Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise (10 page)

“Right!” he says, like I’m a star student. Then he rereads the problem on the work sheet and says, “Do you know the formula for magnesium chloride?”

Ms. Rothhammer had given us a list of chemical formulas that were used in the problems, so I look at it and say, “MgCl
₂
.”

“Right.” He jots
MgCl
₂
on the paper and says, “The first step is to find the atomic mass of magnesium.”

I look on the chart and find Mg easily. “It’s 24.31.”

“Right. Now, what’s the atomic mass of chlorine?”

Cl is also easy to find. “It’s 35.45.”

“And how many chlorines do you have?”

“Two.”

“So what is the sum of the two chlorines?”

I double 35.45 in my mind. “Is it 70.9?”

“Exactly. Now add up the magnesium and the chlorines, and what do you get?”

I scribble down the addition of 70.9 and 24.31 and say, “I get 95.21.”

“Right. And that’s the
molecular
weight, because we’re
dealing with a molecule now.” He writes down
95.21
and asks, “What are the units?”

I stare at the paper. “I have no idea.”

“It’s grams per mole.”

I mutter, “Grams per mole,” but it doesn’t seem to faze him. He writes down a calculation with
75 g
in the numerator and
95.21 g/mol
in the denominator while he’s saying, “It’s important, because the grams in the equation are going to cancel out and leave you with”—he slashes a line through each
g
—“moles!”

Whoopee.

He ignores my frown and punches the division problem into my calculator, going, “So 75 divided by 95.21 equals … 0.788 moles!” He looks at me, totally excited, then writes it all down on the paper. “Now just divide moles by liters.…” He writes down what he’s doing so I can follow it, then punches the division into the calculator. “And there’s your answer!”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

I take the paper and study the steps, which is really easy to do because, just like in the non-apology note, his writing is very neat and also very unique … like his own special Kip font. Everything is labeled, and he has arrows helping me follow the steps, and, very slowly, something in my brain goes
click
. “Let me try the next one,” I tell him. Then I calculate the molecular weight of C
₁₂
H
₂₂
O
₁₁
—otherwise known as sugar—convert it to moles, divide by liters, and circle my answer.

“Looks right,” he says, then borrows my calculator, jabs in a bunch of numbers, and comes up with the same answer. “You’ve got it!”

And the funny thing is, I’m actually excited to try the next problem, so when he stands up, I want to yank him back and make him watch me, but he’s already beelining toward the computers like he’s remembered that he was in a hurry. So I wind up just saying, “Thank you!” which feels kinda lame because “thank you” doesn’t even begin to cover the relief I’m feeling.

Anyway, I’ve just figured out the molecular weight of sodium carbonate when I hear a little snort and “I
knew
it,” from over by the computers. Kip’s got his back to me and is far enough away that I can’t see any details, but from the screen I recognize that he’s on Facebook.

Whatever. I get back to work, but then I hear him mutter, “What
idiots
.”

So now I’m curious. And before I really think things through, I get up and move closer, but all I see is a post of two girls in bikinis, holding up icy pink drinks. They’re definitely older than Kip—maybe around twenty? And it takes me a minute to click into the fact that they have blond hair and blue eyes.

All of a sudden, I’m feeling really panicked. I’d jumped all over him for sneaking up on me, and now I’m spying over his shoulder?

Plus, he’s a Kensington!

They have codes and rules and gag orders!

So I hold my breath and sneak back to my seat, and while Kip’s fingers are flying around the keyboard, I pretend to
work, but my brain’s racing, remembering bits and pieces of conversation that happened in the Royal Suite.

I hear a printer activate and then Kip stands up, shoves his chair in, and heads across the room. Everything he does is fast, and he seems upset. So I call after him, “You okay?”

He whips around, then looks at his computer and realizes I can see the monitor.

“You don’t seem like the blond-bimbo kind,” I tell him.

He looks all around, and when he sees that the Puzzle Lady’s gone and we’re alone, he gets defensive, saying, “I’m not! They’re my cousins.”

“Ohhhh.” Then I add, “The ones who are too sick to come on the cruise?”

He gives me a sharp look. “Stay out of it.”

“Sure. Happy to.”

And I am.

