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sharp in the Aurora Restaurant (I guess that’s the main dining hall) and that there is a mandatory muster drill at four.
    â€œA muster drill?” I ask Viv.
    â€œThey show us how to use lifeboats and stuff,” Viv tells me.
    â€œOh,” I say. “That’s cool.”
    She shrugs. “We had to do it on the Regent cruise I took last year. It’s boring, but it’s over fast. And we can scope for hotties. Sabbi Ribiero brought her whole entourage!”
    I should probably mention my brush with famousness, but, eh. Viv will get so into it and I’ll have to recount every breath I spent in the presence of her Brazilianess.
    Viv digs through a folio of papers from the concierge that was set on top of the desk.
    â€œI signed us up for all the best excursions!” she says. “Snorkeling in Roatan, which has real pirate ships, and we can take dune buggies out in Belize!”
    â€œI will drive!” I tell her. “You drive like brakes don’t exist.”
    â€œWhat is this word brakes ?” she says.
    I cross to read over her shoulder.
    She’s looking at a little shipboard guide with information about the cruise. It’s printed on heavy stock.
    She traces a map of our route with her finger.
    â€œTomorrow is Key West, then we hit Cozumel, Belize, then Roatan, which is this tiny island off Honduras!”
    â€œViv,” I say. “I’m not going to thank you like a million times and drive you crazy, but really … thanks for bringing me.”
    â€œPlease. Shut up,” she says. And she hugs me.
    There’s a kind of a lurch underfoot.
    â€œWhat was that?” I ask.
    â€œThe ship’s finally moving!” Viv exclaims. She grabs me by the arms. “It’s happening! We’re on our way!”
    I’m distracted by the engine’s rumbling and the slight, slight sensation I feel—the floor is moving.
    Hmmm. Not so sure I love that feeling.
    â€œHey, my stomach feels … like … it doesn’t like the floor moving,” I say.
    Viv turns to me, a gleam in her eye.
    â€œCome on,” she says. “The air up top will take that feeling away.”
    She puts her arm through mine.
    Oh God, the room lists gently to the side. My head feels weird.
    â€œLet’s go mingle!” Viv says.

 
    TOM
    DAY ONE
    AFTER THE INTERVIEW, TAMARA escorts Almstead and Dr. Zhang toward the entrance to the elevator.
    The ship’s moving now and I was right—the breeze is cooling it down.
    We’re up on the top deck, which runs around the pool deck, sort of like a track. There’s a small swimming pool below, as well as tables and chairs set in the shade, and a long, fancy appetizer buffet.
    My stomach growls.
    â€œI’m getting hungry,” I say to Cubby, stretching.
    â€œMe, too,” Cubby says.
    My trainer, Derek, says on days like this I need to eat every four hours to keep my metabolism amped. Stoke the fire, he tells me.
    Protein and greens, ideally. I can see some shrimp cocktails in crystal dishes set into a bed of ice near an ice sculpture of a giant S . It takes me a second to realize the S is for Solu. Duh.
    Tamara hustles back.
    â€œOkay, we need more teens, a few more celebs, and then we’re done for the afternoon. Having fun?”
    I hate that question.
    The answer is no. I’m working.
    Work doesn’t have to be fun. It’s work. That’s the idea.
    â€œYeah,” I lie. “Sure.”
    Tamara has wrangled three giggling girls in bikinis. They’d better watch it with the Solu—I don’t see where they’re going to lose any weight from.
    I ask them some questions and they laugh and answer. I flirt with them and they respond. It’s easy when I’m on camera—I know my role.
    But off camera … I don’t know what to talk about with girls.
    I don’t know where to look. It’s like they’re always gazing into my eyes,