Antsy Floats by Neal Shusterman

legal?”
    She sighed. “Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to.”
    So I didn’t ask anymore questions about it. I’m no fool. I knew Tilde was using me—and I knew it probably wouldn’t land us anywhere good. But for some reason, I was okay with that. Somehow I trusted that whatever she was up to, it was in a big-picture kind of way, worthy of my limited attention.
    Did she really feel safe with me, or did she just say that to get me to go along? In the end, it didn’t really matter, because whatever she baited her hook with, I had already chomped down and wasn’t getting free anytime soon.

CHAPTER 7
    A COUPLE OF MORONS AND LEXIE’S PARENTS, WHO ARE ALSO A COUPLE OF MORONS
    AFTER OUR VIKING ADVENTURE, I WALKED AROUND the ship’s promenade deck alone before going back to the cabin. It was hard to shake the weird feeling I had while lying beneath the stars with Tilde. It was like I was living two lives now. I was two people, Antsy the kid I always was and then this new guy, Enzo, who was breaking laws left and right and enjoying it. Not that the real Antsy doesn’t mind bending the rules now and then, but this other guy, he was out of control.
    There’s this thing they call “folly-o-duh”—although since it’s French, it’s probably spelled with lots of silent e ’s and x ’s. Roughly translated, it means “a couple of morons.” It’s when two people get together, both feeding off the same bad idea, and since they keep agreeing with each other that it’s not a bad idea at all, it spins out of control, and they lose all touch with reality. It’s the principle that explains pairs like Bonnie and Clyde or Penn and Teller.
    I was beginning to wonder if I was spinning into a folly-o-duh with Tilde—but if I was, I was enjoying it too much to stop.
    Twice around the promenade and I felt more like me and less like Enzo. When I went into the cabin, Howie was there, sitting on his bed, looking dejected. Now I began to wonder what I missed in the real world.
    â€œHow come you’re here?” I asked him. “Weren’t you taking Lexie to the seventies dance?”
    He shrugged. “She didn’t wanna go. She said she’s seasick, but the ship’s barely moving.” Then he sighed. “It’s okay. Had we danced, we might have died.”
    I went through the connecting door into Lexie and Crawley’s suite. Crawley was there watching the crawl of some financial news network. He pointed to the balcony, and now I could hear Lexie crying through the open balcony door. Moxie was lying on the ground trying to disappear into the carpet, whimpering like he did during thunderstorms.
    â€œYour conspicuous absence in this entire situation has been duly noted,” Crawley said.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œIf she wants to discuss it, she will. But for now, I suggest you get out there and make her happy. If you don’t, I’ll have your citizenship revoked and leave you in Jamaica or whatever godforsaken island we’re on tomorrow.”
    â€œNot even you can do that, Mr. Crawley.”
    â€œPerhaps not, but I’ll have fun trying.”
    I went outside. Lexie sat on the large balcony, her shoulders shuddering with her sobs. I’d seen her cry before, but never like this. Her flute was in her lap, and she gripped it with white-knuckled intensity.
    â€œLexie . . .” I said gently.
    â€œGo away!” she yelled, caught off guard that I was there. Then she said more gently, “Just go away.”
    Of course I didn’t go. Now I really felt like a creep for not taking her to the dance. “Hey,” I said. “I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings.”
    â€œDon’t be stupid,” she said through her tears. “This isn’t because of you.” Then she wiped away some of her tears. “At least, it’s only