And we’re all quiet a minute, but then he turns it around. “So,” he says with half a grin, “you know my music?”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
“And you like it?”
“My boyfriend introduced me to you.” I eye my mother, and she looks away quick. “So yeah,” I tell him. “I like your music.” I shake my head. “Which is totally awkward.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”
And then my mother’s phone rings.
I jump and cry, “Grams!” Only it comes out more like “Mmoums!” because I’d just taken a bite of sandwich.
“Lana Keyes,” my mom answers, sounding stupidly official. And then she makes little noises for, like, two minutes while I sit there wiggling my hand for the phone. And finally, finally she says, “That’s all fine and understandable, and I support all of that, but Samantha is right here and desperate to talk to you.”
And then she’s quiet for another thirty seconds before she says, “Mother? Mother, please …” Then she sighs and clicks off.
“Seriously?” I gasp. “She wouldn’t talk to me?”
My mother looks away. “I’m sorry.”
“Where is she?” I ask, ’cause I’m ready to track her down and make her talk to me.
“Shopping.”
“Shopping? For what?”
My mother shrugs. “It’s Las Vegas. The possibilities are endless.”
“But Grams doesn’t shop! And how can she be shopping when she knows I’m miserable?”
My mother sighs again. “She needs a little her time.”
“Her time?” I throw my hands up in the air because for the first time ever Grams is acting like my mother. And let me tell you, this makes my head turn back into one weird, muddled mess. I mean, not being able to reach Grams is one thing. Having her shut me down cold when she knows I’m desperate to talk to her and am right there is something else. Because I don’t care what my mother says, Grams is not like her. She’s caring and supportive and giving and selfless.
But … how could she know I’m totally miserable and still go to the spa, get a mani-pedi, get her hair done, and go shopping?
How?
And that’s when something Pete had said goes jailhouse-rocking through my brain. “Ohmygod!” I cry, jumping up.
Lady Lana recoils like she’s just spotted blood. “What?”
“She’s getting married!”
“What?” she says again. “Who?”
“Grams!” I dash from here to there across the room, until I wind up back where I started. “Come on! We have to go!”
“Go where?”
“To the chapel!”
“What chapel? Samantha, calm down. Why do you think she’s getting married?”
“Come on.” I yank her out of her seat. “There’s no way I’m missing this wedding!”
TWENTY-EIGHT
The MGM’s chapel was open, and there was a woman at the reception desk. The place was all marbly and fancy, but I marched my high-tops right in anyway.
“What time is the wedding for Hudson Graham and Rita Keyes?” I asked.
Mom was behind me and started making little cooing noises to the woman about excusing the intrusion.
Darren was smart enough to stay outside.
“Seven-thirty,” the woman said, and, ka-thunk, my mom’s jaw hit the ground.
“Told you,” I snarled at my mom as I dragged her back outside.
“She was right,” my mom gasps to Darren. Then she looks at me and says, “How could she do this without telling us?”
I laugh. “I’m sure she’s planning to tell us. Someday.” Then I switch gears. “But forget about that—we’ve got work to do!”
“Work to do? What do you mean?”
I spread my arms out. “I need a dress! And shoes! And we need to get cans! And a JUST MARRIED sign for Jester!”
“Who’s Jester?” Darren asks.
“Hudson’s car! It’s a 1960 sienna rose Cadillac with whitewall tires and tons of chrome.”
“That’s what he drove to get here? A vintage Cadillac?”
“Yup.” And then I get a great idea. I put my hand out to my mother. “Hand me your phone.”
So she does and I dial and pretty soon I’m hearing, “You’ve reached the King!”
“Pete! It’s Sammy! How would you like to cruise the Strip tonight in a 1960 pink Cadillac? It’s pristine.”
He hesitates. “What’s the hitch?”
“It’s more who’s getting hitched. I’m happy to pay you.”
“You found her? I thought you didn’t want her to get married!”
“I found her, but it’s actually my grandmother who’s getting hitched.”
“Whoa, little mama, you’ve had one complicated weekend.”
“No kidding! But you’ll do it?”
“Sure!”
“Okay! The ceremony’s at seven-thirty at the MGM wedding chapel.”
“Small service, I take it?”
“Oh yeah.”
“So it’ll take about half an hour tops. I’ll be there before eight.”
“Thanks! And, uh, Pete?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t bring the Army. I think one Elvis is all my grandmother can handle.”
He laughs. “Right. See you soon, little mama!”
I hand the phone back to my mother, who asks me, “You’re hiring an Elvis, and you flew here. Where are you getting all this money?”
“Uh … it’s reward money.”
“Reward money.”
“Yeah.”
“For what?”
“Well … it’s a long story involving a guy named Justice Jack, a pink trailer, some junkyard dogs, and a dairy farm, but basically, someone stole the softball statue out of the foyer of City Hall, and I helped get it returned. So I got a cut of the reward money.” And since she and Darren are just staring at me, I go, “Are we getting ready for a wedding, or what?”
