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“I told you I’m sorry,” he says, and he has the nerve to look offended. “And it wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t care.”

I rush out of the dining room, out of the lobby and giant elevator bank, out of the endless hallways until I finally reach a door that takes me outside. I push past people filling up cups of soft-serve ice cream on the pool deck and gulp in deep breaths of salty air.

After my stomach settles, I sit down on a sticky plastic chair and pull out my phone. But when I try to text my group chat with Tessa and Theo, it doesn’t go through. Of course—there’s no Wi-Fi or cell signal. My phone is basically useless out here in the middle of the ocean. I’m on my own.

But then... what has Wally been doing all evening?

Chapter Eight

I want to talk to Wally when he gets back from dinner, to figure out what he was really doing on his phone and maybe sweet-talk him into some answers about Kieran. I prop myself up on my pillows and everything, so the jet lag doesn’t overtake me. But by midnight, he’s still not back, and I finally, gratefully let my heavy eyelids droop closed. Being passed out is better than being constantly on the verge of vomiting, after all.

In the morning, he’s there and not thrown overboard by one of the plentiful cruise ship murderers Etta warned us about. Thankfully, because that would make this trip even more of a downer than it’s been so far, and Mom and Dad would for sure find a way to blame it on me.

I know he’s there, and not swimming with the fishes, without even opening my eyes because his chain-saw snoring is making my whole head vibrate. It’s so loud and oppressive that Ialmost don’t hear the sound of the plastic white phone between our beds ringing.

I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Lenore?” It’s my mom, and she sounds way too awake. “Where are you two? We were supposed to meet on the deck fifteen minutes ago!”

“Deck. Yeah. The deck.” I wipe away my eye boogers and glance at the clock. Eleven. How did it get to be eleven? That means I slept through breakfast. Damn.

“You’re just waking up, aren’t you?”

“No,” I say, but it comes out all garbled because apparently this is my first time talking in, like, eleven hours. “No,” I try again. “We’ve been up forever. Went for a walk around the top deck together and watched the sun—”

“Lenore, don’t even try it. I told your father we should have come get you earlier, but he said we should leave you be—”

“They’re adults! They don’t need us babying them!” I hear Dad calling from the background.

“Well, anyway, you and Wally have five minutes to get your butts down here. I don’t want them to be waiting on us.” She hangs up before I have a chance to ask who “they” are. Probably some cringe-y tour group she’s signed us up for. Wonderful.

I swing my legs over the side of my tiny bed. “Wally! We’re supposed to be outside!”

Silence.

“Wally! I know you’re up because your snores have stopped trying to assault my eardrums.”

Still no answer.

I take the decorative crown pillow off my bed and chuck it at his head. “Lenore! What the fuck?” Bingo.

“They’re out there waiting for us, and Mom sounds pissed. We’re going on a tour, I think, with the white-hairs and fanny pack enthusiasts. You gotta get up.”

He mumbles, “Fine,” and something else rude that I choose to ignore. I pull my suitcase out from under my bed (no space in this miniature room for an actual closet) and grab what I need. “Dibs on the bathroom. You better be ready by the time I’m done.”

I brush my teeth, wash my face, and wipe down the stinky parts in record time. I wrap my hair up in a massive bun so I don’t sweat to death again and put on a sleeveless black trench coat dress and tiny oval sunglasses that perch low on my nose.

This outfit seemed fire when I put it together last week, along with all of my looks for this trip, but now I’m not sure.

“Do I look European or like an off-brand Morpheus fromThe Matrix?” I ask Wally, stepping out of the bathroom.

“You know,” he says, smirking, “that was the exact critique I was going to give you.” He’s sitting up in his bed at least now, but he’s still in his plaid pajama shorts and white shirt. And I can smell his stanky morning breath from here.

“What are you doing? Let’s go! Mom’s going to lose herdamn mind if we’re not down there soon.”

He takes a deep breath and studies his hands. “I’m not going.”