Ours Stars

Chapter 2 »»»» «««« I Can Thank the Bat

I Can Thank the Bat

It is Sunday.

To use the word interesting to describe a regular day at Diego's Beach Hut (yes, I know, very original) is stretching it. To describe it as interesting during the weekend is the understatement of the century. I don't want to scare you off with the gory details - I'll sum it up in a couple of words: egregious use of Speedo.

And that's all I'm saying.

But it's calmed down - rush hour is over. Once in a while a very arrogant looking dude saunters in - no shirt, swim trunks hung too low, aviators kept on even though they've just walked into a twenty by twenty box of shade - along with his equally disgusting cohorts. Like now.

I'm in my usual uniform (the strict policy requires it of me). My bathing suit is covered by a jean skirt and T-shirt; my feet, by cowboy boots. No: I am not southern.

And no, I am not one of those girls who wear them just because they want to make a misguided fashion statement. They had been a very pearly white gift from my mom when I'd first received them, and that very night - equipped with a plastic bag full of colorful sharpies - I set to work on my new canvas until they were covered. They looked much better, in my opinion - but when my mom had seen them she practically burst a vein.

I've loved them ever since.

Anyway, I'm reading, or trying to read at least, Les Miserables. To tell you the truth, I was trying to be grownup and trying to understand when, right now, if you asked me what that book was about, I honestly could not tell you. So this clan of rowdy males comes in, trying to act cool, shouting things like, "dude, did you see that chick, she was totally all over you and you just walked away, that was fuckin' awesome!"

I roll my eyes, literally biting my lip to keep sarcastic comment and laughter from bursting through. Anyway, they get louder, and is it just me, or did the fine print on Les Miserables (I was on page 1 of course) get even smaller?

I start to get really annoyed, just wishing they'd leave before I do something I'd regret later involving, oh I don't know, a flame thrower? That thought keeps me entertained for a while until finally, they come up to the counter and one of the guys, a burly guy (well, more bear than guy, but anyway) with a buzz cut, whistles. The others look a little surprised, and I'm not shocked they hadn't noticed I was here. Or maybe they were just expecting Enrique, the one who usually runs the counter. (Trust me, when compared to Enrique, I'm not amazed I got a whistle)

I immediately take my feet off the counter and stand up, putting L.M. aside, deciding I'll have to read the page over again.

I ring them up without listening to their stupid, crude remarks. I can block out painful, unnecessary things from my mind quite easily - I have an older brother. But they get louder, and their words start to slip through.

"Hey baby, don't be like that!"

"You're so hot, isn't she guys?!"

"Dude, she doesn't like that. What honey, you scared of all this?"

"Just talk to me babe, I can stand here and stare at you all day!"

And then one of them leans in on the counter and breathes in my face the words: "You're quiet now, but I bet I could make you scream my name."

Their stupid laughter echoes through the empty store. I grit my teeth and reach under the counter and get out the bat and look up with a smirk on my face, they all take a surprised step back.

I twirl the bat in my hands, my smirk growing once I catch the sight of their expressions: shocked, doubtful, fearful, uncertain, measuring (probably the distance between them and the bat vs. them and the front door).