Diamonds are a Teen's Best Friend

by Allison Rushby

  “I’d better leave them here, I think,” I tell her. “I can’t take them to our cabin. Too many questions. Anyway, I don’t think they’d fit.”

  “Good idea.” Holly moves off as I dial.

  My dad picks up after half a ring (like I said, that cabin is small).

  “Hey, Dad, it’s me!” I say before he can even get a word in. “How’s it going? Working away? I thought you might be bored. Did you want to come up and watch another movie with us?” (I try not to brag about it, but I’m an excellent liar. It comes with being an only child.)

  “Oh, Nessa. You know, the strangest thing just happened . . .”

  I hold my breath, my eyes fixed on a certain point on the wall in front of me. Here it comes. He knows. He knows, and I’m grounded forever.

  “I went up to the talent quest they’re having tonight—one of my subjects is participating in it and I thought I might be able to include it in my research as she’s never really done anything like this before. Anyway, I got all the way up there when I realized I’d forgotten my glasses.”

  “Oh, um, really? Isn’t that strange. Ha ha.”

  “Hmmm? Not really. That’s not the strange thing, you see. I took a seat, just for a minute. There was some very silly act on. Two floozies dancing around the stage. But I stayed in case my subject’s act was the next one on as this one was ending.”

  Floozies? Hey! That’s not very nice. But I hold my breath again. Sometimes my dad likes to play this game—he holds off and holds off, seeing if I’ll confess to whatever I’ve done before he gets to the kicker. It’s torture. I’m sure they used something like it in the Spanish Inquisition. Torture by father.

  “And then you know what happened?”

  “No,” I squeak, just like I’d squeaked my last line on stage. “Um, no,” I cough, repeating the word in my normal voice.

  “This . . . this thing flew out and hit me on the head. I’m holding it now. But Nessa, for the life of me, I can’t make out what it is. It’s pink and made of plastic—a soft plastic—and on one side there’s a little raised lump. Very strange. A very strange object indeed.”

  I suck my breath in hard. Oh boy. He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. And this is too much. Too much! I try very, very hard not to laugh now. Because my dad might not know what that raised lump is, but I do—he’s talking about the little fake nipple! Oh, no. I’m going to laugh again any second now. And just when I think I’m going to lose it, the phone is wrenched from my hand.

  “William, how are you?! . . . Yes, we’re having a lovely time thanks . . . No, she’s not being any trouble at all . . . Really? That’s strange . . . Soft plastic, did you say? With a raised lump? . . . Well, my advice would be to throw it out. After all, you never know where it’s been. Anyway, must go. Nessa’s starting the next movie up. I’ll see you later!”

  I sink down to the floor, as does Holly when she’s put the phone down. It’s like our knees can’t hold us up anymore.

  “Soft plastic!” Holly looks at me.

  “Raised lump!” we say together. And I think we’re about to lose it one more time (seriously, I think I’ve broken several ribs from all the laughing I’ve been doing this evening), when there’s another knock on the door. This time from the door that joins Holly’s room to Marc’s.

  That shuts us up. Fast.

  “Holly! Holly Thelma Isles! Are you in there?” It’s Marc.

  “Thelma?” I look over at her. “Thelma?!” It’s nice to know someone else gets the middle name treatment besides me. But Thelma? And from her nephew?!

  We do the paralyzed thing again. Honestly, we’re like a pair of deer in the headlights (or should that be spotlights!) tonight.

  “I know you’re in there! I’m coming in!”

  Still paralyzed, sitting on the floor, the two of us watch the doorknob turn. As the door itself starts to open, Holly accidentally snorts. Which, of course, sets me off again.

  When I finally finish with my latest set of giggles, Marc is standing over both of us.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, looking first at Holly, then at me. From the tone in his voice, you’d think we were doing something criminal. Not sitting on the floor in Holly’s suite yukking it up.

  “We’re . . . we’re just . . .” Holly starts.

  “We’re just having a good time.” I give him an exasperated look.

