Once Upon a Cruise

by Anna Staniszewski

  “Don’t worry. I won’t throw up on you,” I mutter, but I’m really not so sure this time.

  “All right. Let’s get you onstage.” He sticks his pig head back on and holds his elbow out as if he’s going to escort me.

  “Um …” My feet are still screaming at me to run, but Piggy Ian is blocking my way.

  “Places!” the stage manager is calling. “Places, everyone!”

  “Come on,” Ian says. “We have to go.” Then he clamps my wrist with his furry paw and practically deposits me onto the mattress in the corner of the stage. “Break a leg,” I think I hear him whisper before he disappears behind the bushes on the other side of the stage, but I’m too petrified to say anything back.

  Instead, I lie sprawled on the mattress, paralyzed as I hear the murmur of the crowd on the other side of the curtain. All of a sudden, I’m back in elementary school, when I stepped forward to say my one line and blanked. I stood there, totally frozen, thinking about how much I was disappointing the teacher and the other kids and, most importantly, my parents, who were both sitting in the front row. And finally, when I opened my mouth to say something, I burst into tears instead. Then I ran off the stage and refused to go back on.

  That disaster was in front of an audience of only about fifty people. There are way more than that here tonight. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.

  The thought is too much, and I start to feel so woozy that all I can do is close my eyes. As I hear the faint sound of the curtain opening for Act I and feel the heat of the stage lights as they come on, everything around me goes black.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you fainted!” Katy says, laughing as I tell her about my big stage debut. We’re squished on her bed in our pajamas, having the cruise equivalent of a slumber party. One perk of having a roommate is getting to dish with someone at the end of a crazy day.

  “Luckily no one noticed,” I say.

  Katy giggles. “Everyone probably thought you were really committing to your character.”

  I hide my face in a pillow, my cheeks hot from embarrassment. I didn’t wake up until about halfway through the play. Thankfully, I didn’t startle awake and bolt up in bed. Instead, reality slowly seeped back in, and I somehow managed to keep it together for the rest of the show. I guess I sort of have Piggy Ian to thank for that. If he hadn’t dragged me onstage, I don’t think I would have made it there at all.

  “At least the audience seemed to like the show, from what I could see.” Even when I wasn’t passed out from fright, it was still hard to watch the performance when my eyes were supposed to be closed.

  “I heard people raving about the Pig King and Lady Lovely dance,” Katy says.

  “They got a standing ovation!” That was the big shocker of the night. From the snippets I saw of Piggy Ian and his partner, a quiet girl named Faria, prancing across the stage, I had to admit they were really good. I actually believed the two of them were their characters, unlike Smith, who was just Smith dressed up to look like a prince. “Too bad Smith is more Pinocchio than prince.”

  “He’s not so bad,” Katy says softly.

  I laugh. “If this cruise ship thing doesn’t work out, he might have a career in Hollywood ahead of him. Maybe they’ll cast him in some cruise ship disaster movie!”

  I expect Katy to giggle at the idea, but she’s suddenly gone oddly quiet as she fusses with the hem of her pajama pants.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Um, so … you and Smith are pretty close, right?” she says, still not looking at me.

  “Not by choice,” I say, shuddering at the memory of his slug lips on mine. “Why?”

  “I was wondering if you thought he might like someone like me.”

  I stare at her blankly for a second before what she’s saying sinks in. Then I almost fall off the bed. “Wait, you like Smith?” What is it about being stuck in the middle of the ocean that makes everyone start going gaga over one another? Myself included, I guess.

  “Shh!” Katy looks around as if paparazzi might jump out of the walls. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know if I really like him yet, but he’s been smiling at me a lot since we got on board. I’ve only talked to him about my dog, though. I was too nervous to say anything else!”

  “You really like him?” I can’t help asking. “He’s so—”

  “Cute?” Katy chirps. “And talented. And heavenly! Even his hair is like a halo around his head.”

  I choke back a laugh. Katy is really serious. “He’d be a fool not to like you,” I tell her, and I mean it.

