He nodded, eyes lighting up like he’d been waiting for someone to ask. “I want to go to trade school. Formarine systems. Boat engines, water filtration, solar rigging. Stuff like that.”
Meg blinked. “That’s… really cool.”
“Right?” Joey leaned forward, energized. “Laguna’s full of boats. They need people who can rig power, fix bilge systems, maintain solar panels. And I like solving things. Mechanical things.”
“How’d you figure that out?”
“Started when our neighbor’s boat wouldn’t start last summer. He was about to pay some guy three hundred bucks to look at it, so I asked if I could try first.” Joey grinned. “Turned out to be a clogged fuel filter. Twenty-dollar part, ten-minute fix.”
“And he let an eighteen-year-old mess with his boat engine?”
“Hey, I was seventeen then,” Joey said with mock indignation. “And Mr. Dodd was desperate. His anniversary dinner was that night, and he’d promised his wife a sunset cruise.”
“Did it work?”
“Like a dream. She still waves at me every time I walk by their house.” Joey’s expression grew more serious. “But that’s when I realized I actually enjoyed troubleshooting that stuff. It’s like a puzzle, you know? Everything has to work together.”
“I didn’t know that,” Meg said, genuinely impressed. “Have you told Margo?”
He hesitated. “Kinda? She says it’s a good dream, but that I should keep working while I save. Which… fair. Trade school isn’t cheap. And I still help out at home.”
“Help out how?”
“Mom works two jobs since Dad’s back surgery. Nothing dramatic,” he added quickly, seeing Meg’s expression. “He’ll be fine, but he’s been out of work for a few months. I just pitch in with groceries and stuff.”
Meg nodded, understanding why he couldn’t just quit and go to school. “Do you have a timeline?”
“I’ve been saving tips for a year,” Joey said. “But it’s not enough. Tuition, housing, tools… it adds up fast.”
“What about financial aid?”
“Some. But my parents make just enough that I don’t qualify for the big grants, and not nearly enough to actually pay for it.” He shrugged with the practiced ease of someone who’d done the math many times. “Classic middle-class squeeze.”
Something about the way he said it—so practical, so resolved—made Meg feel both proud and uneasy. How many kids had this kind of determination and no help? And why had no one mentioned a scholarship fund if that was something the Shack had done before?
“Was there ever,” she asked carefully, “some kind of scholarship fund connected to the Shack?”
Joey tilted his head. “You mean the stories about Richard helping kids?”
Meg’s pulse ticked up. “What stories?”
He shrugged. “Just stuff I’ve heard over the years. That he looked out for the summer staff. Helped a fewkids go to college or trade school, maybe. But I don’t know if any of it’s true. Could just be urban myth.”
“You ever ask Margo?”
“Once. She said things were different back then, and kind of changed the subject.”
Meg’s brain immediately filled with possibilities. Could the “Standing Obligation” have once been the scholarship? Had it shifted to something else? Or had someone redirected those funds—accidentally or intentionally?
She looked at Joey again—this young man who refilled napkins with a Broadway hum, who had dreams bigger than the grill, who loved the ocean enough to want to fix the boats that crossed it.
“How much do you need?” she asked gently.
Joey’s eyes widened. “Oh, no—I’m not asking for?—“
“I didn’t say I was offering,” she said, smiling. “I’m just curious. Ballpark.”
He hesitated, then pulled out his phone and scrolled through what looked like a carefully organized notes app. “With tuition, housing, books, and basic tools? Probably eight to ten thousand for the first year. I’ve got almost two saved up. Been working every weekend, and some weeknights when school’s light.”
