Page 27 of Wrecked

I turn my head to the next table and see Tim and Gary with very appreciative looks on their faces.

I lean back and give them my snarliest face. “What are you looking at?” I twirl my finger in the air. “Turn around, boys. You don’t have what it takes to handle this girl.”

The boys do just what I said, and I look back toward Adam’s direction. He’s standing under the tree, looking at the field.

Throwing the banana on the table, I push my uneaten sandwich away with my other hand. I’m not hungry anymore. I take the water out from my boobs and drink it down.

Everyone here looks like they’re about to die. I feel like I’m in the courtyard of a prison. All we’re missing are ugly orange jumpsuits and balls and chains around our ankles. I wonder how many people are here like me because they have to be. Just because we’re forced to do manual labor doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun doing it.

Walking around, I kick up dry dirt with my Nikes and run my hand along the vinyl siding of one of the houses. There is a stream of sweat working its way down my back, and the inside of my thighs are starting to chafe. What I wouldn’t do for a little wind to start blowing in.

“It’s too damn hot. I’m bailing,” one worker says to another.

Wish I could leave with ya, buddy.

I look over and see two guys getting up to leave.

“You’re leaving?” Toby says as he walks over to the men getting up. “Come on, Rick. I need you to help me get the siding up on the middle house.”

“No way, man. I’m not getting heatstroke. I have to be at work tomorrow.” Rick grabs his keys from his pocket.

Another man seated at Rick’s table gets up as well. “Yeah, I’m heading out, too. Maybe next week will be cooler.”

Two more people rise, and I can tell a movement is starting. Toby’s eyes look over at the people as they nod to each other, saying they’re done for the day.

With outstretched arms, Toby pleads to the crowd, “Come on, guys, it’s already midsummer. If we all head out because we’re hot, then these houses won’t be built in time.”

A few people aren’t leaving, but for the most part, the crowd is gathering their things to go home. My fingers start to dance at my sides in excitement. The girls are all heading to Jessica’s house for a pool party after work. I could get home, shimmy into my bikini, be at her house for two hours, and still make it to work on time.

Toby drops his arms in defeat, his head hanging low.

I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s ninety-five degrees, and we’re working in the direct sun,” I say, pointing up to the cloudless blue sky. “They’re volunteers. You can’t make them work if they don’t want to.”

I, on the other hand, am slave labor. Maybe if Toby goes home for the day, Adam will call it an early one, too. I can feel the crisp water on my skin as I just think about Jessica’s kidney-shaped pool.

Toby turns to me with downturned eyes. “No, Leah, we can’t waste a day. You see that house?” He points to the furthest one that has the most work that needs to be done. “That house is for Carrie Mikgus. She was severely beaten by her husband and has been living in a women’s shelter with her two kids since last summer. We promised her a home in time to start school in the fall.”

He turns to the middle house that is halfway complete. “That house is for the Framer family. They lost their home and their youngest daughter to a house fire two years ago. The three remaining kids were all burned severely. That house is supposed to be a new start for them.

“And this one”—he knocks on a post at the front entryway of the home—“is for Roger and Vivienne Montgomery. Roger was wounded in Afghanistan. Lost both legs. He needs a handicapped-accessible home. He fought for our country in the desert, for us. And if we can’t spend a few weeks in the heat, then what the hell are we good for? What kind of people are we?”

My fingers stop dancing with pool-inspired anticipation. Looking around at the homes, I take in what their true purpose is. We’re not just building houses for the sake of manual labor. We’re creating homes for people who have lost so much. Here I am, trying to get my margarita on with the girls, and there is a woman huddled with her kids at a shelter because she was violently abused by a man she loved, a family of children with burns all over their bodies, and an honorable service member who gave so much for our safety, waiting for a place to begin and end his day in peace.

Toby looks at me with a face laced with defeat. “We have volunteers here seven days a week, and I still don’t know if we’ll get these homes done on time.”

I watch the group of volunteers as they walk away. They’re not like me. They’re here on their own time. They chose to be here for a reason. A greater purpose. And they’re giving up.

Well, Leah Marie Paige does not give up.

“Toby, is there a radio anywhere?” I ask.

He just looks at me like it’s the oddest response to the sad stories he just told me. Okay, it’s not exactly what someone says after hearing such depressing stuff, but I have a point.

“Seriously, Toby, get me the damn radio.”

I turn around and walk to the water spigot that’s attached to the Montgomery home and turn it on. Grabbing the hose, I walk back to one of the folding tables with the hose unraveling from its holder.

I hold the gun of the hose up, take aim at Rick’s back, and shoot. I get a good shot and cascade him with ice-cold water, causing him to jump up and raise his arms like a bullet hit him.