Like I want to get tangled up in the wacky web of Kensingtons?

But still, I can’t seem to resist saying, “I can see why you’re mad, though. Seems pretty disrespectful.”

Well, stupid me, ’cause something about that pulls the gag off his mouth. “It’s more than disrespectful, it’s a lie!” He shakes his head. “He’s a master liar!”

In the front of my mind I’m going, Stop! U-turn! Go back! But the back of my mind is calculating quick, and out of my mouth comes, “Bradley?”

“Yes! Grandfather was onto him, but Grandmother always falls for his lies.” Then he says, “We’re scattering Grandfather’s ashes tomorrow, and he lies to cover up
that his daughters are partying with their friends in Miami Beach? After everything Grandfather’s done for them?”

“Maybe Bradley
doesn’t
know? Maybe your cousins lied to him?”

“Oh, he knows!”

I think a minute. “His wife’s supposedly sick, too, huh?”

“See? She’s probably there with them!”

I study him. “Don’t your cousins know you can see their posts?”

He just stands there, saying nothing.

“Ah,” I say with a little nod. “Too many friends to notice an imposter?”

“Look,” he says, sitting down across from me. “I helped you. Now help me by just staying out of it.”

I put my hands up. “Gladly!”

“I want Grandmother to know because she should know, but there’s no way anyone can find out the information came from me.”

“What about your mother?”

“No one!” he says, and it comes out all fierce.

Like it’s somehow a matter of life and death.

Kip took off after he went all fierce on me, and I buckled down on my work sheet. And even though I sweat bullets through every single one, I wound up finishing six problems.

Six!

Which meant I didn’t have to do any on my birthday!

Well, technically, it was two in the morning
on
my birthday, but it didn’t matter.

Now I could sleep!

Trouble is, as I’m going
up
the stairs to sneak back into my room, Kip’s coming
down
the stairs to sneak into his. We hit the Deck 9 landing at the same time—which was awkward enough right there—but then who steps off the elevator at that exact moment?

Darren and Marko.

So of course I try to duck, and of course they see me.

And Kip.

So far, fourteen wasn’t one bit luckier than thirteen.

“No!” I groan, and actually stomp my foot. “This is not what it looks like!”

Darren just stares at me, then gives Kip a look that could crush rocks.

“I gotta go …,” Kip stammers, and runs off, acting
totally
guilty.

So there I am, left trying to explain. “Look!” I tell Darren, yanking my chemistry work sheet out of my backpack. “I went down to the library to do homework! And Kip happened to—”

But it was already sounding so lame.

So conveniently “coincidental.”

“Here,” I tell him, and shove my chemistry work sheet at him. “
This
is what we were doing.”

He looks it over and eyes me. “Why?”

“Because I hadn’t done the problems I was supposed to do today and felt guilty! Because I kept hearing my science teacher’s voice telling me she’s proud of me for working so hard to bring my grade up! Because I didn’t understand the assignment, and it was freaking me out, and I didn’t want to be stuck doing double the problems on my birthday, and Marissa says we’re doing some land excursion the next day, and I have no idea what that is or how long it’s going to take! And because Marissa was snoring and I couldn’t sleep!”

His look is half
uh-huh
and half
oh
. And since he’s not
saying
anything, I just keep barreling along. “And since there was no place in the room to work without waking Marissa up, I went one little floor down and worked in the library. Kip came in to use a computer, which turned out to be really lucky because he actually knows how to do
this stuff and tutored me. And I got
two
days’ worth done, which is a huge relief, believe me.”

Darren hesitates, then gives a little nod. “Ah.”

Since I don’t know what it means and since now I’m all keyed up, I go, “What am I, a doctor?”

Darren gives me a puzzled look, but Marko chuckles, which makes Darren look at him like, What? which makes Marko go, “You said, ‘Ah’?”

Darren rolls his eyes a little and gives a kinda weak smile. And I can tell he thinks he should be doing some, you know, official parenting or something, but either he just doesn’t have the heart for it or he believes me.

“It’s the truth,” I tell him softly.

“What, that you’re a doctor?” He shakes the work sheet a little as he hands it back. “Keep this up and you will be.”

