Shaking the bottle of sunscreen I accidentally squirt too much into the palm of my opposing hand. Gross. It's not like I bothered normally, but today is blistering hot, and I'd rather not have second degree burns from this shitty seasonal job. It might be the first day of the job at this beach but it's not my first day as a life guard and I won't be so ignorant again. I've never had a shower so painful in my life. I slather the lotion onto my arms and shoulders, using the excess on my face. If I can survive Australian summers this shouldn't be too hard. I shake my head as my mind begins to drift and climb into my chair. This isn't the most stimulating job but it's important. I've only had to save two people but their parents were certainly grateful. I stare over the small beach, this section of the ocean reserved for swimmers, families crowded closely on the sand, excited yelling and laughing making me relax into my chair. People watching is only as entertaining as you make it, and watching the same expanse of sand and water each day would be boring if you have no imagination. I pick a family at random and begin narrating their conversation in my head, fabricating a new life for them. The mother is a banker to me, the children circus performers. I don't let my gaze stay still for too long, my eyes drifting to the ocean, counting the heads and tallying them. I try to do this every so often, take note of their swim suits and make sure everyone is accounted for. It's a lot easier when they group together or wear something that stands out. Six children playing marco polo near the shore, four teens playing chicken in slightly deeper water with a small group of three near them. I notice a group of boys racing from the shore to the line of bouys that mark the end of the swimming area and back, there are four there. I keep an eye on them to make sure they are good swimmers, a lot of kids swim to the buoys to impress their friends and then can't make it back. I watch them swim back easily and sigh reflexively, they looked to be about my age or a little older so it would have been troublesome if I had to fish them out. Two of them get out and I make a story for them as they head to the concession stand. The small one broke out of prison and the tall guy is a pretentious millionaire. As they get their food they head to a big blanket and sit, scooting close together. The smaller teen kisses the millionaire and I feel a blush rising on my cheeks. I should really stop watching people so closely, it's invasive. Shifting my eyes I glance back in the water, four children in the water, seven younger teens arguing about who won their game of chicken and two high school students standing and talking in the water. I snap my eyes back to the children. Weren't there two more? I feel my stomach toss and I scan the beach and stand up in my chair for a better look. I don't see them Panic shoots through me and I grab my whistle,bringing it to my lips, scanning the beach one more time. There they are. Playing in the sand. I didn't see them bury each other. I can't be so distracted. I sit back down and drop my whistle so that it hangs around my neck, looking back over the water and double checking that everyone is where they are supposed to be. As I skim the water, my eyes catch with the dark haired high schooler, his eyes level and expression neutral. He must have been watching me. I wonder for how long? I stare at him a little longer, trying to understand just what he is thinking. The taller brunette, turned to see what his friend was looking at and I jerked my head away from them. What the hell? I stare determinedly at the banker and her family, watching them fold their towels and pack up to leave. Refusing to look back at the intrusive stare of the dark haired teen I scan the beach for another family to watch, accidentally stumbling onto the millionaire and his.. boyfriend? friend, whom are chatting animatedly among themselves, oblivious of anything else. They're wearing matching swim trunks and I stare at them fixedly, so intensely that I'm taken aback as the other two rejoin them, the taller brunette taking some of their food. All four of them are wearing matching swim trunks. Are they in a gang? The black haired teen looks at me again, staring with his blank expression before saying something to the others around him, they all nod, and the small blonde one gets up excitedly, tugging the taller guy up. They gather their things and head to the parking lot. I'm tempted to watch them leave but I tear my eyes away from them to look back over the beach, counting heads and chalking off the weird experience to the outrageous heat and hunger.
