Antsy Floats Read Online Free PDF

thing I’ve learned in life is that if you act like you know where you’re going and you mumble a heartfelt but meaningless excuse without slowing down, they usually let you pass.
    â€œHey!” a guard said. “You can’t go that way!”
    â€œYeah, but I gotta get my thing from the guy, because he forgot,” I told him in a heartfelt way, and breezed right past him, no problem. I feel confident I could escape from a maximum security prison should it ever become necessary.
    So I got out onto the dock, where a forklift was loading massive crates full of luggage through the ship’s huge cargo door. I reached the edge of the dock and I peered into the water. No faller. No body. Nothing.
    Finally, two guards came after me. “Hey—this is a restricted area!”
    I tried to explain what I saw, but they weren’t buying.
    â€œFine. We’ll file a report,” one of them said, but we all knew no one was gonna file anything but their nails.
    Then I looked up at the cruise terminal and saw my parents looking down on me, my mother’s eyes melting holes in the glass. Meanwhile, right next to them, Howie was holding up his room key and giving me a thumbs-up. It turns out, me running off had flustered my parents just enough that they didn’t notice when Howie presented himself to the cruise agent as Francis Howard Bonano.
    The guards escorted me back into the terminal, and that was that. Since nobody else saw anything and there was no evidence, I had to reluctantly conclude that it was my imagination. At any rate, I wasn’t going to let it mess with my good time. Besides, there were plenty of other things about to mess with it.

CHAPTER 3
    DISTRACTIONS ABOARD THE LARGEST FLOATING OBJECT EVER CONCEIVED BY THE MIND OF MAN
    THERE’S THIS THING CALLED ATTENTION DEFICIT disorder. They used to call it hyperactivity. We all know kids like this. They bounce around from one thing to another like a Super Ball—which, by the way, can actually embed in the ceiling if you bounce it on a tile floor hard enough. I know, ’cause when I was younger, I got three of them stuck in the ceiling of our downstairs bathroom, and to this day my mother refuses to remove them because she claims they’re evidence. Evidence of what, I don’t know, but like most things, I’m sure it’ll come back to bite me.
    So I’ve been told that maybe I got borderline attention deficit, on account of the way I got trouble sticking to a single subject. But the way I see it, I’d rather hit three walls and get stuck in the ceiling than stand like a lump in the middle of the room staring at myself in the bathroom mirror.
    My point is that on the Plethora of the Deep , everybody’s got ADHD. You can’t help it. It’s like Las Vegas without the sleaze. There’s too much to look at, too many people handing out rainbow-colored drinks, too many glittering chandeliers, too much weird artwork by famous artists, and way too many string bikinis, although, to be honest, you really can’t have too many of those.
    My parents were not immune to being dazzled. They were so dazzled, in fact, that they got lost with Christina trying to find the cabin. “They’ll find it eventually,” Crawley announced, insisting that Howie push him onward.
    As it turns out, our cabins weren’t “cabins” at all. We had two adjoining “sky suites.” One was for Crawley, Lexie, and Lexie’s parents, who were going to board when the ship got to the Cayman Islands. The other suite was for my family and Howie. Each suite had two stories and was like a loft apartment. They must have cost Crawley a small fortune.
    â€œWow . . . this is too much, Mr. Crawley!” I said.
    Crawley stood out of his wheelchair and examined a silver platter of chilled sushi, compliments of Caribbean Viking cruise line. “You’re right, it is too much,” he said, “but