I whirled around. Sitting behind me in the shadow of a doorway was a little boy in a wheelchair. (Mallory had said something about seeing a kid in a wheelchair. It was funny - she seemed to have noticed an awful lot about the people on the ship.) Even though I'd wanted to be alone, I smiled and stepped over to the boy. It's just impossible for me to ignore anyone who's sick or hurt or handicapped. I guess that's because I have diabetes myself. I understand what it's like to be ill sometimes, to have to remember to take medication, to be in the hospital. . . .

"It's beautiful," I said to the boy. "I just love the ocean."

"Me too."

"Would you like me to push you closer to the railing so you can see better?" I asked him.

The boy looked thoughtful. "I would," he replied finally, "but you'll have to set the brake and hold the chair tight - I mean, if you don't mind. My parents worry a lot. They don't want me rolling around."

"I don't mind," I replied.

I pushed the chair across the deck, set the brake, and held on tight. "Where are your parents?" I asked him. If they were so worried, why had they left him alone?

"They're having a cup of coffee at the cafe. I said to them, 'Please, please, please can I go somewhere by myself?' so they said they would leave me here. I bet they'll be back in a minute, though. They really do worry about me all the time."

I smiled. I liked this kid.

"I'm Stacey McGill," I told him. "What's your name?"

"Marc Kubacki. I'm seven. How old are you?"

Seven? I thought. The kid sounded seven, but he looked four.

"I'm thirteen," I told him.

"You want to know a secret?" Marc asked, craning his neck around and peering up at me.

"Sure. I love secrets."

"As much as the ocean?"

"More."

Marc grinned. "Okay. Here's the secret. I'm not crippled. I can walk just fine."

I was about to ask, "Then how come you're in this wheelchair?" when Marc went on, "I have a real bad heart problem. I'm not allowed to walk or run or do anything that strains my heart or makes me get out of breath."

"Wow," I replied. "What a drag." I paused, wondering whether to tell Marc about me. Not that he couldn't handle it. I just don't talk about it all that much. But the least I could do was be as straightforward as Marc. I drew in a breath. "Now I'll tell you a secret. I have diabetes. And my parents worry about me all the time, too."

Marc wanted to know what diabetes was, so I explained as simply as I could.

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "This is our first big vacation. I wanted to go to the Magic Kingdom and Mom and Dad had never been on a cruise. So we decided to take this trip. I like the boat, but I can't wait for Disney World."

"Who's your favorite Disney character?" I asked.

"Goofy. Definitely Goofy. . . . Oh, here come my parents."

A young man and woman rushed over to Marc, looking concerned. But Marc saved things. "This is my new friend Stacey," he said. "She's holding on real tight."

The Kubackis laughed. We talked for a few minutes, and then I realized that my two hours were almost up. "I better go," I said. "But I hope I see you again soon, Marc."

"Okay," he replied. "'Bye! And thanks for holding on! I hope your diabetes gets better."

So did I, but that's one thing about diabetes. You have it for life.

As I made my way down to our cabins, I thought that it really was a good thing I'd been holding on tightly to Marc's chair. The ship had started to pitch from side to side, and I was having trouble walking. I kept slamming into walls and doorways.

When I reached our cabin, Mary Anne stepped (actually, she fell) through the doorway of the cabin next door. "Oh, Stace, I'm glad you're back," she said, getting to her feet.

"We're trying to settle everyone for the night. The crew is telling people to stay in their cabins - a big storm is coming!"

"No kidding. Wow!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah," said Mary Anne. "I've got Vanessa and Mallory in there," she nodded toward her cabin, "but Claire and Margo are kind of scared and they're in with Mr. and Mrs. Pike."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks."

I retrieved Claire and Margo (who did seem a little frightened, but not too scared), and tucked them into the bottom bunks in our cabin. I was trying to climb into my top bunk when the ship tipped way over on one side.

"Whoa!" I cried as I slipped back down to the floor.

