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That horrible breakup and the leaked voice-mail messages he left her where he sounded really sad and kept telling her that he did know how to have fun. He could learn to loosen up.
    I felt really bad for him.
    I crane my neck to get a better look at him, over the heads of the small crowd gathered around him.
    He’s only eighteen or nineteen, but he’s handling the large crowd like a pro, grinning and jovial. This is what he does now—hosting stuff. He’s always on a red carpet or talking about who wore what. He’s good at it.
    He sure looks like he knows how to have fun, right now.
    â€œNow, lots of people have asked why Solu decided to hold their launch event on a ship. Do you know?” Tom holds the microphone out to a pretty girl in a halter dress. She shakes her head and giggles.
    â€œAnyone?” He offers the mike out.
    â€œBecause cruises are awesome?” the girl suggests.
    â€œTrue! But not just that,” Tom says. He gestures over the edge of the ship.
    â€œLook down here. See those crewmen waiting down there?”
    I peer over the side of the boat, with everyone else.
    There are two workmen in overalls waiting on a wooden platform that’s been lowered down to sit just above the level of the water. They have cans of black paint with them and large rollers.
    â€œOnce all the passengers are on board,” Tom continues, “those crewmen are going to paint a line indicating the ship’s weight. When we come back to this port, in seven short days, the ship will sit at least ten feet higher in the water! That will indicate a combined weight loss of at least five thousand pounds from the Extravagance ’s five hundred passengers! And it could be even more!”
    The people around Tom cheer. He beams at them all.
    I sort of want to raise my hand and say, “What about the weight of the food we will eat? What about the fuel? Won’t those things affect the weight of the ship?”
    But I’m not going to be some kind of lame whistle-blower on their promotional idea.
    I have to say, it’s weird to look at him.
    It’s Baby Tom-Tom, grinning that grin we all know so well.
    I feel like I can see ghost images of him over his face—there he is as a toddler, as a saucy seven-year-old, as a chunky eleven-year-old wiseass, and then there’s the present Tom.
    The baby fat’s gone now—he has a hard, etched jaw and his body’s lean and muscled. You can see his pecs kind of straining at the fabric of his shirt. He’s not that tall, but he has an electric charm coming off him. And hotness. (Coming off him in waves.)
    Have I mentioned the hotness? Because he is scorching hot.
    Then something surprising happens: Someone I can’t see says, “Cut,” and the smile drops off Tom’s face. One minute, he seems to be having a great time and the next, he’s totally serious. Over it. Huh. (Maybe he doesn’t actually know how to have fun, after all.)
    â€œLaurel! There you are!” Viv crushes me in a giant hug from behind. “Stop gaping at Baby Tom-Tom like a dork.”
    â€œI wasn’t gaping!” I protest.
    She drags me away from the little crowd.
    â€œYou have to see our room!” Vivika exclaims. “You’re going to D-I-E die!”

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
    EXPELLED . Copyright © 2015 by Emmy Laybourne. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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    Cover design by Rich Deas
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    e-ISBN 9781250082336
    First Edition: 2015