Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A

him.
    “Dude!” Marko gushes, and blows him a kiss.
    Well, after
that
has a few seconds to clear, I tell Kip, “The point is, if you think someone shoved your grandmother overboard—”
    “Whoa! Wait!” Marko says. “What’s this?”
    “Hold on,” I tell him, then turn back to Kip. “Who
can
you talk to?”
    He just looks down and shakes his head.
    “Your mom?”
    He shakes it some more.
    “JT?”
    His head snaps up. “No way!”
    “So …?”
    There’s a long silence, and finally he says, “Grandfather was the only one.”
    I just blink at him. “Uh … not much conversation happening there.”
    “I know,” he says, and really, it looks like his eyes are about to bust loose with tears.
    “Dude,” Marko says. “You want to come play my drums?”
    Marissa and I turn on him. “Marko!”
    “I’m serious! It’s great therapy.”
    Darren slaps Marko on the back. “It would probably help if we left.”
    “Dude, it’s just getting interesting!”
    Darren stands and drags Marko out of his seat, then gives Kip a little smirk. “It’s not like I talked to my mother when I was your age, and I sure didn’t talk to other people’s parents. Mostly I talked to Marko here, even though he’s always given questionable advice.”
    “Dude! I give great advice! This boy needs to bash on something, can’t you see that?”
    Darren just pulls him along, telling us, “So maybe we’ll go catch some rays while you talk things through.” And since none of us are begging him to stay, he adds, “How about I meet you in that Lido Library at three o’clock? We’ll get you online.”
    “That’d be great!” I tell him.
    The minute they’re gone, I scoot around so I’m facing Kip better and look him square in the eye. “The person I love most in the world is my grandmother.”
    “Hey!” Marissa cries.
    “Sorry!” I turn back to Kip. “But it’s true. There’d be this huge hole in my heart that nobody could patchup if she died. So I get what you’re saying about your grandfather.”
    Which, big help, makes him actually cry. I hand him a napkin, but he wipes his face with his hands instead. And when he’s mostly dried up, I ask, “Your grandfather was your mother’s father, right? And Kate’s your mother’s mother?”
    He nods.
    “So your mom’s got to be upset about all this, too. She would understand how you feel, wouldn’t she?”
    Only instead of nodding, he shakes his head. “She resents them. Maybe even hates them.”
    My eyes squint down. “She
hates
them? Why?”
    “Because of me.”
    “You?”
    “Grandfather brought me here from Kenya. He thought my mother needed a child.”
    “Wait. Whoa.
What?
”
    Kip nods. “That was pretty much my mother’s reaction.”
    “Can you actually remember her reaction?” Marissa asks. “How old were you?”
    “Eight.”
    “But …” I shake my head. “What was he doing in Kenya? And why you?”
    “He was buying a shea tree plantation.”
    “A what?”
    “You know—the stuff they make shea butter out of? For creams and stuff?”
    “So …?”
    “And I was an orphan and a …”
    He just drifts off, so I say, “And a what?”
    He looks away. “A thief. You know.”
    “No! I don’t know!”
    “You do what you have to do to eat, okay? There was never enough at the orphanage.” He shrugs. “But he caught me, and instead of punishing me, he hired me to help him. He taught me things, too. The second time he came, I was so happy to see him. I didn’t want him to leave.”
    “So he brought you back with him?” Marissa asks, and when he nods, we both just stare until Marissa finally says, “So it was your grandfather’s idea and your grandmother went along with it?”
    “That’s the way it always was. I never saw her disagree with him.” He shakes his head a little. “And I spent a lot of time with them. Grandfather seemed to really like having me around. And Grandmother has always been very kind to me.”
    “But not your