Reluctantly, I slump towards the bandstand, my knees weakening the closer I get. Why did I agree to this?For the turtles. For the turtles.Those little reptiles better be grateful.
As I step up and join the end of the line, Harrison, the owner of Mug Life Coffee Shop and our local singer takes hold of the mic and introduces us. Some girls, including Tasha, do a twirl like they’re entering Miss World. The young students we have volunteering for the summer are loving this. But I’m almost thirty. I’m too old for this crap.
Harrison’s voice muffles as I peer through my haze of dread at the blurry crowd.
My body freezes. I close my eyes and open them again to check I’m seeing things correctly.
Finnegan, Fitzpatrick shenanigan, begin-again, or whatever he’s called, is smirking at me, rubbing the stubble on his chin-egan. This guy doesn’t take a hint.
I wipe the moisture from my top lip and tug the knot from my t-shirt to cover my belly like I did the first time his eyes were on me. I don’t know what it is about him, but my body betrays me in the worst ways when he’s around.
My heart rate picks up a notch and I search the crowd for his unsavoury friends. Thankfully, they’re nowhere to be seen.
Samantha, our student volunteer, sashays up and down the stage, a hand on her hip, wearing a red swimsuit like an extra from that old TV show. I blow air upwards, wishing Harrison would get to me already, so I get this over with. I have countless tasks and being on this stage wasn’t on my itinerary.
The bidding starts and ends on one hundred and fifty dollars. Samantha bounces off stage to a young man who’s ready to claim his prize.
Harrison makes eye contact with me and lifts the mic. “And next we have the fierce and fabulous turtle conservationist, the one who organised this entire event. Please give a cheer for the cofounder of the Save Our Seas project, Shelly Myrtle.”
I step forward, absently waving to the crowd, feigning confidence, but underneath, my heart is pounding and my knees are threatening to give way at any minute.
“Who’s gonna start us off?” Harrison says. He searches the crowd for any sign of movement.
I clench the hem of my t-shirt, scrunching the fabric into a ball as if wringing it out. Let the sea wash me away, now. Even Finnegan shenanigan or whatever he’s called is looking around for a taker.
This is worse than gym class, always the last one chosen. I step back, trying to hide between the rest of the lineup.
Tasha gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. Oli, my closest friend, waves from the crowd, signalling me to stay strong.
Harrison points at Oli. “Five dollars from the back. Thank you, kind sir. Can I get ten dollars?”
Oliver’s eyes widen in fear, his cheeks reddening by the second.
I slip my phone from my pocket and shoot off a quick text to him.
Thank you, you at least saved me from looking like a complete loser.
Just when I think it’s all over, Finn raises his hand, his eyes fixed on me with a slight curl of his lips. He can’t win this thing, he just can’t. Not after I told him I wouldn’t kiss him if he paid me.
Harrison waves a hand at Finn. “Ten dollars from the gentleman over here. Can I get fifteen?”
I shoot off another text to Oli.
Please outbid him. I’ll pay you back.
After glancing at his phone, Oli raises his hand.
“Another bid. Can I get twenty dollars?” Harrison says, pacing the floor and searching the crowd. He’s a natural up here, unlike me, sweating profusely with buckling knees.
Finn lifts his hand almost immediately.
“Twenty dollars to the fine gentleman there. Do we have thirty dollars?”
I nod to Oli, and he raises his hand, earning a somewhat annoyed look from Finn.
“Fifty,” Finn shouts, folding his arms across his broad chest.
I dig my fists into my hips, my head tilting to the side as I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, irritated that he’s bidding at all. But I’m more annoyed he thinks he can win me for fifty dollars.
