know the place—it’s a pit of eye-rolling despair filled with all the stuff that’s too worn out to be trendy, but not old enough to be nostalgic, so it’s just plain embarrassing. But few things could be more embarrassing than my parents getting up to do the Macarena with the waiters.
    â€œShoot me now,” said my sister. “In the head, so it’s quick.”
    I pantomimed blowing her brains out, which both of us found disturbingly satisfying, and, with an end to the Macarena nowhere in sight, I decided it was time. I excused myself and left, in search of the Neptune Lounge.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    The Neptune Lounge was beneath the waterline on Zero Deck. It was a bar with dramatic lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out under the sea. I suppose while in port, you had a great underwater view of fish and dolphins and stuff, but while the ship was moving, it was all just churning water—which I found hypnotically cool.
    Tilde was already there, sitting at a little table, eating wasabi almonds out of a glass bowl. She was still wearing the same clothes she had worn in the Jacuzzi—air dried now, and I wondered how she had the nerve to sit in a lounge where everyone else was dressed fancy.
    I sat down across from her. “So I’m here,” I said. “What do you want?”
    â€œRelax,” she said. “Enjoy the view.” She held out the bowl to me. “Nuts?”
    â€œYes, you are.”
    Insulted, she pulled the bowl back. “None for you.”
    I leaned a little bit closer and kept my voice down. “I don’t get it. Aren’t you worried that you’ll get caught?”
    â€œThe bartender and I have an understanding. He doesn’t tell on me, and I don’t tell about the liquor I saw him sneaking back to his room.”
    â€œWhat, are you blackmailing the whole ship?”
    She tossed a couple of almonds into her mouth instead of answering me, then tilted her head to one side. “You smell como una mofeta , Enzo. Like a skunk.”
    â€œNever mind that.”
    She smiled. “I like it. It means you are living a full life. Lots of action!”
    â€œYeah, I’m a regular action hero. Are you gonna tell me why I’m here?”
    She paused for a moment, studying my face, then finally she got down to business. “I need a lookout. Someone to make sure the coast is clear when I go into cabins.”
    â€œAn accomplice, you mean. To help you steal.”
    â€œCall it what you like, as long as you do the job.”
    â€œNo!” I said. “What, are you crazy? No!”
    I had raised my voice, and a couple drinking martinis a few tables away glanced over at us.
    Tilde threw an almond and it hit me in the eye. “¡Idiota!” she said—a word that probably sounded the same in every language. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to use your indoor voice?”
    I just stared at her, my eye watering from the wasabi, so it looked like I was winking. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to steal?”
    â€œConsider my proposal,” she said, winking back, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, so close her lips were practically touching it. “You have a day to change your mind, or you fail.”
    I