Darren says, “I’ll help with the cans,” but my mom cuts in with “Nobody does that anymore.”
We both look at her. “On a vintage pink Cadillac?” Darren says. “It’s perfect!”
I laugh. “Exactly!” And I can’t help it; I give him a big ol’ smile.
Lady Lana shakes her head. “What have I done?”
So for the next hour we race around buying stuff and decorating Hudson’s car—which was pretty easy to find, even in the massive parking structure. And by the time seven-thirty rolled around, I was wearing a dress and, as Grams would say, a pair of “real” shoes. The dress wasn’t fancy—just a simple blue thing with little flowers on the collar—but I knew Grams would love it. I also found her a bracelet with blue stones. They were fake, but they looked good, and come on! You don’t get that much for returning an ugly bronze statue!
Darren bought chocolates and flowers, and Lady Lana managed to get a set of hankies embroidered on the spot: HUDSON + RITA in a heart.
They were awesome.
Then we raced downstairs and waited outside the chapel.
And waited.
And waited.
And finally I ask, “What time is it?”
“Seven-forty,” Darren tells me.
I put out my hand to Lady Lana. “Phone.”
So she hands it over, and pretty soon Hudson is answering his room phone.
I don’t even bother to say hello. “Did she get cold feet?”
“Sammy?”
“Yes. Is she there all dressed and ready to go?”
“How did you—” He chuckles. “Of course you figured it out.”
“Well, we’re down at the chapel waiting.”
“You are? That’s wonderful! Because after she heard your messages, she decided she didn’t want to go through with it without you, but she thought it was too late to ask you.”
“Well, me and Mom and Darren are all here, so get down here! We have flowers and presents and I’m in a dress, for crying out loud! So tell her there’s no backing out
. Oh! And make sure you bring your car keys!”
“We’ll be right down.”
So I hand back the phone and march into the chapel and tell the staff that they’re dealing with old people and they’ll just have to be a little patient. And after a short wait, poof, there’s Hudson in a top hat and tails and Grams looking stunning in a cream-colored dress.
All of a sudden I’m a silly, gooshy-faced girl, sniffling and crying and telling Grams she looks gorgeous and putting the “something blue” on her wrist and telling her that I love her more than she could ever know.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says softly, then gives me the sweetest smile.
Hudson puts out an elbow for Grams and says, “You ready, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart!
He called her sweetheart!
I start streaming at the eyes all over again.
And then in they go to get married.
I cried through most of the wedding. I knew Grams was starting a new life without me, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, but seeing two of the people I love most in the world get married was awesome. I was so happy for Grams. And Hudson. They had had kind of a rocky romance, but she had been sweet on him from early on, and the more time they had spent together, the easier it was to see that they really were right for each other.
Perfect, in fact.
And I guess what made me so emotional was that Hudson already felt like family.
He was the guy I went to for advice.
He was the guy I could trust with my secrets and troubles and worries.
He was my friend.
And now he was my gramps!
Although, actually, we were going to have to talk about that. Maybe he’d still want me to call him Hudson.
Maybe I’d still want to call him Hudson.
But then again, maybe not!
Anyway, after they’d said their “I dos” and were signing the paperwork, I got Hudson’s keys from him and had Darren take Pete around to where the car was so he could pull it up to the lobby entrance.
Grams was absolutely glowing as we led her away from the chapel to the car, and random people cheered and whistled and yelled congratulations as we made our way through the casino and the lobby.
I was a little worried about Hudson’s reaction to Elvis behind the wheel of his car, but when he saw what we’d done, he said, “Brilliant!” and laughed like a little boy.
Grams turned to Mom and me and said, “This was all so thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Samantha was behind most of it.”
“Isn’t she always?” Grams says, smiling at me.
“I’m happy for you, Mom,” my mother tells her, and after they’ve hugged, Grams hugs me, too, and says, “Thank you, Samantha.”
I start crying again. “I love you, Grams. I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.”
She holds my cheeks and says, “What’s a little trouble with a heart as big as yours?”
By now Hudson’s car is causing kind of a traffic jam, so Pete stretches out and calls, “Come on, baby, let’s play house!”
Hudson laughs and gives Elvis a thumbs-up, then helps Grams into the backseat and passes her the box of chocolates and the flowers before hurrying around to get in the other side.
“Have fun!” we call, then wave as Elvis eases the car forward and the cans start clanking behind them.
And there they go.
And then they stop.
“What’s wrong?” I call, because Hudson’s getting out of the car.
“Seems we’re missing something,” he says back.
“What?”
He grins. “Our family.” Then he makes a grand sweeping motion, which can only mean one thing.
Get in!
The three of us all look at each other, and when Darren says, “Me, too?” I tell him, “I can’t be the only troublemaker in the family—come on!”
So Darren and my mom sit up with Elvis, and I pile in back next to Grams.
Then we roll out of the driveway and into the bright lights of Las Vegas, Grams holding Hudson’s hand on the left.
And mine on the right.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at
Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise
Excerpt from Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise copyright © 2013 by Wendelin Van Draanen Parsons. Published by Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. All rights reserved.