  She gives me a bright smile and flops back on her bed. “You should have come out with the mermaids tonight. We’d find you your very own hottie in no time!”

  “I was too tired after the show,” I say. So far, every day of the cruise has felt about a month long. “And anyway, there’s already someone I kind of like.” It’s weird to confide in someone other than Alyssa and Brooke, but I find myself spilling everything about Neil—the soulful stare we exchanged and the notebook and how cute his knees look in tights …

  Katy’s eyes get bigger and bigger as I tell her about him. “It’s like destiny, the two of you winding up on this ship together. So romantic! You have to talk to him!”

  “Trust me. I’m working on it.”

  Not long after the sun comes up, I hear a soft knock at the door. Resting against the doorframe is a package from Mom, along with a note.

  I had a great idea for a new name for the Oven Nightclub! If we want it to be a teen hot spot, let’s call it the Hot Spot! Can you do me a favor and put this temporary sign above the door before your class this morning? Thanks, Ains! You’re the best!

  She’s included a taped-together paper sign that she clearly made on her computer and printed out. I guess when she says “temporary,” she means it. I’m not sure the sign or the new name will help get people my age to check out the club, but if Mom is excited about it then I’ll give it a try. That’s what you do when you’re someone’s rock, right?

  I get dressed, grab the towel-folding book, and sneak out of the room without waking Katy up. Then I walk through the ship, enjoying the rare quiet and snapping pictures of the water, the clouds, and even some of the ship. Now that everything’s freshly painted, it actually looks pretty good.

  When I get to the Oven, I decide to go inside and grab a smoothie before I get to work. The place is completely empty, but it still takes the guy behind the counter, whose name tag says “Matthieu,” forever to make my drink. When I take a sip, though, I actually gasp.

  “This is amazing!”

  “Merci!” Matthieu says in a thick French accent as he tucks one of his dreadlocks back into his ponytail. “Blueberry, mango, and peanut butter swirl. I made it special for you.”

  I laugh. “If the smoothies are so good, why doesn’t anyone come here?” I look around at the cozy couches. This looks like the perfect place to hang out.

  Matthieu subtly nods toward one of the Spies in the corner who’s scanning the room like she’s looking for troublemakers.

  “Yeah, I guess having people like that around isn’t the best way to get kids my age to hang out somewhere,” I whisper. “Maybe we could put up some more decorations, liven things up a little.” The place is pretty bare, and even though the couches are nice, there’s not much to do besides hang out and wait for your smoothie. No video games or TVs or anything. And the horrible show tunes playing over the speakers aren’t helping.

  “We do what they tell us,” he says. “And they say keep it as is.”

  “Well, you’ll be getting a new name today,” I tell him, and then explain about my mom’s plan. He looks as skeptical about the idea as I feel. “Maybe I could put up some more decorations to go with the theme.” Technically, Mom only told me to put up a sign, but she didn’t say anything about not putting up other things, right?

  Matthieu shrugs. “There’s colored paper under the counter, if you want to use it.”

  A couple
crew members come in, and Matthieu starts making more smoothies while I quickly cut out some paper palm trees and other tropical shapes. When I put them up on the walls, they definitely look cheesy, but at least they help add a little color to the place.

  “Ready to hang up a sign?” someone says in my ear.

  I spin around to find Piggy Ian standing behind me, grinning that obnoxious grin of his.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your mom asked me to come help you.” He holds up a stepladder, and I realize that as much as I want to tell him I don’t need his help (again), I actually can’t put up the Hot Spot sign without it.

  “Fine. Let’s go,” I say.

  When we’re outside, I grab the ladder from Ian and climb up to slap the sign over the club’s entrance. Too late, I realize that I forgot to put tape on the back of the paper first. He seems to be able to read my mind, though, because he hands up some pre-rolled pieces. Ugh.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “You really don’t like people helping you, do you?” Ian asks, holding the ladder steady.

