The Trouble With Destiny by Lauren Morrill Read Free Book Online Page B

at sea seems less scary than what will happen if we lose the competition.
    “Everybody get your stuff—
fast.
We were never here.” My voice comes out as a yelp. “Our practice space was full, so we just stored our instruments in our cabins and enjoyed a free afternoon. Got it?”
    I haven’t seen a group of band kids move this fast since that time the homecoming game went into overtime and we nearly missed our postgame trip to Dairy Queen. Brass and silver disappear into the velvet guts of instrument cases. Stacks of sheet music are shoved into folders and bags, and for once, I’m not worried about folded corners or crumpled pages. Within minutes, the room is clear.
    “You coming?” Huck calls from the doorway.
    The air is still cloudy and scented with a bitter, chemical tang. I have a sudden image of smoke pouring out of the portholes, of the ship tipping, of slowly sinking into the ocean while we bob around it in tiny lifeboats. My stomach has climbed up my spine and blocks my windpipe.
    “Yup,” I reply.
    Then Huck and I duck out of the bowling alley and race down the hall.

Three hours have passed since the bowling ball incident, and I spent almost every second of them waiting for some kind of wailing alarm to signal us to report to our lifeboats, all the while fighting the urge to confess what we did. I barely managed to choke down my caesar salad at dinner.
    But as we take the stage for the opening showcase, still afloat, still with no indications of trouble, I start to realize how ridiculous I’ve been. No way could a runaway bowling ball sink a
cruise ship.
No doubt the cleaning crew has long since discovered the damage and set about repairing it. No one needs to know the band was involved in any of it.
    I look around at the Grand Auditorium, built to look like a miniature Lincoln Center, with the luxury boxes painted onto the walls as murals and small versions of the famous modern diamond chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The Mechanicals just left the stage to riotous laughter and raucous applause after performing a selection of scenes from
Spamalot.
It takes several minutes to get the chairs, stands, and instruments set up afterward, and it doesn’t help that Michael Narducci, the pit leader, drops the gong.
    I swallow hard, wishing I weren’t troubled by such a bad case of preperformance jitters, which make me feel as if there’s a major grasshopper infestation in the bottom of my stomach. What I do
not
need right now is to barf all over Nicole Mauser, who is practically vibrating with nerves far worse than mine. When she catches me staring at her, I mime a deep breath. She sits up straighter in her chair and mouths a silent thank you.
    The audience is made up mostly of our fellow competitors, who stuck around after their performances to scope out the competition. The rest of the crowd includes a collection of retirees who think a performing arts showcase is a lovely way to spend a Friday night at sea. Their gray and silver hair catches the light in the theater, and I wonder if any of them could be bribed to turn down their hearing aids. I’m not exactly feeling confident after today’s “practice”—if you can even call it that—and from a glance at the band gathered around me in all black, they’re not feeling great either. Everyone looks nervous or traumatized…or both.
    The Athenas, next up on the program, are waiting in the wings. All of them are huddled in a group, whispering and snickering. Except Demi. She’s standing off to the side, eyes closed while her mouth moves in what I recognize as her traditional preshow good luck ritual: reciting the Debbie Allen dance teacher speech from the TV series
Fame.
Demi’s older sister got her the DVD set for her tenth birthday, and we watched the episodes so many times we practically wore out the discs. As I watch Demi now, I have to stop myself from reciting along with her, as I did so many times when we were kids.
You’ve got big dreams?