There’s this super-old show called The Love Boat that I sometimes saw on TV Land. At the start of each episode, a new cruise gets under way, and the passengers run to the decks and wave good-bye. There’s confetti, streamers, the whole party scene. Then everyone starts having relationship problems, which, by the end of the show, are always resolved with some help from the crew and starlight at sea. It was produced by Tori Spelling’s dad, and I swear, it’s pure television genius.
So how come our departure was all about life vests and bumping into one another like molecules? And even worse, loudspeakers kept barking instructions at us. Where was Captain Stubing? And the confetti? I wanted confetti! And frozen drinks with little umbrellas, and a friendly cruise director telling me that festivities would soon begin on the Lido deck, and—
“Fiona, get over it already,” Alma said, snarling. “You’re driving me insane with that Love Boat crap.”
Was I going on that much? I didn’t even know I was talking! Okay, Miss Cold Turkey. Amazing what nicotine deprivation could do to a person. “Well, it’s false advertising.”
“That’s TV for you.” Alma snorted.
Killian laughed. “Don’t worry, Fee, the fun will soon begin.” She tossed her blond hair over her vest and looked out at Government Cut, the inlet that led out to sea, as it slowly inched by. In a few minutes, we’d be sailing on the Atlantic.
I folded my arms around my orange, inflated chest. If only for fifteen minutes, I could imagine what it felt like to be a double-D like Alma, even though she would have gladly sold her breasts this year for higher SAT scores. I was sweating my butt off. Too many people. Fine, I was complaining, but only because I’d been gypped out of my festive send-off.
“We all just made a big mistake getting on this ship, didn’t we?” Yoli said to herself, staring out. “We’re all going to end up at the bottom of the ocean.”
“Nope.” Alma shifted her hip around, desperately trying to make the life vest look cool. “Just one of us.”
“Stop it!” Yoli cried.
Alma aimed her voice straight at Yoli’s head. “You brought it up!”
While Yoli and Alma bickered, I watched Killian stare at the boats, the pelicans, the blankets of seaweed floating on the water. Something was brewing; I knew my chica. “Please, Kill,” I whispered. “No stunts today.”
“What do you think would happen if I jumped over this railing?” she asked softly. “You think anyone would come after me? Or would you all just smile and wave?”
Alma and Yoli quit talking.
“Go ahead,” I said. Even with as many crazy things as she’d done in the past, she wasn’t about to jump off a cruise ship. “Try it.”
Yoli slapped my arm. “Why do you say things like that when you know she might do it?”
Killian’s eyes were still focused on the horizon. “You know me well, Yoli.”
I imagined Killian leaping onto the railing in the most superhuman of ways, evil grin on her face, diving into the ocean like a demented villainess, then disappearing into the ship’s wake, never to be seen again. But in our heart of hearts, we knew she’d return in a sequel, like good villains always do.
Stupid, right? Then why was my heart beating so hard?
It happened so fast, I couldn’t do anything.
Killian sprang up onto the middle rung of the railing, and everyone around us gasped. Her arms were out wide, head thrown back, like Jesus minus the cross. Yes, she’d done this kind of thing before, but hello? This was a moving ship, for the love of chocolate!
Yoli reached out to grab Killian’s legs. “Stop it! Stop, Killian!” she shrieked.
“Kill, get down, please?” I begged, anchoring her ankles with my hands. Maybe this was it; it was already happening. Killian would be buried at sea.
“I’m king of the world!” Killian shouted, wobbling back and forth, laughing like this was indeed amusing to anyone except herself.
Yoli started crying. A woman with a straw hat next to us yanked at the pockets of Killian’s shorts. “Miss, don’t do that! It isn’t funny!”
Killian saluted a group of guys on a speedboat flanking us. They whistled. She whistled back. “Wooo!”
Yoli’s eyes shut tight, tears squeezing out of them. “I can’t—I can’t look at her!”
