Read The Trouble With Destiny for Free Online

son,” I reply, trying to keep my voice from betraying the nervous energy racing through my veins. “I actually know him….”
    But before I can give any more details, First Mate Kevin adjourns the meeting and bounds off the stage. I know from experience that I have exactly four seconds before I lose control of the band completely. I leap to my feet and turn to face them, raising my arms for their attention like I would on the football field. All heads snap to me in unison.
    “Guys! Don’t forget. Lunch next, followed by a rehearsal at two-thirty. The practice room number is on your schedule. Do
not
be late.”
    Everyone nods, and I get a scattering of “Sure thing, Liza.” But as soon as I drop my arms, they start moving for the door
fast.
They’re probably hightailing it to either be first in the buffet line or to steal some extra time to explore the ship. I don’t blame them. If I didn’t feel so responsible for their well-being on the ship and for the band’s
entire future,
I’d be pretty psyched to check out the three pools, six sundecks, bowling alley, and zip line.
A zip line,
for goodness’ sake.
    “Meet me in the room. We’ll go to lunch today, okay?” Hillary calls from the bottom of the steps.
    “Definitely,” I reply. “Fifteen minutes?”
    “Early is on time,” she says, rolling her eyes, and we share a laugh.
    When the stampede clears, I head down the aisle with Huck. On my way, I practically collide with Demi, who’s making her way up the stairs. Her pouty, pink-glossed lips are pursed as she scans the auditorium.
    “Looking for something?” I ask.
    “Or someone?” Huck mutters, throwing a glance down toward the door, where Lenny is talking to his dad. Leave it to Demi to set her laserlike focus on the hottest guy on the boat. Just another trophy for her collection, I’m sure. But before Demi can reach him, Lenny disappears out the door.
    Demi spins on her heel, her eyes going from my frayed cutoffs to my rumpled tank to my messy bun and down again. “Don’t even try,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s too sad.”
    Missy appears, trotting up the aisle. “Did you find him?” she asks, but the question dies in her throat after a death glare from Demi. Missy’s eyes go wide as she catches sight of me. Then her expression turns smug. “So what are you guys going to do for your showcase? Like, march back and forth across the stage?”
    “It’s concert band, Missy. We sit in chairs,” I deadpan. Missy may be cute, with the voice of a pop tartlet, but she’s not exactly the brightest spotlight on the stage.
    “Did you bring your army jackets?” Demi asks, all syrupy and sneering.
    “Still looking like a walking explosion at the sequin factory?” I retort. Say what you will about the band uniforms (and you could say a lot about our British army–inspired red jackets with epaulets and gold buttons, purchased thirty years ago and sporting an almost vintage fade), but they’re nothing compared to the sock-hop skirts, spandex turtlenecks, and sequined vests the Athenas have been wearing since at least the midnineties.
    “Well,
when
we win the twenty-five K, we’re going to buy new designer dresses. In gold,” Demi says, taking a step toward me, “to match our trophies.”
    I open my mouth to reply, but she holds up a tanned, manicured finger in my face. “Save it,” she says, arching an eyebrow at me. “You know y’all don’t stand a chance against us.”
    They pivot on their ballet flats and strut toward the door. Before they even make it out, both Missy and Demi have peeled off their tank tops to reveal brightly colored, barely-there bikini tops. Their VIP rooms may all come with private balconies, but I know Demi & Co. won’t miss a chance to show off their stage-ready bods to the whole ship. Even when we were little, Demi loved prancing around the neighborhood pool in her hot-pink suit, while I preferred to curl up on a towel with my iPod and the one trashy