I look down. “I don’t want to be a doctor. I just want to turn fourteen without being in trouble.”

He puts an arm around my shoulders. “Too late for that.”

Marko grins at me. “Congratulations on surviving back-to-back thirteens, though. Quite a feat.”

“Thanks,” I grumble.

Darren studies me a minute, then lays a big smooch on my temple. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” Then he pulls away and eyes me. “Now get to bed, and stay there!”

I laugh, thinking, Kiddo? And even though I’d started fourteen by getting into trouble, I do what he says and head straight to bed.

I fall asleep quick, too, feeling weirdly happy.

* * *

Even lying in a bed nine decks up, you can hear the ship’s engines. It’s not a roar—more a deep, steady purr that you don’t really notice unless there’s a big change in speed. The rest of the time it’s like a calming whisper, telling your subconscious that everything’s okay.

So my excuse for sleeping until ten is that engines nine decks down were sneakily lulling me to sleep.

Hypnotized by the Great Engine Lullaby!

Lucky for me, rock stars
are
notoriously late, so when Marissa threw me in the shower with, “They’ll be here any minute!” I actually had nothing to worry about. It was eleven before we were all finally ready to go.

“I am
starving
,” Marissa said as the rest of us hurried up the stairs after her. “I’ve been awake for
hours
.”

For all the exploring we’d done the day before, we hadn’t gone into the Schooner Buffet. It was on Deck 11, and took up the whole back end of the ship. It was in the shape of a giant U, with a wide entrance at the end of each leg. There were hot food dishes swooping clear around the middle of the U, seating along the wall of windows that went around the outside of the U, and islands with cold foods or plates and utensils or drinks in between the hot food and the seating parts.

The hot buffet was amazing. There were omelets and pancakes and waffles and bacon and … well, any kind of breakfast food you can think of—plus lunch foods, seeing how it was after eleven o’clock.

But the islands in between the hot buffet and the tables were my favorite. One had big bowls of fresh-cut fruit, and
I couldn’t get over the way it was decorated with carved watermelons. They were crazy! Incredibly detailed—like they’d been done with a laser. There was a watermelon shark with its mouth full of melon balls, a watermelon turtle with melon balls underneath, a half watermelon where the rind was carved into a bouquet of flowers, and a whole one where the rind was a beautiful sailing ship.

Then I discovered that right next door was … Dessert Island! It had mousses and chocolate-dipped strawberries and pies and cakes and brownies, and it was right next to … Cookie Island! Which was right next to … Pastry Island!

“This is unbelievable!” I said, and Marko was loading up like a kid, too, going, “Dude, check this out! Dude! Check
this
out!” until finally Darren told him, “Dude! I’m checking it all out! Calm down!”

When we finally sat down, my tray was crammed with everything from key lime pie to egg-drop soup to waffles and oatmeal to a taco and pink lemonade.

“That is a strange combination of food,” Darren says as we sit down at a window table.

“She gets that from Casey,” Marissa says. “He’s always putting weird foods together.”

Which reminds me of something I’d been wanting to know since about midnight. “What’s the deal with the Internet?” I ask Darren. “Is it free?”

Marissa butts in with, “Actually, it’s super-expensive. Even when we weren’t broke, Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us use it.”

I look down. “Oh.”

Darren eyes her. “It’s not cheap, but it’s probably more that they didn’t want you spending all your cruise time on the computer.” He turns to me. “You’re wanting to check in with Casey?”

I give a little shrug. “He’s not expecting it. I told him I wouldn’t be able to.”

“So you’ll get to surprise him.” He gives me a cockeyed smile. “I set up an account yesterday, and I’m happy to share with the birthday girl.”

“Really?”

“I’ll show you how to use it if you promise not to spend all your time on the computer.”

I laugh and nod and promise, and all of a sudden I’m feeling stupidly giddy. It’s only been a day and a half, but it’s my birthday! And I miss Casey!

Marissa jolts me away from thoughts of Casey by nudging me and saying, “Somebody’s not happy.”

I follow her gaze out to Bradley Kensington, who’s standing alone near Dessert Island, holding a padded black folder and talking on his cell phone. His brow’s all wrinkled, and even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, the vibe is definitely tense. “Busted,” I say with a little laugh.