What Happens Over the Summer

My alarm clock didn’t ring. I stared stupidly at the clock as I wrapped my half-asleep mind around that thought. Then I sat bolt upright. Shit my alarm clock didn’t ring!
I bounded out of bed and wriggled out of my night shirt, then shimmied into a pair of cut offs that displayed my long, tanned legs to their best advantage. Then slipped into a flowered bikini top and grabbed a baby blue t-shirt which I’d cut the sleeves off to make it a tank top. Above my left breast it read: Peter’s Pier Security.
I flew out of my room, down the grand stair case of what used to be a large mansion and recently been transformed into a half house-half museum. The staircase in the family portion of the house was one of the only pieces of original architecture. But I had no time to admire it this morning. The grandfather clock against the far wall read six forty nine which meant I had exactly eleven minuets to grab breakfast and get to work.
I swung around the newel post at the end of the stairs and rushed towards the front of the house which was reserved for family. Across from the stairs was a recently built wall which divided the house. I collected my flat black flip-flops and bolted out the front door. The blacktop wasn’t hot yet so I flew over the circular driveway to the courtyard on the edge of the lot. From there I went to the edge of the hedges and out a gate. A wooden staircase led directly to the boardwalk. Instead of taking the steps one at a time, I vaulted down each flight, thankful that they were each only a few stairs.
I hit the nearly deserted boardwalk running and headed for the main entrance where the main security office was. I checked my watch. Six fifty one. Just enough time to stop and grab a bite to eat.
I bolted past shops that were just starting to open their doors and snagged a stool at my favorite restaurant. Partially it was the food; the other was the people who worked there. I didn’t even have to look at the menu.
“Zeke!” I called.
A young Italian man poked his head out of the kitchen and dazzled me with his smile. “The usual?”
“Yeah and can you hurry?”
“No need sweet thing,” he said, coming out of the swinging door with an order of small cheese fries. “I figured you were running late so I had Mario cook them up.”
“You’re a life saver,” I said as I devoured the best cheese fries in the state of New Jersey.
“Oh I know,” he said, propping a hip on the counter. He was tall, 6’3 with black hair and milk chocolate colored eyes. We’d met when we were kids and had been inseparable ever since. We’d tried the dating thing once when we were in junior high and discovered we were much better off being just friends. He grabbed a glass and filled it with ice tea and slid it to me. “Alarm clock malfunctioning again?”
I swallowed. “Yeah. I’m taking a hammer to it the next time it doesn’t wake me up.”
“Why don’t you just get a new one?”
I didn’t answer, didn’t want to think about why I didn’t trash the old alarm clock. It had lived its life, served its purpose. But…I shook my head. Maybe it was time to face it. R.J. wasn’t coming back.
Five summers ago he’d blown into my life like a whirlwind, acting like he was really into me. He’d won me the stupid alarm clock at one of the games that lined the boardwalk along with a giant teddy bear that was still smushed between my headboard and my wall. Thank god it hadn’t gotten too far before the summer was over and he’d told me he’d be back. And I hadn’t heard a word from him since.
“Yeah maybe it is time,” I murmured.
“What?” Zeke asked.
“Nothing.” I wolfed down the rest of the fries and gulped the tea. “Put it on my tab. See you at lunch time.”
“Yeah sure,” he said as I continued my sprint down the boardwalk. I had two minuets.
On the way I passed several older shops where I knew the owners personally. I’d worked at most of them at one time or another. I waved to the workers, most of whom I knew by name. The newer shop keepers weren’t as friendly, some of them were brand new this season and didn’t know I was the owner’s granddaughter but I waved to them anyway. Most waved back. Some, seeing the writing on my shirt, ignored me. Those were the ones I’d have to watch out for. We didn’t have many problems on the boardwalk, but it was my job to make sure we didn’t. And I was damn good at my job.
I slid into the office a minuet before my shift started. The guy manning the front desk, Carl, laughed. “Alarm clock malfunction?” he asked.
“Why the hell does everyone think it’s so freaking funny?” I muttered, going into the back where every member of the security team had a locker. There were eighty security guards in all. I was one of the sixty five that worked the day shift during the season and one of the twenty that worked day shift on the off season. During the season we had fifteen night guards and during the off season we had ten. The guards that didn’t work year-round were mostly college students.
I took my ID and clipped it to the hem of my shirt. I clipped a radio onto the cutoff sleeve of my tank top and tuned it to the frequency we used for security. Nothing but static. Yet. I slipped on my belt that looked much like a police officer’s would. Glock on the right side, Mace on the left, cuffs in the back. Other guards liked to carry around stun guns and maps of the boardwalk that also had the sectors in which we each patrolled. But I knew them by heart and was afraid that I might accidently stun gun myself. I didn’t need a flashlight because I was on day shift and I didn’t need a night stick because normally if someone got pushy, which was rare, one knee or fist to a sensitive area would drop them.
Other guards also liked to wear the traditional kaki colors but I thought it was too conspicuous. We were supposed to blend into crowds, especially if we were looking for trouble.
I was in sector D by the kiddy rides until my lunch break. In the afternoon I was in the sector D office on desk duty and in the early evening I was on patrol in sector B near the bigger rides where all the teenagers liked to hang out.
I slathered on sunscreen to my already tanned skin and grabbed my battered baseball cap. Five hours until my lunch break. Thankfully, I liked my job and the time didn’t pass too slowly.