  “That’s not true. I let you practically push me out onstage last night, didn’t I?” I clear my throat. “Which … by the way … thanks. I … I owe you.” I hate to admit it, but if Ian hadn’t been there, I’d probably still be hyperventilating in the wings.

  “Will you be okay for the show tonight?” he asks.

  “I’ll be fine,” I insist, but the truth is, I have no idea. And judging by his raised eyebrows, he can tell that I’m lying. I finish hanging up the sign and climb back down. “Well, see ya,” I say.

  “Wait!” Ian calls after me. “How about a trade? I make sure you’re onstage when you’re supposed to be, and you help me run lines.”

  “Isn’t that what Faria is for?” From what I’ve seen, the girl playing Lady Lovely opposite his Pig King is a great actress and dancer.

  “Have you ever heard her talk outside of the play?” he asks. When I shake my head, he says, “Exactly. She refuses to speak except when she’s onstage. So unless we’re at rehearsal or in the show, she won’t open her mouth.”

  “I don’t really have time,” I say, which is true. It’s also true that I’d really rather not spend any more time with Piggy Ian than necessary.

  “Come on, please?” he says, and I’m surprised at how desperate he sounds. “I can’t mess this up. The more I practice, the better.”

  Wow, he sounds like he means it. “Fine,” I say. “You help me and I help you.”

  “Awesome!” he says. “See you back here after your class?”

  “Wait, we’re starting right away?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, stuff happens really fast on this ship,” he says. “You’ve gotta keep up.” Then he does a dorky finger-gun thing at me, complete with pew pew pew sounds as if he’s a cowboy or something, before he disappears out the door. Ugh.

  I duck back into the Hot Spot to grab the towel-folding book and freeze when I spot Neil settling in on one of the couches with his Moleskine notebook.

  He’s only a few feet away from me! I have to get a picture of him to show Alyssa and Brooke. I hold my breath and then oh-so-subtly take my camera out of my pocket and snap a picture. He leans back in his seat, and I dive behind a decorative column.

  For a second, I consider going over to talk to him, but I totally chicken out. Instead, I start to sneak away. But then I see Neil waving me over, a big smile on his face. I can’t believe it. He actually wants to talk to me.

  With the towel-folding book hugged to my chest like armor, I bravely venture the few steps over to him and mumble, “Neil? Um, hi.”

  “Hey! How are things going?” he says.

  “Good. How about you?”

  “Good!”

  “You’re Lydia’s daughter, right? Ashley?”

  “Ainsley.”

  “Right. Ainsley.” He gives me a sparkling smile.

  There’s a long pause, and I scramble to come up with something interesting to say. Finally, I point to his notebook and ask, “What are you writing in there?”

  Please say song lyrics. Please say song lyrics!

  “Vocabulary words,” he says.

  Oh. “Like for an English test?” Is he doing summer school? I didn’t know you could do that in the middle of the ocean.

  He laughs. “No, for the SATs. I memorize lists and then write them from memory.”

  “Any good words today?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going.

  He glances at his list. “The newest ones are tangent, blatant, and plethora.”

  “Oh, those are easy. ‘My roommate Katy goes on a plethora of blatant tangents about her dog, Snoopy.’ ”

  Wait. Did I just try to wow him with my vocabulary skills?

  Amazingly, he doesn’t point at me and yell, “Nerd!” Instead, he says, “Maybe you could help me study sometime.”

  “Really?” He wants me, a junior high student, to help him with his SAT words?

  “Sure,” he says, smiling again. “You seem pretty smart. Besides, I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.”

  “Y-you have?”

  His smile widens. “Totally. Maybe we could—”

  But he doesn’t have a chance to finish because at that moment the Spy who was staked out in the corner comes over and hisses, “Ainsley Parker, aren’t you supposed to be teaching a class right now?”

  Gah! How do they do that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this woman before today. How does she know who I am? And why did she have to interrupt right when it sounded as if Neil might actually ask me out on a date?

  “Sorry, I have to go,” I tell Neil, hoping he sees how very sorry I am.