  He gives me one right back. “Oh, come on, Nessa. How dumb do you think I am? It’s all over the ship. I didn’t mean what are you doing here, in Holly’s suite, on the floor, laughing like a pair of hyenas. I know exactly what you’re doing here. You’re hiding out. What I meant was, what do you think you’re doing making complete asses of yourselves at the talent quest? I mean, honestly, Holly. You’re supposed to be lying low. Not shaking your booty all over the ship.”

  Holly and I collapse into a fit of giggles again. Shaking your booty? And what’s the plural of booty, anyway? Booties?

  “Oh, stop it,” he says, crossly.

  Holly and I both bite our lips and do as we’re told.

  “I can’t believe you!” Marc throws one hand up.

  Holly sighs then. “Marc, it was completely innocent. Well, except for the bit where Nessa lost her chicken fillet!”

  Marc’s eyes move to my chest for a second and then zip away again. Hey! Do you mind? “Thanks a lot,” I say, and hit Holly on the arm.

  “Sorry.”

  It’s Marc who snorts now. “Well, you’ll definitely be sorry tomorrow. When the photos are all over the papers.”

  There’s a pause and then Holly shrugs. “They’re always all over the papers whatever I do. At least I’ll be looking like I’m having a good time after this break-up. Last time it was all horrible photos of me looking cold and miserable in coffee shops in Vienna without make-up on.”

  I watch her expression as she says this—the flip of her hand, the toss of her hair—and realize this is what she was talking about before. The “devil may care” thing. Ah, so that’s what she meant.

  “Holly, you just can’t . . .” Marc starts, but then there’s a knock on the door to the suite. All three of our heads whip around to face the sound.

  Holly goes to get up, but Marc shakes his head again. “I’ll get it.”

  He goes over, opens the door and I hear him talking to someone who replies curtly. There’s no mistaking the voice, though.

  It’s Antonio.

  When the door opens fully and he sees us, he ignores Marc, pushing past him to get into the room. He strides over to us (Antonio seems to do everything at great speed, even walking and talking and flower sending) and when he reaches us, claps his hands in delight. “Bellissima! Bellissima! The performance of the century! Now, we will go out and celebrate. Yes? The night, she is young and full of promise!”

  “Uh uh, not so fast. I don’t think anybody’s going anywhere.” Marc steps between him and the two of us on the floor.

  Antonio takes a step back, and he and Marc look at each other for a moment or two as if they’re about to butt horns. Before they can, however, Holly stands up and then gives me a hand up as well. “You know what?” she says to no-one in particular. “I’ve had a really good time tonight. I’m sick of worrying about what people are going to say, or think, or write about me. If I worried about that, I’d go to bed right now, like a good girl. But I don’t feel like going to bed. So I’m going out, with Antonio.” Her eyes flash rebelliously at Marc when she says this. “And I’m going to have a good time.”

  Antonio takes a step toward Holly and claps his hands again joyously. “But of course we will have a good time! Everyone has a good time with Antonio!”

  So I’ve heard, I think. (Cruise gossip travels fast.)

  Holly turns to me now. “How about you, Nessa?”

  I pause. Like they say, two’s company, three’s a crowd. “Oh, no. I can’t. I have to go back and check in with my dad and get my good girl hours up. Thanks for the flowers, though, Antonio. They’re bea
utiful.”

  “Oh!” Holly jumps and we all turn and look at her. For a second, I wonder if something’s bitten her. “Oh, um, yes, I just meant . . .” And then, right before my eyes, all of our eyes, she changes again. Morphs into this completely different person. “Darling, they’re beautiful!” she simpers. “They smell divine. You’re a pet. A complete pet.” She reaches over and rests a hand on Antonio’s chest for just a second too long.

  I look over at Antonio and see that he’s happily lapping up every word and is ready to go back for at least six more courses. But Marc . . . uh oh. His face is scrunched up to the point where he looks like he needs his appendix removed in under thirty seconds, or else.

  As for me, I don’t quite know what to think. It’s like when I was watching Holly this afternoon at badminton. Holly was putting Nessa’s Lessons in Love into action and they seemed to be working on the guys. A little too well, in my opinion. So why, if everything is working out as planned, and everyone’s getting what they want (well, except for Marc), does it feel so wrong?