Okay, la loca was overdoing it. It was time to reel her in. Alma and I reached up and grabbed Killian by the waist, pulling her onto the deck. “Get down, lunatic!” Alma said, then turning to the stunned passengers, “We can’t take her anywhere.”
“For real, Killian! What if we get kicked off because of you?” I scolded. I tried doling out apologetic looks, but the other passengers weren’t buying it. Even if I wasn’t the nut job up on the railing, I was a nut job for being her friend.
“What?” Killian assessed the peace she’d disturbed. “I wasn’t really going to jump, people.”
“Unbelievable!” The straw hat lady’s husband glared at us. He put his arm around his wife and moved away.
“Come on! I’m wearing the life vest! See?” Killian called after them. She tugged on the fabric-covered foam. “I would have floated.”
“Idiot,” some guy mumbled.
Alma immediately turned around to mouth off to whoever it was, but she couldn’t tell who’d said it. Neither could I. “Screw you,” she said to whomever. I was beginning to regret the smoke-free environment and its effects on Alma.
Yoli chewed her nails, spitting the pieces at Killian. “You are so inconsiderate, you know that? I should throw you overboard myself!”
“Please,” Killian said, straightening her life vest, folding her hands in front of her like a good girl. She’d relax now that she’d had everyone’s attention.
I sighed. I loved her, I really did. But one of these days, she was going to get herself arrested, killed, or worse, invited to be part of a Girls Gone Wild taping. “Another classic Killian moment, brought to you by none other than Miss Edwards herself,” I mumbled.
Killian grinned, pleased with her commotion. Even though I was used to her stunts, I had to admit that one had scared me a little. Leave it to Killian to take a boring moment and turn it into a good crap in the pants.
It took Yoli two hours to speak to Killian again. We were out in open water, in line (again) for the one o’clock buffet on the Caribbean deck. So far, this cruise was all about lines and drills. I could’ve had a more exciting time at boot camp. At least there, I’d be able to watch Killian and Alma do push-ups for their unruliness.
“One of these days”—Yoli used tongs to pinch slices of cucumber off a platter like she was furious at them for not being pancakes or cookies—“you’re not going to survive your little stupidities.”
Killian fluttered her lashes. “Here we go.” She grabbed a plate.
Yoli eyed her. “I know what you’re going to say: I’m overreacting. But you know I’m the one who cares about you the most.”
I rolled my eyes and speared some white cheese and turkey. Yoli always thought she was Killian’s keeper. All because this one time at the Miami–Dade County Fair, when we were in fifth grade, Killian panicked on the Himalaya—the only time I ever saw her scared of anything. She looked like she was going to fly off of it, but there was Yoli sharing the ride with her, yanking her away from the edge. Ever since then, she credits herself with saving Killian from centrifugal destruction.
“Yoli, you’re right. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here in front of these fine fruits and ice sculptures.” Killian kissed her cheek. “I promise not to do anything crazy for the rest of the trip.”
Well, that was nice, but could she keep her promise?
Yoli spiked a slice of ham like it deserved to die. “If you do, I won’t talk to you.”
“Okay, but don’t be a baby.” Killian turned to me and winked.
Someone cleared his throat. “You know, if you had fallen, you would’ve been sucked right into the ship’s wake.
Nobody could have saved you.” A fine, deep voice. Enter Cute Guy #1 from the port—the one eyeing Killian—in line next to us. When did he cut in line? And more importantly, how did he escape Killian’s male heat–seeking sensors?
“You’re talking to me?” Killian’s pineapple slice dangled off her fork.
“Did anyone else here try to jump off the ship today?”Smile. Very cute. But cocky. Not for me. Not that I could have him, even if I wanted to.
Yoli, on the other hand, needed a napkin to keep from drooling all over herself. I nudged her, and her mouth closed into a smile, drastically improving her mood.