  As I rush toward the Fairy Fun Zone, I can’t help wishing I’d never agreed to do the silly towel-folding class. Neil and I could be sitting around drinking smoothies and chatting right now.

  When I get to the class, I’m expecting the turnout to be about the same as yesterday—or smaller, considering the fact that a lot of people will be heading ashore later today. Instead, the same kids have all returned, and they’ve brought friends. Their parents look relieved when I show up. In fact, they can’t seem to get out of there fast enough. I guess spending all that time with your kids can be a little much.

  “We heard we could do anything we wanted in this class!” a little boy with a mop of orange curls says. “Can we have a food fight?”

  Uh-oh. “Do you have any food?” I ask him.

  His face falls. “No.”

  “I don’t either. Maybe we’ll just stick with towel folding, okay?” I turn to the group and call out, “We’re making magic mice today, everyone!”

  Before I went to sleep last night, I practiced making a few of the easiest shapes in the towel-folding book. I finally decided on a mouse, since it only took me three tries to make it look right.

  “Mice?” Nathan says, adjusting his sun hat. Once again, he’s in long sleeves and pants even though I’m sweating in shorts. Maybe he’s part reptile or something and can’t regulate his body temperature. “What’s magical about mice?”

  “Didn’t you ever see Cinderella?” I ask, biting my lip the minute the words are out of my mouth. I can’t believe I just used one of the Forbidden Names! I guess I’m still a little frazzled after my conversation with Neil.

  “I’m not allowed to watch anything that’s not educational,” Nathan says.

  Meanwhile, Jorman, the one who insisted that snakes couldn’t be girls, chimes in with, “That movie’s for girls.”

  “And mice are for babies!” Nathan adds.

  I sigh. “What about rats? Are rats better than mice?”

  The orange-haired boy looks uncertain. “Maybe.”

  “Yes,” Nathan chimes in. “Rats are very intelligent.”

  “Well, then, we’re making rats,” I announce.

  “Are they magical rats?” Sophia asks in a quivering voice. Apparently, the idea of rats being magical terrifies her.

  “Nop
e, not magical,” I say. “They’re friendly rats. Super rats! They can talk, and they know how to build things, and they help other animals because they were part of a scientific experiment that made them really smart.” I realize I’m describing the plot of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, one of my favorite books when I was younger. I’d have my dad read it to me over and over.

  “Rats are filthy!” another girl cries. “My grandpa says they carry diseases.”

  Sophia’s eyes get very round. “I don’t want to get sick.”

  “No, these are pretend rats,” I try to explain, but no one’s listening to me anymore.

  “I’m allergic to animal dander,” Nathan announces. “I could stop breathing if I’m around it.”

  “You’d die?” Sophia says. “My hamster died. I don’t want Nathan to die!” Then she starts to scream. And the other kids start to scream. And this time, I really might scream too.

  Then a miracle happens. Neil walks by and peers into the activity center window. He slows down as our eyes meet through the glass.

  And then he speeds up and disappears around the corner.

  Huh. Did he not see how desperate I am for some help? No, I decide. He must have not seen me. Maybe there was a glare on the window from the outside or something. Otherwise, he would have poked his head in and at least offered to help.

  I guess I’m really on my own. Which is fine. I’m no damsel in distress, right? I can figure this out.

  “Okay! Okay!” I say, flailing my arms and trying to calm everyone down. “No rats! We won’t do rats! We’ll do whatever you want! Anything!”

  That, apparently, is the magic word. The kids stop freaking out, and before I know it, they’ve pulled all the cushions off the chairs and are having the hugest pillow fight in cruise ship history. I rush around the room, making sure no one is getting hit too hard or smothered in the chaos.

  Yet again, Nathan doesn’t join in. “Too many dust mites in pillows,” he says. I actually feel kind of bad for the kid but also grateful that he’s willing to make another batch of towel animals for everyone. Instead of rodents, he makes lobsters. They come out perfectly.