PROLOGUE
I look back on things I’ve done and wonder … why didn’t I see that coming?
Why didn’t I know that was a bad idea?
Why didn’t someone warn me?
Grams would tell you she does warn me and that the question should really be, Why don’t I listen?
Which, yeah, I admit, is usually the case.
But not this time. This time I thought it was a bad idea. This time I warned Grams and my mother and Hudson and anyone else who told me it was a good idea that it was a bad idea.
This time they didn’t listen.
Which is how I wound up on a cruise ship with a dad I barely knew, an endless buffet of party animals, and a family of creepy millionaires.
Happy birthday to me.
ONE
I was allowed to bring one friend. And since Marissa McKenze has been my best friend since third grade, and since it looks like she’ll be moving to Ohio in June because her mom’s lined up a job there and who knows how long it’ll be before I’ll get to do anything with her again after that, and since I wasn’t allowed to bring Casey because he’s my boyfriend and it would have been “inappropriate,” and since my other good friend, Holly, thought cruising sounded like a nightmare, the choice was easy.
Marissa.
Even Mrs. McKenze was for it, and she’s never for anything that has to do with her daughter spending time with me. According to her, I’m “hazardous.”
And yet, there we were, at the Long Beach dock with our luggage and passports, about to cruise to Mexico.
Actually, I think Mrs. McKenze being okay with the trip had more to do with Darren Cole being my dad than her daughter having one last adventure with her best friend.
He seems to have that effect on middle-aged women.
Something about the shaggy hair and guitar makes them lose their minds.
Or, at least, their common sense.
Him sending a car service to get us to the dock didn’t hurt, either. Mrs. McKenze actually gasped when she heard it was how we were getting to Los Angeles and I could tell I was suddenly a friend she wanted her daughter to hang with instead of the “hazard” I’d been before. Why a week away with a musician didn’t register as a hazard to her was beyond me, but like I said, common sense didn’t apply.
Marissa was over the moon about going on the cruise. She’d been on cruises before with her family, pre-financial meltdown/divorce. “It’s awesome, Sammy. You have no idea! You can’t even picture it, it’s so amazing! It’s like twenty stories of a Las Vegas resort steaming through the ocean!”
Which, having been to Las Vegas, didn’t help to sell me on the idea at all.
And since she hadn’t actually met my dad in person yet, she’d blown the whole thing way out of proportion. People would ask us what we were doing over spring break and she’d say, “Sammy and I are going on a celebrity cruise!”
“It’s not a celebrity cruise!” I’d tell her through my teeth.
“Sure it is! Your dad’s a celebrity and he’s playing on the cruise!”
“He’s playing one night. That’s all!”
But it was like she couldn’t help herself. She kept letting it slip out until finally I told her, “Knock it off or stay home!”
Her eyes had gotten huge. “You wouldn’t do that to me!”
“Yes, I would! The whole situation is embarrassing enough without you doing this!”
Which it was. It had only been about six weeks since I’d found out that m
y dad was Darren Cole of Darren Cole and the Troublemakers, and I was still pretty weirded out by it. Partly because going from being poor to finding out you’re the daughter of a rock star puts you smack-dab in the middle of some really strange territory, and partly because people at school love to gossip, and Darren Cole being my father became Big News fast.
It was amazing to see how many new “friends” I suddenly had, too. People who’d made fun of me before were now all being nice to me.
Thanks, but no thanks.
When we’re at the Long Beach dock waiting for Darren to show up and Marissa suddenly points and squeals, “There he is,” I can tell she’s going to be trouble. I grab her and get right in her face. “No squealing. No fawning. No gushing or gawking or … or fainting! He is just a guy. Just. A. Guy.”
There are masses of people swarming around and checking their luggage at different stations, but when I look over to where Marissa had pointed, I spot Darren right away. Maybe it’s the Louis Vuitton sunglasses. Or the blazer he has on instead of the beachy clothes so many other people are wearing.
Or maybe it’s the boots.
Who wears boots on a cruise?
“Sammy!” he calls, flashing a great big smile.
He’s got no luggage. No suitcase, no guitar, no nothing.
And that’s when it hits me—he’s not coming.
Something’s come up and he can’t make it.
I can feel myself get mad and hurt and withdrawn all at once.
Like I haven’t had enough cancellations and gushing apologies and pathetic excuses from my diva mother.
But hey, just another reality check—I should be used to getting them handed to me by now.
“Sammy!” he calls again.
I do give him a nod, but Marissa doesn’t catch it. “Why aren’t you answering him?” she asks, and then does a big, dopey wave that people in Hawaii could have seen.
“We canceled?” I ask when he gets up to us.
He slips the Louis Vuittons down his nose and looks at me eye to eye. “Canceled? Why would we be canceled?”
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask, looking around like, Hello, stuff …?
“It’s being loaded in with the band’s gear.” He has a quick conversation with our driver/escort and signs some papers, and then all of a sudden he calls out, “Marko! Marko, over here!”