And Now A Piece Of Me Is A Piece Of The Beach || larry stylinson

7

It was Harry’s last session of the day and quite frankly, a group of gabbling girls were not what he would pick if he had the choice. They were fun, of course, always adventurous and had a right laugh. But sometimes there was one whose high pitch hit his ear with just the wrong tone, or one who overplayed the dumb card. They were unpredictable; Harry was not sure whether he appreciated that when his limbs were aching slightly and his mind was furred around the edges, but it was his job and it was the sea so, to put it bluntly, he did not give much of a shit whom he was teaching.

Harry was on the sand with the group of girls, teaching them the basics of how to surf. He was not going to deny that they all wore the skin tight wetsuit pretty well, but some of them seem to know it and show it more than was necessary. At the present time, he was standing behind one girl who had been extra bubbly and extra attentive, yet impossibly confused. First, she had claimed not to know which was her stronger foot to balance on, making Harry do the old school ‘football made out of sand’ trick. Next, she said she could not get the rhythm of her strokes as she lay flat on the board, hands digging pits into the sand in a fairly good rhythm. Now, she said she could not balance properly on the board and did not know where to place her feet.

Her big blue eyes had stared up at him pleadingly, eyelashes that were heavily laden with mascara batting not so innocently. Being the professional teacher he was, Harry ignored the girl’s obvious flirtation and tried to help her with her balance by demonstrating it on his board. This, however, was not enough for the girl as she insisted that he stand behind her and show her. So, Harry did just that. It was a little disconcerting standing so close to, technically, a student who was evidently just slightly taken by him, but he had to do his job, and, well, she was actually kind of fit.

Of course, Harry was not going to take her up on any of her offers because, well, he sang from the other choir more so than the one she presumed he did, but that did not mean that he could not appreciate the attention.

He tried his hardest not to give off the vibe that he was taking the flirtatious hints and slipping them into his Ego-Boost meter, especially not when she ‘fell’ back into him as they tried to balance. Eventually, though, she got the hang of it, and the itching need on the soles of his feet to immerse himself in the water was set to be resolved. He padded down with them to the water’s edge, giving them the rundown of the rules and all of that malarkey.

Harry had tried to explain the feeling many a time to anyone who was there to listen, yet that click that sounded when he knew someone understood had never occurred. He wondered that if he wrote a book about it, if a random stranger would finally relate to it. Like in The History Boys, Harry wondered if he would be able to put something across that would feel like a hand reaching out and taking theirs. However, he deduced, he could not write for shit and he was almost sure that he was the only one to feel the particular connection that he felt.

He was talking about the sea, of course; when was he not? Even with the rambunctious girls grouped around him, the distractions of the beach and the job at hand, nothing could take him away from that first split second where his skin was caressed by the silky waves. Sometimes he took the time to ponder whether he could ever bore himself with his love for the sea, but he realised there was always something different about it every day. It was ever-changing, and yet it was the only constant in Harry’s life. Did he want more secure, settled things in his life other than the sea? Who bloody knew.

Back to the present, Harry had been teaching the girls for a good while. It was not too much of a disaster; one or two of them were relatively good and seemed to have a knack for it. Some needed more assistance than others, obviously, but that did not pick away at the joy they all collectively felt when a wave was finally caught. It was well worth the internal cringing when that certain girl kept flirting shamelessly with him. She kept muttering words in his ear in that tone which was meant to be seductive but did not fit the situation at all. She passed comments and offers to him rather skilfully; it had to be said, she was an expert at being a smooth talker.