Antsy Floats by Neal Shusterman Page B

that they won’t be joining us. They had ‘something pressing’ in Paris.”
    â€œNo way!” I clenched a fist, wishing I could give them a piece of my mind. Then it occurred to me that all the other stuff that Lexie just told me was small compared to this. Here was the real reason for Lexie’s tears.
    â€œSometimes,” Lexie said, “I feel like they just see me as ‘the blind girl,’ too.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I told her, for once glad that my parents were around to make my life miserable.
    â€œWell, to hell with them,” she said. “I’m having fun on this cruise in spite of it, and no one’s going to stop me.”
    Then she stood and hurled her golden flute into the Caribbean Sea.

CHAPTER 8
    RED, RED WHINE, WALL OF VOODOO, AND DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE
    I DON’T LIKE BEING A TOURIST. MOST TOURISTS are loud, rude, clueless, and got no respect for the place they’re visiting. The problem is, since I’m mostly loud, rude, and clueless, putting me next to a bunch of tourists makes me look like one of them. It’s embarrassing. If I’m gonna visit someplace, I don’t want to be clumped with some pasty-thighed retirees in sun hats. Lexie doesn’t like being “the blind girl,” and I don’t like being “the ugly American.”
    Under normal circumstances, though, I would have given in and gone along with the herd, but I already knew there wasn’t gonna be anything normal about my day on the island, with Tilde.
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    â€œWhat do you mean you’re not going with us?” My dad was up in arms. “Do you have any idea how much we paid for the Deluxe Jamaican Island Tour and Snorkel Extravaganza?”
    â€œSo get a refund.” My original plan was to tell them I was spending the day with Lexie, but then she left with Moxie for the spa, announcing that she was getting a three-hour seaweed wrap, which until then I thought was something you ate. It left me with no cover story.
    â€œWe made plans as a family,” my mother said, wagging her favorite wagging finger. “The least you could do is follow them.”
    â€œIf I have to go, so should he!” complained Christina.
    â€œC’mon, Antsy,” Howie begged. “It’s an extravaganza!”
    â€œI got your extravaganza right here,” I said.
    My mother threw up her hands and walked away. “I’ve raised a cultural imbecile.”
    I showed them my sunburn, which was still lobster red, and began to whine. “In case you forgot, I’m burned, and it hurts. I don’t feel like going, so get off my back already!”
    My dad shook his head, looking at me all disappointed. “Fine. Stay here and vegetate. I hope you and Crawley enjoy each other’s miserable company.”
    â€œI heard that!” said Crawley from the adjoining suite.
    I waited until they had all left, then watched from the balcony until I was sure all the tour buses were gone.
    Crawley came up behind me, full of his usual suspicion. “What are you scheming?”
    â€œWho says I’m scheming anything?”
    He poked me on my sunburned chest intentionally, and I grimaced. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You’re always scheming something.”
    Which was usually true. But this time it wasn’t. “I’m not the schemer,” I told him. “This time I’m just the henchman.”
    Crawley nodded, somehow satisfied. “I always knew you’d be a henchman sooner or later.” Then he went back to his suite and closed the adjoining door.
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    As soon as I got off the ship, I found myself in Fake Jamaica. The pier was full of comfy gazebos in pastel pink and blue, sparkling-clean souvenir shops selling native crafts that all said “made in China,” and an open-air stage, featuring yet another clone reggae band with regulation