  “I’ll just freshen myself up,” Holly continues. “I won’t be a minute.”

  Hmmm . . . time to go, I think, as Marc’s face gets even scrunchier.

  “Yes, thanks for the flowers, Antonio,” I say again, quickly this time, and Antonio looks down, remembering there are other people in the room besides him and Holly.

  “It is my pleasure, littlest petal.” He bends over, and before I know what’s happening, has kissed me first on one cheek, then the other, then on the first cheek again.

  “Oh, ah . . .” I’m not quite sure where to look. Note to Nessa: In future dating life, beware of Italians. They make your head spin. “I’d, um, best be going.” I start toward the door. “Thanks for the great evening, Holly. Bye Antonio. Bye Marc.” I wave at Holly and Antonio and then walk even faster toward the door when I see Marc’s expression. Now he’s moved on from appendix-removal land and looks like Mount Vesuvius on a hot summer’s day. As in, about to erupt.

  When I close the suite door behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Phew. What an evening. In fact, it’s turned into such an evening I have to stand there, leaning against the door for a minute or two, trying to get my head together as I think back over Holly and my number at the talent quest, my dad turning up, the flying chicken fillet, Dad not spotting us (hello?! I still can’t believe my luck!), the flowers, and now Marc about to have an epic meltdown. Definitely an evening to remember! And I guess we’ll see how successful our song and dance routine was tomorrow—when just about every guy on the ship will have an icebreaker to approach Holly with. I can almost see it now: “I loved your act, Holly!”; “That number was a scream, Holly”; “I had such a laugh, Holly!”

  I push myself off the door and start down the corridor. But I only get as far as the elevators when I hear footsteps running toward me. I turn to see Marc. “Oh, um, hi.”

  “Don’t ‘Um, hi’ me.” He still looks furious.

  “What?”

  “Was this all your idea?”

  I don’t say anything. After the show we’ve just witnessed in there, it’s probably not the best time to tell Marc about Nessa’s Lessons in Love. One, it’s a girl thing, however misguided it’s starting to feel. Two, I don’t think he’d be very understanding.

  “I thought as much.”

  I shrug and try to play it cool. “I just thought the talent quest would be fun. We both had a good time. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “The problem, littlest petal,” Marc spits, “is that Holly’s not supposed to be making an exhibition of herself. The problem is that she is, like I said, supposed to be lying low. Taking a break. You don’t know how the media works.”

  I shrug again, which I can see just makes Marc even more furious. “You’re not Holly’s keeper. Isn’t it her decision to go in the talent quest or not?” I feel a little bit bad saying this, because I know Holly didn’t enter the competition for all the right reasons, but Marc’s totally over-reacting.

  “Of course it’s her decision, but it’s probably not a good idea to encourage her. And why is she acting so strangely, huh? What’s up with that?”

  “Strangely?”

  “Oh, come on, Nessa. You can’t say you didn’t see that in there. With Antonio. And I overheard some people today talking about how they’d seen her playing badminton. It sounded like she was acting like an idiot. It’s as if she’s turning into this whole other person.”

  I look away. “Maybe she’s just having a good time . . .”

  Now it’s Marc who pauses. “Wait a second. You were there, weren’t you, this afternoon?”

  Um, um. “For a while.”

  “Has this all got something to do with you as well, her acting strangely?”

  Oh, my.

  “Nessa, what’s going on?”

  I take a deep breath and face Marc squarely. “Marc, you’re being silly. There’s nothing ‘going on’ as you put it. Holly’s just having a good time. That’s what cruises are for, right? To have a good time. Let your hair down. Act ridiculously on stage. Just lighten up, okay?”

  Silence.

  Marc’s eyes narrow until they’re small slits. “Look, I know you think you’re Holly’s best buddy and—”

  I butt in, fast, wanting to stop his train of thought right here. “No I don’t. Let’s face it, we’ll probably never see each other again after next week. The talent quest entry was just an idea that popped into my head. I thought we’d have fun. That’s all, Marc. Really, that’s all.” Well, this is half true—have fun and meet all the men on the ship, that is. I have to look away again, I’m telling so many lies.

