tide line where the surf instructors waited, it was obvious that the woman wore a great deal of makeup, although most women didn’t bother application in preparation for this activity. The kids shrugged. The woman had never been seen without make-up and it was possible she was coming to this meeting from some other engagement even though the sun was just starting to turn the water surface golden. She was known to stick to a very early schedule. As she gingerly moved down to the water’s edge, it was also obvious that this was not a young woman.
She didn’t move with the careful halting step of the very elderly, but she didn’t move with the lithesome grace of a young person confident of their every move, either. The young teens at the water’s edge were amazed at the length of time it took for her to cross the sand. By the time she reached the water, the woman was already scowling with the amount of dirt she’d found on everything. She was wiping her hands fastidiously on a small square of white cloth she’d pulled from her oversized yellow and orange plastic ‘beach’ bag and the lines in her face stood out in clear detail despite the valiant efforts to hide them.
“Well, children, shall we get started?” she asked, as if she were presiding over an important board meeting. She carefully tucked the square of white cloth into her bag and looked at them as if she expected them to pull out a projector and stylus pointer. Her teenaged surf instructors didn’t dare look at each other for fear of the immediate uncontrolled reaction that would be forced out. Christian sucked in his breath quickly and held it for the space of a few heartbeats while he held his tongue firmly still between his teeth.
As a result, it was Shirley who spoke first, after clearing her throat carefully, against the salt spray of course. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “We thought maybe a demonstration of what surfing looks like would help you get an idea of what we’ll
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