A box of Kleenex flew over my head, and Claire's bathing suit sailed by.

"Boy, now I see why all the furniture is stuck to the floor," said Claire.

But Margo said, "Stacey! Stacey! I don't feel-well."

Uh-oh, I thought. Margo is famous for her motion sickness, and I can't stand to see people throw up.

I gave Margo a hug, though, and handed her a trash can. "Here," I said, "if you have to get sick, you can do it in there, okay? I'm going to run to your parents' cabin and see if if s okay to give you some Dramamine."

"Oh, don't leave," wailed Margo. But I had ,to. The Dramamine was in Mrs. Pike's suitcase.

"I'll stay with you, Margo," said Claire, looking worried.

I dashed to the Pikes' cabin, and Mrs. Pike returned with me, and then took Margo (who had thrown up twice in the wastebasket) back to her room for the night.

Then I had to clean out the wastebasket, which was really really really disgusting, but that was part of my job. Baby-sitting isn't always fun and games. Still, after I'd finished, the rest of the evening was kind of fun. There was no way Claire was going to go to sleep for awhile, so she and I watched things slide around. We took pictures of a suitcase that had dumped open, and of a banana flying through the air. (Well, I hope I got the banana.) I even took a picture of Claire laughing hysterically as she fell out of bed.

When she finally got tired, we lay together in her bunk and listened to the howling wind and lashing rain. At last Claire fell asleep and I climbed up to my bed.

The next morning, the sea was calm, the sky was clear, and the sun was shining.

Kristy.

The last thing I expected when I woke up on the morning of the third day of the cruise was a calm sea. The storm was over.

"I don't believe it," I said to Claudia as she climbed down from the top of our bunk. "I thought for sure - OW! Can't you get out of bed without stepping on me?"

"Sorry," said Claudia. "I'm just not used to this thing. People always talk about climbing into or out of bed, but I never thought of that in terms of ladders. It doesn't seem normal."

"Wake Dawn up, would you please, Claud? We're supposed to meet Mom and Watson and everyone for breakfast in half an hour."

Claudia had just stepped into the bathroom. I could hear water running. "I can't," she called. "You do it."

"Oh," I groaned.

"Never mind!" said Dawn. "I'm awake." She sat up quickly and hit her head on the springs of the top bunk. A pair of Claudia's shoes fell to the floor. Dawn frowned. "This room is a dump," she said.

"I don't think so," I retorted. And just to make her madder than she already was, I got up (without hitting my head) and swept two more pairs of Claudia's shoes off the bunk.

Thonk, thonk, thonk, thonk. They landed on the floor. I was doing it on purpose, and I knew it would make Dawn mad. It would serve her right for being such a neatnik.

Dawn stomped around, picked up all six shoes, and threw them back on the bed. Then she found the wrappers from two bags of M&Ms that Claudia and I had eaten the night before, and threw them into the trash can with such force that they almost bounced back out again.

I felt a little worried. Maybe I had gone too far with Dawn. Just in case, I decided to eat at Mom and Watson's table. And then I decided I needed to go someplace to cool off - literally. So I put on my bathing suit, grabbed a towel, my sunscreen, and this sports book I was reading, and headed for the big pool on the Sun Deck.

I wanted to go swimming, but it was too soon after breakfast. Watson says that that business about waiting an hour before you go in the water after you've eaten is an old wives' tale. But I'd eaten two poached eggs, two English m.u.f.fins, and four pieces of bacon, and drunk both tea and orange juice at breakfast, so I was on the full side and decided to wait anyway.

I plunked down on a lounge chair, spread on my coconut-scented sunscreen, and opened my book. I hadn't read more than a page when someone else plunked down on the chair next to me. I hoped it wasn't Dawn. Unless she was coming to apologize.

