Bastien instinctually felt around the beach for the leash of his board before sitting up and scrubbing off the snow white, salty ghosts of the waves that had washed up his shins and lulled him to sleep. For as long as he could remember Bastien had felt at home in the water. His elementary school self had even begged his parents for a waterbed. But that was in the before. All of his happiness was in the before.
“I have ears, me,” he said, freeing the sand from his inky black hair with a few swift shakes of his head.
“Then use ’em and listen to me when I tell you to get outta here.”
Bastien stood and took his time patting down his empty pockets before lifting each of his feet and peering down at the golden granules like he’d lost something. Truth was, he didn’t own anything except the clothes on his back and the board at his feet. Everything else he’d left back in Louisiana.
“I haven’t got all day.” The young man sneered, wrinkles forming across the bridge of his thin nose.
“There you are!” The cheerful voice wiped the sneer from his face—most of it anyway. Bastien wasn’t sure the guy could get rid of it completely. He’d just walk around the world with that “I smell shit” look wrinkling his narrow features. “You’ll have to excuse my little brother.” She brushed her hand through his sunbleached hair, mussing the gelled strands much to his disapproval. “He fell out of the dick tree and hit every floppy limb on the way down.” She elbowed him in the ribs a bit too hard for a simple joke.
Bastien just might like this girl, whoever she was.
“Haven’t I seen you around?” She glanced at his board, at the majestic phoenix stretching its wings from the glowing embers of its past. “Yeah,” she bobbed her head like she’d just received an answer to a question she’d long been wondering. “I’ve definitely seen you out there. You were here when all those waves started. That was like a week ago, wasn’t it, Richie?”
Richie. Well that just about figured, didn’t it? Wasn’t Dick the nickname for Richard?
“I guess,” Richie grumbled.
“Well, anywho, we’re looking for help. A bunch of our staff was seasonal and is headed back to college. How would you like a job?”
“Josie!”
The corner of Bastien’s mouth ticked up in a faint half smile. Little Dickie might just have a heart attack and start Bastien’s day off right.
Josie held up her hand. “Daddy gave this location to me, Richie, to me. Plus”—her long mermaid blue braid slid off her shoulder as she hiked it up toward her ear—“I can tell stuff about people, their auras I guess you could call it, and I can tell that you need a little help. Not that this is charity or anything.”
Richie snorted, and Bastien just might agree with him.
“It’s not,” Josie continued, shooting a narrowed side eye at her brother. “There’s work involved. A lot of work. It’s minimum wage plus tips paid in cash all off the books. Plus, there’s a bed in the back where—”
“A cot,” Richie interrupted.
Josie pushed on. “Where you can stay as long as you’re okay with closing up the place each night.”
Bastien mulled over the proposition. He didn’t particularly like the idea that he’d be accountable to someone, someone who was keeping him away from the sweet Galveston waves, but he’d also be on the beach every day, which was no different from how he was living currently, but he currently didn’t have to be somewhere every night to close up shop. However, and this was a big however, a monumental however, he’d have his own money.
“Who’d I be workin’ for?” His eyes never left Josie’s, not wanting for one second for Richie to think he had any kind of power over him.
“You’d be working for me as a Seas the Day Team Member,” she pointed to the logo on her brother’s T-shirt that matched her own. “Just like Richie. We’ll be good to you if you’re good to us.”
Bastien nodded. He figured he could manage if he worked for Josie and not good ol’ Dickie. “Sounds fine.” But it was more than fine. It was a relief. Now he wouldn’t have to go back to that house his mother forced him to call home. He could stay away, far away, forever.
“Great!” Josie chirped, her face brightening. Bastien knew what she thought. Knew she saw him as a troubled, homeless boy who needed a handout. But that was only half true. He picked up his shirt from the beach where he’d rolled it up as a pillow, shook it out as best he could, though you never could really free yourself from the tiny grains that seeped like lazy stowaways into even the smallest nook.
But Bastien wasn’t homeless—not by the true definition of the word. He’d chosen to leave. And all that money and fine food and the fancy cars and grand estate—they were all waiting back there behind him, stretched out like a shadow.
“Richie will get you an official Team Member shirt and will show you the ropes.” She turned to Richie and, lowering her voice, said, “I’m going to go open up. Don’t be…” she sighed. “Just give him a chance. We really need the help.” She jogged back to the straw-roofed hut and disappeared inside the open doorway.