The Trouble with Destiny

by Lauren Morrill

  Demi wrinkles her nose. “Lenny? Gross. He’s totally hot, but oh my God what an ass. He told me that picture he took of you was all about getting me over Russ, which, okay, breaking up with Russ sucked, but I don’t want him back. And there’s no way I’d go for a guy who thinks immature games like that are the way to go. Anyway, like I said, I’m sure you haven’t scared Russ off yet. He’s stubborn as hell.”

  I can’t hide the smile that springs up on my face, and I immediately brace for the explosion. But Demi shakes her head at me.

  “Russ broke up with me. He said we weren’t right for each other. And deep down, I knew it was true,” she says, and sighs. “I just hate to lose. You know that.”

  “Do I ever,” I say, and she gives me a shove through the door.

  “Maybe I need to pull a Liza and throw myself into my friends instead,” she says, and I gape at her. Pull a Liza? That’s a first, for sure. I watch Demi as her eyes sweep over the storage room, from the boxes of fruits and vegetables to the toddler-sized bags of sugar and flour. Then her eyes come back to mine. “Whatever, it’s fine. You better go, or you’re going to miss the band.”

  “Thanks, Demi,” I say. She answers with a grin straight from our elementary school slumber parties.

  We’ve got some work to do before we’re back to braiding each other’s hair and singing along to Fame, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to getting there.

  I’ve missed my friend.

  Chapter 22

  I duck out of the cooler and disappear through the door Demi emerged from. As soon as the door closes behind me, shutting out the clatter and buzzing of the kitchen, I can hear that the band has begun. The smell of garlic lingers, but it’s mostly replaced by the musty smell of the velvet seats of the auditorium and the floral notes of old-lady perfume wafting from the audience.

  Most of the pieces we’ve already performed on the ship were pieces Mr. Curtis picked out, ones that we’ve practiced since marching season. But for the final competition, I vetoed his John Philip Sousa medley and picked a selection of movie themes. I knew the band would like playing them more than the bouncy, patriotic marches, which would mean a better final performance. When I step into the wings, they’re already starting the Pirates of the Caribbean theme, which means they’re almost halfway through the performance. I pause just before I reach the edge of the curtain and close my eyes, letting myself just listen to the music. The percussion on this one is pretty epic, and the boys in the back are working overtime to get their timpani rolls and bass drum beats. As I count along, picturing the score and tapping my toe, I’m pleased to hear that they’re hitting every cue. The brass are also spot-on, evoking the rolling ocean and fast-approaching ships from the movie theme.

  It’s only when the cymbals crash and the instruments transition into the lilting melody of the Jurassic Park theme that I think to open my eyes and take a peek at the conductor’s stand. I half expect to see Mr. Curtis in his polo shirt waving the baton, but he’s not there. No, it’s Huck waving the baton, eyes going from the music on the stand to the performers in front of him. He’s marking every breath, every dynamic, every fermata, with this perfectly relaxed intensity. And the band is responding to every direction.

  When they transition again, this time into the Titanic theme, a tall, smiling flute player rises from the first chair and tosses back her newly highlighted hair. She raises her flute and out comes the familiar theme that most of the time makes me cringe with the sheer amount of cheese involved. But Nicole manages to bring all the emotion back to it, and watching her play nearly brings me to tears, just like the song did when Demi and I first saw Leo sink to the bottom of the ocean during one of our slumber parties. I see why Nicole got accepted to Juilliard. Technically, she’s perfect, but it’s more than that. Her artistry is incredible, and the band is much better with her in it.

  Huck, who’s had his eyes closed for most of the flowing melody of “My Heart Will Go On,” suddenly stiffens. His arms jump with a renewed intensity, and they transition into the final song of the medley. The trumpets tout the intro, then the bass drum joins in the march. My eyes go to the back row, where Russ has the mallet in his hand and a grin on his face. He’s pounding along with the music in a way that tells me there’s a bit of a nerd inside that jock after all.

  The crowd sits up straighter at the intro to the Star Wars theme, which never fails to have audiences of all ages bouncing along. I take a peek at the judges, and I see a tiny smile on the man at the end of the row, his head bobbing along to the beat. It’s the best performance I’ve ever heard out of the Holland High Style Marchers.

  And leading it all is Huck. He’s got them in the palm of his hand, the band and the audience both. From the pleased looks on the judges’ faces, we might actually have this thing in the bag. I can’t believe I spent even a second thinking he was bringing the band down. He makes the band, he just needed to find the right place for his talent. He’s everything I’m not: relaxed, in tune with the music and the performers, and just having fun.

  When they hit the final notes of the Star Wars theme, Huck keeps his hands raised for a brief moment. There’s a second of silence as the audience holds their breath, then Huck drops his hands and they all thunder to their feet. My palms sting from the strength of my applause, but it’s only a drop in the bucket of the admiration coming from the audience. The band rises and takes a deep bow, then another. Then Huck gives them a wave with his baton and they collect their music and start to move offstage, on the opposite side from where I’m standing.

  I’m so proud of them I could burst, but I’m still not ready to see them yet. I don’t want to ruin their moment of triumph with the mess of my leadership. I don’t want their questions to distract from what they did out there. I want them to have that moment. They deserve it. Huck deserves it.

  And I don’t.

  I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, letting my mind wander back over the performance, every high point and quiet moment. I can’t hear a single mistake. I’m so proud that I start to feel a tickle in the back of my throat. I clench my eyes shut to keep them from welling up.