When no one said anything, though, I dared to glance over at the chair. Sitting in it was an old man wearing a blue Hawaiian-print shirt (kind of like one Stacey has) and green Hawaiian-print shorts. The shirt and shorts absolutely didn't match. They looked awful together. Just as bad was the man's faded blue golf cap - and the look on his face. The look was so grouchy that I quickly turned my head back to my book.

But right away I had to glance at him again. Wasn't he the man who had stopped Claudia and me the other day to ask us the time? I couldn't be sure. There were so many people on board the Ocean Princess. Besides, that man had seemed sad, not grouchy.

I turned back to my book. I read a chapter, then another. The sun was scorching. I decided it was time for a swim. I began swimming laps. When I surfaced after awhile, the man had gotten a gla.s.s of iced tea from somewhere. He tasted it and made a hideous face.

The next time I surfaced, I was just in time to hear the man say, "Clumsy fool." I wasn't positive why he was saying it, but a woman was walking away from him looking quite annoyed.

The next time I surfaced, the man had opened a book. But he wasn't reading it. He was looking over at a group of people who were laughing and talking and playing Trivial Pursuit. "No respect for someone who might want to read," grumbled the man as I hoisted myself out of the pool.

What did he expect? I thought. This is a pool, not a library.

As I was drying myself off, the man dropped his book. Without thinking about it, I leaned over and retrieved it. "Here you go," I said, handing it to him. And then I glanced at the t.i.tle. "The Mayor of Casterbridge!" I exclaimed. "That's my nannie's favorite book. She reads it once a year."

"No kidding," said the man. "I've read it eight times. . . . Who's your nannie?"

"My grandmother. Mom's mother. She's seventy-three. She has a car named the Pink Clinker."

"No kidding," the man said again. "Seventy-three. Does that mean she's read the book seventy-three times?"

I shook my head. "Only fifty-eight. Once a year since she was fifteen. I guess I forgot to mention that part."

The man almost smiled then - but not quite.

"My Gertrude's favorite book was Pride and Prejudice."

It was my turn. "Who's Gertrude?" I asked as I finished drying off and lay down on the lounge chair again.

"My wife. Dead now." The man turned away. His almost-smile had disappeared.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "Really I am. It's awful when people die ... or go away. Nan-73 rue's husband - my grandfather - died. And my dad went away once and never came back. Now I have a stepfather."

"No kidding."

"Yeah. He's the one taking us on this trip. He's taking my mom, my three brothers, my two friends, my stepsister and stepbrother, and me."

"No kidding. Sounds like a mighty nice person."

"Oh, he is," I a.s.sured the man. "And generous. I think he'd do anything for our family. But you know what?" (Why was I confiding in this stranger?) "One of my friends that Watson brought along - her name is Dawn - well, she and I are sort of having a fight."

"No kidding."

"Yeah. I hate having fights. Especially when you're supposed to be having a good time. And especially when she's my guest."

"What are you fighting about?"

"We're kind of like the Odd Couple on TV."

"No kidding. Which one of you is the messy one?"

"Me." I looked down at my hands.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," said the man.

"My Gertrude and I were like that. I was the messy one, too."

"Yeah? Then we're two of a kind."

"I guess/' he replied. "Except that you look like you're having fun on this trip."

"Oh, I am," I agreed. "Not counting the problem with Dawn. Aren't you having fun?"

The man shrugged. "I don't fit in on this trip. I should never have come. I came for the wrong reasons. Besides, I'm too old and I'm a big grouch."

I giggled. "My name's Kristy Thomas," I told him. "What's yours?"

"Rudy Staples."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Staples," I said, and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Kristy Thomas."

Mr. Staples told me all about Gertrude then - how even though she was a neatnik, she'd been his lawn bowling partner, his golf partner, his life partner. But she'd had a heart attack and died just two months earlier. Mr. Staples had taken the trip for a change of pace. He said he needed to get away from his memories.

I didn't think the idea was working too well.

"You know what?" I said to Mr. Staples. "It's getting awfully hot out here. We don't want to get sunburned. Lef s go inside. Do you know how to play Centipede?"