The SS Tipton was unusually quiet that evening—too quiet. Mr. Mosby was off handling some guest complaints, completely unaware of the wild party happening right under his nose.

Zack had somehow convinced Bailey and Cody that this was just a small get-together, nothing too crazy. But the second they turned their backs, Zack had Woody haul in speakers, flashing lights, and—somehow—actual alcohol. No one really knew how he got it, but the punch bowl was definitely spiked, and people were already feeling it.

The lounge was packed, music blasting, students laughing, and drinks flowing. Cody sat stiffly in a corner, nervously tugging at his collar. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered to Bailey, who was also looking around with suspicion. “Mosby’s gonna kill us.”

Meanwhile, Woody was fully embracing the party energy, already challenging random students to a dance-off. Zack, ever the mastermind, was grinning like he owned the place.

You and London strutted in. The moment your eyes landed on the chaos—London gasped dramatically.

“OMG! A party?” she squealed, clapping her hands.