Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
Ads: Link
snap.
She rolls her eyes. “Well, it can’t be him because rock stars are
always
late and we still have seven minutes.”
Still, I zip up quick and slip into my dress flats and head for the door.
Only Marissa’s right.
It’s not Darren.
Or Marko.
It’s nobody.
I look up and down the hall, but there’s nobody near our door. And I’m starting to wonder if what we’d heard was something besides a knock on the door when I notice a small, folded piece of paper down by my feet.
So I pick it up.
And open it.
SEVEN
The note is short.
And written in neat, unusual handwriting.
And it’s definitely not from housekeeping.
“What is that?” Marissa asks.
I hand it over. “An apology. I think.”
He doesn’t like to lose. Especially not to me
.
She squints at me. “You call that an apology?”
“Well, it’s not signed, and he must have run away after he slipped it under the door, so I think he thinks he’s taking a big risk telling us this much.” I give a little shrug. “So he must feel bad, right?”
Marissa frowns at the note. “This is not an apology. An apology includes the words
I’m
and
sorry
. This is an explanation. And a pretty lame one.”
I take the note back. “You’re right. And JT’s actually the one who should apologize.”
“How’d Kip even know which room was ours?”
“He must’ve seen us come out during that muster drill. He caught up to us, remember?”
“Or maybe he’s been spying on us.”
Just then there’s another knock on the door, so I brush my hair quick and hurry to open it.
“Hey, don’t you look nice!” Darren says.
So I attack him. “You didn’t tell me I had to wear a dress every night for a week!”
Marko’s right behind him, nodding. “I informed your dad that I’m not wearin’ a tie after tonight. The buffet is good enough for me.”
My eyes pop. “The buffet’s open?”
He nods. “Round the clock.”
“So why don’t we just eat there?”
Marko looks at Marissa. “Come on, join the rebellion!”
Marissa’s eyes get all big with worry. “But the dining room food is
amazing
.”
“We’ll talk about tomorrow later,” Darren says, scooping an arm around my shoulders. “Tonight, we are dining in style.”
So we head down the stairs to Deck 5 and go toward the back of the ship, then stand in line outside a glitzy dining room until Darren’s greeted by a guy in a maroon coat with
tails
and white gloves. Darren shows him his sea-pass card and Glove Guy hands us over to a short guy in a short coat that has about fifty brass buttons and no buttonholes. “Right this way,” Button Man says, and snakes us through a whole sea of white tablecloths, shiny silverware, and sparkly glasses.
The dining room is shaped like a giant donut, and you can see down a big open center section into the sparkling dining rooms on Decks 4 and 3 below. “Holy smokes,” I say, sort of under my breath.
Marko hears it, though, and goes, “Dude. I’m feeling very
Titanic
.”
“Great,” I tell him, giving him my best disgruntled-teenager eye roll, which for some reason makes him laugh.
“Here we are, sir,” Button Man says with a little bow, putting one hand out toward a U-shaped booth. Marissa scoots in from one side and I scoot in from the other, then Darren sits next to me and Marko sits next to Marissa.
The booth is padded and comfortable and has a high back, and it opens out to a big area of the dining room, so it feels like we’re in our own little zone with a front-row-center view.
“See? Not so bad,” Marissa says, straightening her already straight silverware. “Only three forks.”
“And three glasses. Why do I need three glasses?” And then I see the group of people being seated at the large table right in front of us and gasp, “No!”
Darren looks over and sees JT and Kip and the whole Kensington colony, then kind of eyes me and says, “Something happen this evening?”
Now, from the way I’d gasped and the fact that
She rolls her eyes. “Well, it can’t be him because rock stars are
always
late and we still have seven minutes.”
Still, I zip up quick and slip into my dress flats and head for the door.
Only Marissa’s right.
It’s not Darren.
Or Marko.
It’s nobody.
I look up and down the hall, but there’s nobody near our door. And I’m starting to wonder if what we’d heard was something besides a knock on the door when I notice a small, folded piece of paper down by my feet.
So I pick it up.
And open it.
SEVEN
The note is short.
And written in neat, unusual handwriting.
And it’s definitely not from housekeeping.
“What is that?” Marissa asks.
I hand it over. “An apology. I think.”
He doesn’t like to lose. Especially not to me
.
She squints at me. “You call that an apology?”
“Well, it’s not signed, and he must have run away after he slipped it under the door, so I think he thinks he’s taking a big risk telling us this much.” I give a little shrug. “So he must feel bad, right?”
Marissa frowns at the note. “This is not an apology. An apology includes the words
I’m
and
sorry
. This is an explanation. And a pretty lame one.”
I take the note back. “You’re right. And JT’s actually the one who should apologize.”
“How’d Kip even know which room was ours?”
“He must’ve seen us come out during that muster drill. He caught up to us, remember?”
“Or maybe he’s been spying on us.”
Just then there’s another knock on the door, so I brush my hair quick and hurry to open it.
“Hey, don’t you look nice!” Darren says.
So I attack him. “You didn’t tell me I had to wear a dress every night for a week!”
Marko’s right behind him, nodding. “I informed your dad that I’m not wearin’ a tie after tonight. The buffet is good enough for me.”
My eyes pop. “The buffet’s open?”
He nods. “Round the clock.”
“So why don’t we just eat there?”
Marko looks at Marissa. “Come on, join the rebellion!”
Marissa’s eyes get all big with worry. “But the dining room food is
amazing
.”
“We’ll talk about tomorrow later,” Darren says, scooping an arm around my shoulders. “Tonight, we are dining in style.”
So we head down the stairs to Deck 5 and go toward the back of the ship, then stand in line outside a glitzy dining room until Darren’s greeted by a guy in a maroon coat with
tails
and white gloves. Darren shows him his sea-pass card and Glove Guy hands us over to a short guy in a short coat that has about fifty brass buttons and no buttonholes. “Right this way,” Button Man says, and snakes us through a whole sea of white tablecloths, shiny silverware, and sparkly glasses.
The dining room is shaped like a giant donut, and you can see down a big open center section into the sparkling dining rooms on Decks 4 and 3 below. “Holy smokes,” I say, sort of under my breath.
Marko hears it, though, and goes, “Dude. I’m feeling very
Titanic
.”
“Great,” I tell him, giving him my best disgruntled-teenager eye roll, which for some reason makes him laugh.
“Here we are, sir,” Button Man says with a little bow, putting one hand out toward a U-shaped booth. Marissa scoots in from one side and I scoot in from the other, then Darren sits next to me and Marko sits next to Marissa.
The booth is padded and comfortable and has a high back, and it opens out to a big area of the dining room, so it feels like we’re in our own little zone with a front-row-center view.
“See? Not so bad,” Marissa says, straightening her already straight silverware. “Only three forks.”
“And three glasses. Why do I need three glasses?” And then I see the group of people being seated at the large table right in front of us and gasp, “No!”
Darren looks over and sees JT and Kip and the whole Kensington colony, then kind of eyes me and says, “Something happen this evening?”
Now, from the way I’d gasped and the fact that
Similar Books
