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Authors: Lauren Morrill
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have an almost Pavlovian urge to jump in and pelvic-thrust right alongside them, but I need some quiet time. I have about twelve hours until our next rehearsal, and I plan to spend every minute of it trying to figure out how to save our performance—and our band.
“Y’all have fun, I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” I shout back. “But please don’t leave the floor, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep everyone in line,” Huck says, a devilish glint in his eye. He’s got the bow tie from his concert suit fastened around his head, the bow askew on his forehead. He breaks into a very intense variation of the twist.
“Don’t worry,
I’ll
keep everyone in line,” Hillary says, and I mouth a thank you to her before disappearing into our room.
I’ve got to strategize.
With the practice room switcheroo, it’s obvious that the Athenas are planning to play dirty this week.
Which means we’ve got to get dirty right back.
By the next morning, the power still isn’t working. On the plus side, the backup generators are grinding away and the ship is still seaworthy. So far.
Since the Athenas stole our practice space yesterday, I told the band to meet for our Saturday-morning practice in what should have been
theirs.
I scoped it out last night, and while it’s not nearly as large as the one the Athenas took over, it’s at least large enough for us to sit down in actual chairs and practice. Which is good, because we clearly need it. Forget the prize money; if we repeat last night’s performance I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sail Away Cruise Line
fines
us $25,000.
I push open the door to our new humble home, three floors up and down the hall from the big atrium at the center of the ship. The plaque on the door reads HIDEAWAY HALL .
“Hideaway
Hell
is more like it,” I mutter to myself. I put my hand on the door to shove it open, but a tap on my shoulder stops me.
Demi is standing next to Mrs. Haddaway, who is wearing a vintage sailor suit and cat’s-eye sunglasses buried in her curls.
“Liza, I’m glad we caught you,” Mrs. Haddaway says. She nudges Demi with her elbow.
Demi grimaces, then rearranges her face into something approximating a look of apology. All I can see is the face she used when we were seven and had to apologize to her mother for using all her (very expensive) makeup for our circus extravaganza backyard show, where Demi played the ringmaster and I was a clown. It looks just about as sincere now as it did then.
“I’m sorry we stole your practice space,” she says, somehow managing to hide the fact that really she’s just sorry she got caught.
“Oh, uh, thanks?” I glance at Mrs. Haddaway, who I assume is responsible for Demi’s sudden bout of contrition, because she’s giving Demi a
look.
“And you can have it back,” Demi says finally.
“The Athenas will be happy to help you transport your instruments if you need help,” Mrs. Haddaway adds.
Demi’s mouth falls open, and I can tell she will definitely
not
be happy about that.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary at all,” I tell Mrs. Haddaway. I turn to Demi and give her a smile that I hope doesn’t look
too
smug. “And Demi, I
so
appreciate your heartfelt apology. It means a lot.”
Demi’s nose wrinkles, and she pretends to scratch it with a certain middle finger.
Mrs. Haddaway doesn’t notice, though, because she’s too busy fanning herself.
“I’m glad that’s taken care of,” Mrs. Haddaway says, waving a sweaty curl away from her forehead. “Now if only they’d get the power back on. Those generators are just not doing the job on the air conditioning in here.”
At the mention of the engine trouble, I freeze.
“Yeah, um…” I pick at the remains of my blue nail polish, trying to appear unconcerned. “Have you heard anything more about that?”
Mrs. Haddaway shrugs. “The captain mentioned at breakfast that they were looking at some surveillance video to find out what happened. They
“Y’all have fun, I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” I shout back. “But please don’t leave the floor, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep everyone in line,” Huck says, a devilish glint in his eye. He’s got the bow tie from his concert suit fastened around his head, the bow askew on his forehead. He breaks into a very intense variation of the twist.
“Don’t worry,
I’ll
keep everyone in line,” Hillary says, and I mouth a thank you to her before disappearing into our room.
I’ve got to strategize.
With the practice room switcheroo, it’s obvious that the Athenas are planning to play dirty this week.
Which means we’ve got to get dirty right back.
By the next morning, the power still isn’t working. On the plus side, the backup generators are grinding away and the ship is still seaworthy. So far.
Since the Athenas stole our practice space yesterday, I told the band to meet for our Saturday-morning practice in what should have been
theirs.
I scoped it out last night, and while it’s not nearly as large as the one the Athenas took over, it’s at least large enough for us to sit down in actual chairs and practice. Which is good, because we clearly need it. Forget the prize money; if we repeat last night’s performance I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sail Away Cruise Line
fines
us $25,000.
I push open the door to our new humble home, three floors up and down the hall from the big atrium at the center of the ship. The plaque on the door reads HIDEAWAY HALL .
“Hideaway
Hell
is more like it,” I mutter to myself. I put my hand on the door to shove it open, but a tap on my shoulder stops me.
Demi is standing next to Mrs. Haddaway, who is wearing a vintage sailor suit and cat’s-eye sunglasses buried in her curls.
“Liza, I’m glad we caught you,” Mrs. Haddaway says. She nudges Demi with her elbow.
Demi grimaces, then rearranges her face into something approximating a look of apology. All I can see is the face she used when we were seven and had to apologize to her mother for using all her (very expensive) makeup for our circus extravaganza backyard show, where Demi played the ringmaster and I was a clown. It looks just about as sincere now as it did then.
“I’m sorry we stole your practice space,” she says, somehow managing to hide the fact that really she’s just sorry she got caught.
“Oh, uh, thanks?” I glance at Mrs. Haddaway, who I assume is responsible for Demi’s sudden bout of contrition, because she’s giving Demi a
look.
“And you can have it back,” Demi says finally.
“The Athenas will be happy to help you transport your instruments if you need help,” Mrs. Haddaway adds.
Demi’s mouth falls open, and I can tell she will definitely
not
be happy about that.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary at all,” I tell Mrs. Haddaway. I turn to Demi and give her a smile that I hope doesn’t look
too
smug. “And Demi, I
so
appreciate your heartfelt apology. It means a lot.”
Demi’s nose wrinkles, and she pretends to scratch it with a certain middle finger.
Mrs. Haddaway doesn’t notice, though, because she’s too busy fanning herself.
“I’m glad that’s taken care of,” Mrs. Haddaway says, waving a sweaty curl away from her forehead. “Now if only they’d get the power back on. Those generators are just not doing the job on the air conditioning in here.”
At the mention of the engine trouble, I freeze.
“Yeah, um…” I pick at the remains of my blue nail polish, trying to appear unconcerned. “Have you heard anything more about that?”
Mrs. Haddaway shrugs. “The captain mentioned at breakfast that they were looking at some surveillance video to find out what happened. They
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