At first, Killian was at a loss for words, but that didn’t last long. She smiled her vixen grin. “I wasn’t going to jump.I was just giving my girls here a bit of a fright.”
Alma snorted. “She thinks she’s one of Charlie’s Angels.”
Cute Guy stopped long enough to glance over Killian’s long, thin, Cameron Diaz–like frame. His blue eyes shone.“She looks like one.” He made it a point to stare at each of us, too, placing his bets all over the table, just in case any of us took his bait. Yoli smiled at him in a very charming but too-sweet kind of way. He smiled back, but returned his attention to Kill.
Killian put more pineapple on her plate and faced us, away from his view. Her eyes popped open. I like this guy, they seemed to say.
No, I mouthed, because Yoli liked him, too, and Killian could have any guy she wanted on this cruise. But old habits are a bitch to break.
“What’s your name?” Killian asked.
“Loser,” Alma coughed.
Oblivious, Cute Guy smiled a sideways grin. “What do I get if I tell you?”
“Some pineapple?” She held up her plate to him.
“I’d rather dance with you later.”
“Maybe.”
“Tyler. And yours?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Loser,” Alma coughed again.
“Killian.” She smiled, then turned an evil glance on Alma.
“Killian,” he repeated, letting her name dissolve on his tongue. “I like that.”
Next to him, a different friend than the one with him at the port chimed in. “Killian, like the beer?”
We all stared at him. Clearly, he was Ugly Friend. Tyler gave him a stern look. “No, the fine wine, dickhead.”
I didn’t know what was so funny about a guy saying dickhead in front of a girl he was trying to impress, but Killian laughed like it was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard. “Everyone always says that about me,” she said in this really annoying dumb voice.
“They call you a dickhead?” I asked, holding down a smile.
“No… .” She whipped around and gave me the evil eye. “They think of the beer: Killian’s Red?”
“Oh.” I smiled. Someone had to mess with her after what she had done to our nervous systems earlier.
Killian reached for a brioche from a platter near the back of the buffet, and Tyler took the opportunity to check out her back end without an ounce of shame. “Nice,” he said under his breath.
Alma and I exchanged appalled looks. Would they quit following us? How annoying! Yoli had soured, too, but only because Cute Guy was checking out Killian’s butt, not hers.
Pleased that her pose had elicited the proper response, Killian smiled at Tyler and gave him the once-over as well.
“And your name?” Tyler asked me. Great, I’d end up on Yoli’s shit list yet.
“Fiona.”
“Like the princess in Shrek?” He nearly laughed. It was good that he didn’t because I would’ve nearly hurt him.Yoli held back a snicker.
I plucked a marzipan petit four off the dessert tray and shook my head. “Wow, I’ve never heard that before.” I could hear Alma chuckling to herself.
Tyler grinned, even though I wasn’t flirting with him.I hated when people said that. My mom named me after Fiona Cleary in The Thorn Birds, her favorite book, but no one ever cared to ask. Not even Lorenzo when he first met me.
“You girls going to the captain’s thing tomorrow night?” Tyler followed us back to our table. Go. Away. It was a beautiful day to be outdoors, and I wanted to enjoy it with my friends, not this doy-doy.
“Yes, we’ll be there,” Killian purred.
Here we were, not even four hours into our cruise, and one of the hottest guys had already picked the ripest tomato off the vine. The story of our lives. Yes, we were all pretty and had decent-to-nice bodies, but Killian made the boys slobber. All because she was blond. And tall. And, oh yeah, had that annoying habit of pretending to jump off cruise ships, which would make anyone’s head turn.
Still, the captain’s thing sounded like fun. I wanted to maybe wear the sexy sundress from this morning’s incident. I swear, Lorenzo was acting more and more like his dad every day. Would he stay this way or was it a stage he was going through? Maybe he was just trying to be more assertive. I did tell him one time that I wanted him to make more of our decisions, but I was talking about which Frappuccino to order, not whether or not I could pick my own clothes.
