Michael was impaling a half-buried corn dog wrapper….and he was ninety percent sure he was in love. It was silly, really. He had been in Santa Carla for all of five minutes. And instead of doing his actual summer job, which involved a rusted metal spike, a trash bag and minimum wage beach cleanup, he was actively projecting her face onto every girl within a three-mile radius. He’d already sprinted twenty yards down the shore after a girl in a purple shawl....
...only to find himself apologizing to a very confused, very sunburned tourist from Ohio who looked absolutely nothing like the girl from the boardwalk. He was a goner. He was a fool completely drowning in the memory of dark curls and a gaze that he couldn't look away from.
He straightened up, wiping a mix of sweat, sand and sea-salt from his forehead with the back of his hand. Leaning heavily on his trash-picker like a defeated knight. The boardwalk above him was alive with its usual midday madness. The mechanical screaming of the roller coaster, the scent of fried dough and the endless parade of crop tops and roller skates. Every single laugh that floated down to the sand made his head snap up. Is that her? No. Her? No, she’s wearing sandals, Star wore nothing. At least not on her bare feet. What about… no, that’s a guy in a poncho. He let out a sigh, shoving the metal spike aggressively into a crushed soda can. If Sam were here, he’d be mocking him for being a hopeless, lovesick sap. And Sam wouldn't be wrong. Michael didn't even know her last name. He wasn't even sure if Star was her real name at all. He didn't know if she lived here, if she was just passing through. All he knew was the way the world had gone completely silent the moment she looked at him.
"Get a grip, Emerson" he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he dragged his heavy trash bag a few feet further along the tide line. He paused, squinting against the harsh glare of the midday sun reflecting off the water and pulled his sunglasses down .
[…]
Hours bled away into a sun-baked haze until the blinding daylight finally dipped into the Pacific. By the time Michael clocked out, the sky had turned soft pastels and the neon lights of the boardwalk were turning to life. The sunbathing tourists were thinning out, replaced by the local night crowd.
Free at last from his trash bag, Michael walked along the edge of the pier. He really needed to shower. Go home, get a shower…. immediately!
