The Trouble With Destiny by Lauren Morrill

Author:Lauren Morrill [Morrill, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Love & Romance, School & Education, Social Issues, General
ISBN: 9780553497977
Google: amn0oAEACAAJ
Amazon: 0553497979
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2015-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Huck or Hillary.

Hillary or Huck.

Or preferably both. That’s what I need right now if I’m even going to begin to make sense of what just happened.

What did just happen?

I pause on the black-and-white tile of the atrium and close my eyes, and it all flashes back. Lenny. The kiss. Russ. Hitting Lenny. My hand goes to my lips, and at the same time I shiver, dueling feelings of happiness and horror coursing through me in equal measure. It’s been happening ever since I walked out of that room, and I’m not sure if it’s going to stop until I find my friends.

The atrium is cavernous and filled with people, and even though a massive blue-and-gold sign overhead littered with arrows directs passengers to the Punch Line Comedy Club, the Blue Note Dinner Theater, and Lucky Strike’s Casino, there’s no listing for the karaoke lounge. That’s when I collide with a white-clad Destiny crew member. He glares at me but keeps muttering into the walkie-talkie he has pressed to his mouth. I hear something about poker and a fifty-dollar buy-in, and something else about Miguel screwing him. As soon as he stops talking, I take my chance.

“I’m looking for the karaoke lounge,” I say, and he nods, one ear glued to the walkie-talkie. Apparently someone is talking through the static.

“The lounge? That red door across the atrium,” he says, pointing. Then he double-times it across the floor until he disappears through a set of doors marked staff only.

When I get to the red door he indicated, I push through and find myself hit with a wall of light and sound. The entire room is cast in a deep red glow that bounces off the many mirrored tabletops, as well as the ceiling, dance floor, and walls. A disco ball spins in the center of a starburst of lights, with blue and gold and green glinting off in so many directions I feel like I’m in a nightclub aboard the starship Enterprise. Cocktail waitresses in vintage-style sequined uniforms of hot pants and suspenders carry trays of drinks around that are made up of so many neon colors they couldn’t possibly be food. They look more like martini glasses full of cleaning fluids.

Even though the room is designed to look like some übertrendy hot spot on the Vegas strip, the crowd is decidedly not cosmopolitan. The dance floor is crowded with what looks like the parents who just dropped their kids off at the Kidz Camp next door and were so excited to cut a rug that they didn’t have time to scrub the zinc oxide off their noses or change out of their garish Hawaiian shirts. They bob and flail along to the techno track pounding from the overhead speakers, but it looks like only about half of them have caught on to the actual rhythm of the bass. The rest are so far off tempo that they look like they’re having some kind of group seizure, with sweat flying across the dance floor at such a rate I worry someone’s going to slip and break an ankle.

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