  WHOOP! WHOOP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! WHOOP! WHOOP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

  The sound is abrupt, and loud—it cuts right through the Mechanicals, who have started their production of West Side Story. Emergency lights on the wall begin to flash and my eyes go toward the ceiling, as if I’m anxiously awaiting a message from our alien overlords.

  And I half expect one when a crack of static and a squeal comes through some kind of shipwide speaker system.

  “Attention, passengers,” a voice drones, “please report to your emergency locations. Please report to your emergency locations.”

  The double doors of the auditorium fly open, and the audience starts to stream out. It’ll only be a matter of time before my bandmates and Mr. Curtis show up, so I quickly wedge myself into the crowd and duck low as I follow the surge toward the emergency exits.

  Up on the deck, at stations all around the pool, white-clad crew members with clipboards and checklists are directing the various student groups to their designated corners. I round the deep end of the pool, and that’s when I see what everyone’s standing in front of. It’s the lifeboats, which until this moment have been covered with some kind of white material that makes them fade into the background of the ship. The covers are now pulled back, and neon orange life vests dot the rows of seating, just waiting to be filled and lowered into the ocean.

  I glance around and realize the ship has been surrounded by these big hulking boats all along, just artfully disguised so people won’t spend their whole time aboard thinking about what the boats signify: that the ship could sink.

  Wait … is the ship sinking?

  I see Russ standing by the pool and realize that now is my chance. I have to sort things out. I push my way through the crowd until I’m finally stand
ing in front of him, staring at him in his white tuxedo shirt with his bow tie and his rumpled hair.

  “Russ, I—” He dodges me, turning and moving toward the edge of the pool, but I’m not about to let him get away. I reach out and grab his arm, tugging until he spins around to face me. “Russ, I need to talk to you.”

  “What about?” He crosses his arms over his chest like he does during pep rallies, glaring with athletic intensity. I’ve always thought it looked silly, until that intensity was turned on me. Now I have to swallow the massive lump in my throat and steel my nerves for what I know has to come next.

  “I was an idiot,” I say, which feels like a good start. I see a tiny chink in his armor, since it was clearly not what he was expecting, and that buoys me to continue. “I was so busy following around this ridiculous idea of a crush that turned out to be totally stupid that I ignored what was right in front of me. I truly had no idea that you liked me, and to be honest, I had no idea that I could ever like you. But I do. And I can’t believe I was so dumb after all those times you saved me, like when I was hiding in Demi’s closet and you helped me dodge Curtis, or when you punched Lenny, or when that jellyfish that wasn’t a jellyfish was attacking me or whatever and you grabbed it.”

  As I babble, I can see Russ’s eyes soften and the corner of his mouth start to twitch. By the time I’m done, it’s all he can do to keep a straight face, especially when I get to the thing about the jellyfish.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I treated you like crap, when all you’ve done this week is be nice to me. I was just too much of an idiot to notice. And for that I’m really sorry.”

  Russ stares at me for what feels like forever, his blue eyes now full of a different kind of intensity. I try to stand there, quiet, and wait for him, but it’s excruciating.

  “Like I said, I’m sorry, and I don’t want to bother—”

  I start to take a step back. The splash comes, and in an instant all sounds other than my own heartbeat vanish as I sink to the bottom of the pool, my sneakers acting as ballast.

  Luckily, my underwater silence is short-lived. Another splash sends waves through the pool. I open my eyes and see Russ, still in his tuxedo, swimming toward me. Once again, I’m gazing into his eyes, which are full of concern. He’s always been there to help me. How did I not see it all along?

  Russ hooks his hands underneath my arms, and with one powerful kick, we explode toward the surface. We pop out of the water at the same time, and I gasp for a lungful of air, followed by some extremely sexy coughing and sputtering. He gives a few powerful kicks until we’re in the shallow end, and when I feel my feet hit the bottom of the pool, I stand to face him.

  “Liza, if you wanted to go for a swim you could have just asked,” he says. He gives his head a shake, and his wet hair sprays water droplets across the pool as it settles back out of his eyes. A grin starts to cross his face and a drop of water rolls down his cheek, settling into his dimple. Without thinking, I reach up and wipe it away. The tips of my fingers brush his warm skin, and his smile grows. He tilts his head into my palm so that my fingers tangle into his hair. He reaches up and grips my arm, holding my hand in place, and I take one small step toward him, then another, until I start to sink into him. I reach my hand around the back of his head and tug, rising up on my tiptoes. He dips his head to meet mine, and our lips touch with an intensity that turns my knees to jelly. I start to sink back into the water, and Russ wraps his arms around my waist, keeping them firm on my back, holding me to him. The kiss deepens, our mouths parting. When his tongue meets mine, I gasp, then giggle, feeling his lips turn up into another smile.

  I lose all track of time as we kiss. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, we break apart slightly. He reaches up and pushes back a wet curl that’s plastered itself to my forehead. His finger leaves a trail of heat across my face, and I can’t help but grin.

  “Wooo-hooo!”

  The chorus of hoots, hollers, and scattered applause rouses me from my moment of bliss. I turn to see my bandmates gathered at the edge of the pool. Ryan sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle, while Huck just applauds and shakes his head.

  “Sooooooo,” Russ says, leaning back a bit so he can look at me, “does that mean no Lenny?”

  I laugh. “Nope,” I reply, squeezing him tight. “No Lenny. Just you.”

  And after a week of false starts, miscommunications, and misdirected emotions, falling into a pool should be right up there in things that have gone wrong. But it’s perfect.

  Chapter 23

  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.