  “Yeah, right. As far as I can see you’ve had a few too many good ideas lately. I just don’t get it, Nessa. I thought you were different. I thought that you . . .” He trails off, then turns and heads off back down the corridor.

  “Marc?” I call after him. “Marc!”

  But his slump-shouldered, retreating figure doesn’t turn around. And all I get is a shake of one hand in reply.

  ***

  I trudge back to the cabin, pick Holly’s chicken fillet out of the wastepaper basket, and stick it under my pillow where Dad won’t find it. And maybe it’s the chicken fillet making my pillow lumpy, I don’t know, but I do know I don’t sleep well that night. I can’t stop thinking about Marc. Not about him lecturing Holly, or lecturing me for signing us up for the talent quest, but about that figure that retreated down the hallway. He looked so . . . defeated. And that look of disappointment on his face before he left. As if I’d turned out to be someone he thought I wasn’t.

  Anyway, I don’t think it’s the chicken fillet stopping me from getting any rest. I think it’s me realizing that Marc trusted me. And now he doesn’t. Which is all my fault, of course.

  As soon as I’m up and showered, I give his room a call, hoping we can have a chat and sort things out. But his answering service is switched on. I leave a message, asking him to give me a call. After breakfast, I leave another message. After lunch, I leave another.

  Okay. Something tells me Marc’s avoiding me.

  Mid-afternoon, Holly calls me, and we arrange to have a quick cocktail/mocktail at our usual spot.

  “Congratulations!” is the first thing Holly says to me, jumping into my line of view.

  I squint up at her from my sun lounge, bringing my hand up to shade my eyes from the sun. “Congratulations for what?”

  She passes something to me. A piece of paper.

  “We won the talent quest! It’s a one-hundred-dollar drink voucher. All yours.”

  “We won?!” I sit straight up, looking first at the voucher, then up at Holly.

  “Of course! You didn’t think that guy with the ugly dummy was going to win, did you? Or the kid with the spoons? Or the girl with the magical flying chicken fillet?”

  “Oh, very funny. Ha, ha, ha.” I give her a look as she dumps her raffia bag on the deck and sits down beside me. “We have to split it,
though. It’s half yours.”

  She shakes one hand. “Don’t be silly. It was your idea. And they give me everything for free, anyway. It’s ridiculous what I get for free these days. Dresses, drinks, meals. And I can afford it now! I wish I could go back in time and give half the stuff I get for free now to starving-actor me ten years ago.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll tell you something, though. That act worked like a treat. I can’t believe how many dates I’ve been asked out on today. I’m pretty much booked solid for the rest of the trip!”

  “No way!”

  “Breakfasts and lunches and trips off the ship. All kinds of things.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  Holly pauses.

  “Isn’t it?”

  She pauses again, looking at me. “It’s getting . . . a bit tiring.”

  Oh, no. Have I done the wrong thing? I remember how I felt yesterday, watching Holly throw the badminton game. And seeing her act so strangely with Antonio. “But if you don’t want to do anything, if you don’t want to go on any of the dates, don’t go. I didn’t mean to . . . I . . .”

  Holly reaches over and pats my arm. “No. It’s fine. I’m having a good time. Like the lessons state, keep it light. That’s what I want just now. Light and easy with no commitments. It’s been good for me to talk to so many new people. It’s just that sometimes I find myself sizing them all up because it makes me remember that, in my heart, I’m still looking for . . . um . . .”

  “The One?” I try. “Perfect Man?”

  Holly nods, her face glum. “That’s him. PM.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll find him. I know you will. He’s somewhere here on this ship. I just know it.”

  Holly shrugs. “I can only hope that’s true.”

  It’s awful to see her looking so miserable. “You know what I think?”

  “What?” She turns to face me again.

  “I think you really should try toning it down a bit. I mean, when I was watching you yesterday, it kind of freaked me out. Throwing that badminton game—you can’t really have liked doing that.”

  Holly laughs. “No, I can’t say I did.”

  “It wasn’t very you. And why should you have to, anyway?”

  “So, what are you saying? That we should just forget the whole Nessa’s Lessons in Love deal?”