“Great. Then I’ll see you girls around.” Tyler’s voice was as smooth as the water’s surface, but it still made me sick.
“See you,” I answered. Blech.
“Later, Angel.” Tyler winked at Killian while his friends ambled off to find seats.
“Charlie.” Killian giggled and winked back at Tyler. There was way too much winking going on. I almost gagged on my brioche.
Next to me, Yoli let her plate of low-carb consumables land on the table with a thud. She had a cara de mierda—a crap face, or a jealousy face, or a why-does-Killian-always-win face.
Killian and Alma saw it too and traded looks. “Strife and storms,” Alma mumbled, shaking her head. “Strife and storms.”
Yoli smacked the table. “Stop saying that!”
We spent the rest of the afternoon getting to know the ship—every deck, the gift shops, the spa, disco, casino… . The last two were especially important. If we couldn’t drink, legal age being twenty-one, we could at least dance or roll some dice. Let’s examine the logic in adulthood at eighteen: Lose all your money at blackjack?Acceptable. Go to war? Acceptable. Have a frozen margarita? Definitely not!
After a while, I started seeing the same people from the boarding line this morning—one was an old couple who looked funny because the wife’s hair was almost blue and her husband’s was dyed black, as if anyone ninety years old would have jet black hair. I saw the cowboy couple again, and the guy tipped his hat at us. The memory of Killian’s earlier stunt seemed to be quickly fading. Sometimes, the four of us held hands, and you could just see guys everywhere doing double takes. Not that we should be scoping, considering this trip was for us, not guys. There would be plenty of time for them when we went our separate ways in a few weeks.
That night, we wolfed down filet mignon, Alaskan king crab, and Chilean sea bass—the best I’d ever tasted. Santi and Monica sat at the table next to us, holding hands, deep in conversation. I raised a glass of wine that Santi and Monica had snuck us from their table, and looked at my girls. “To the Tough Cats,” I said.
Killian laughed loudly. “Oh my Lord, I haven’t heard that in years!”
“Right?” Alma chuckled heartily. She raised her virgin piña colada, which I was beginning to think was about as virgin as a grandmother of ten. She was too happy. “Here, here!”
“To the Tough Cats!” Yoli smiled, lifting her giant glass of virgin strawberry daiquiri. “Such a dumb name!”
“Hey!” Killian put her arm around Yoli. “It was my idea.”
“But The Foursome,” I said, “now that was a great name!” We laughed, because it was, of course, not a great name, but everything seemed so great in fourth grade.
Alma snorted. “That was even more retarded.”
“What were we, ten?” I asked.
“Something like that.” Yoli’s smile sagged a bit.
“Eight years.” Killian sobered and stared at the silverware. “It’s been eight years.”
The way she said it made our giggles quiet down. Eight years was one thing if you were my mom’s age, but at eighteen? It was almost half our lives.
We sat there, glasses suspended in the air. I didn’t want us to start crying. Graduation was bad enough. We had group-hugged and bawled for an hour, our eyes red in every picture my mother took. We couldn’t even look at one another without losing it.
“To eight more,” I said, tilting my glass.
We clinked glasses. “And eight after that,” Yoli added.
“And eight after that.” Alma clinked again.
I looked at my friends, recording everything about them. Yoli with her hair up, all bubbly and cute, T-shirt girl. Alma with thick, silver rings adorning every finger wrapped around her glass and the rest of her ensemble dark, like the velvet lining in a jewelry case. And Killian, wearing a skinny top with shiny beads that lit up her eyes and golden hair.
“Let’s focus on us,” I said, remembering the cattiness over that fool this afternoon. “While we’re still together.”
“Yes.” They nodded, clinking glasses for the last time.
“To us,” I said.
“To us.” We drank to our friendship. And at that moment, I would have sworn on anything—even my ready and waiting future—that we’d be together forever.