[19]

When In Doubt, Throw Shoes, Not Tantrums

Sunlight danced over the crystal waters, droplets falling like glittering crystals as Skipper burst from beneath the surface. Upon doing so, her forehead was met by a medium-weight seashell that bounced off and landed into the water with a wet plop. Clearing the dripping tendrils of hair that clung to her face, she glared at the projectile's thrower. 

   Wade was crouched on the shore, camera hanging from his neck as he scrounged for interesting items to photograph. Though he was trying to appear innocent, the smirk he was fighting gave him away.

   "That's not funny!" Skipper shouted.

   "Yeah? Neither are you," he retorted, flinging another shell at her. Like the one before, it bounced off her forehead and into the water. Skipper narrowed her eyes as Wade started to laugh.

   "Stop it!" she whined.

   "Not if you beg like that," he scoffed, and chucked a larger shell toward her. This time, she caught it and sent it hurtling back. Alas, her aim was off and it flew right past Wade with plenty of clearance. 

   "Nice throw," he mocked. "Super accurate."

   "Shut up."

   "No, you."

   Scowling, she sank into the water until only her eyes and nose peeked above it. Wade snapped a picture and snickered. "You look so dumb. Why don't you get out of there and sit in the shade a bit before you burn again?"

   Her dead skin had only recently finished flaking off, and she'd taken that as a sign to get back to the beach. Wade didn't necessarily disagree, but he couldn't say he thought it was the best idea either. That sunburn had made her quite sick. And, as it turns out, she was the type of person to get highly emotional when sick. He really didn't appreciate that because it meant he had to be on his absolute best behavior, and he got tired of being so nice all the time. Her very existence begged to be teased; how was he to survive this trip if he couldn't tease her?

He observed as she disappeared beneath the water, and continued to pelt seashells at her until she was forced to resurface.

"I'm going to throw your camera in the water!" She threatened shrilly. 

He winced. "Don't ever let your voice make that sound again. And no, you will not touch my camera."

"Watch me." She started running through the water, which was kind of amusing because she looked a little dumb. Grabbing a handful of shells, Wade threw them up in the air and they came raining down on her head.

"STOP IT!!!" She screamed.

"Make me stop, Tomato Face."

She stormed harder through the water, but her short legs could only do so much, and it still looked hilariously stupid. Wade was cackling like a supervillain, throwing just about any tiny projectile he'd gathered for his photography session.

Skipper finally made it to shore, and attempted to snatch the camera. However, she ended up tripping in the sand and landed on her face. Wade had taken her crocs into possession and was already heading back to the SUV, snapping shots of her while walking backwards. She eventually gathered herself and raced after him, screaming incoherencies that just served to make him laugh harder. 

When they got to the vehicle, Wade ditched her and ran back to shore, flinging the crocs into the glittering waves. Horrified, Skipper attempted to rescue her precious shoes, but again the sand was her enemy and she fell. This time she didn't get back up. Hot tears of aggravation spilled down her face.

   "Aw, c'mon, don't play that," Wade groaned, reluctantly offering a hand to help her up. Stubborn and salty, she lay there in refusal.

   "Those were my shoes," she protested in a weak, soft voice.

   "Crocs suck." He shrugged. "Besides, they're still floating there. You can just go get them."

   "You suck," she whimpered, rubbing her eyes; sand stuck to her damp self. 

   "Don't even try that. Your comebacks suck. Get your sorry butt off the sand and go rescue your precious loser shoes."

   "My butt isn't on the sand. My stomach is."

   "Then get your butt out of the air. Whatever."

   She inhaled deeply. "Why are you so mean?"

   "Because. This is what you get to deal with when you make me be nice to you for an entire week just because you're sick with freaking sunburn!"

   "Don't blame me for your inability to be kind!" She snapped, jumping to her feet and shoving him. "You're rude and insensitive and you don't even care!"

   She was inches from his face, and he slowly smirked, an eyebrow raised. He turned his head ever so slightly to look her in the eye. "Should I care?"

   "Yes! Didn't your mother teach you to behave?"

   "Bold of you to assume I have a mother," he raised both his eyebrows in a mock expression of surprise.

   All she could do was glare before marching off to retrieve her shoes, which were drifting further out of the lagoon. Wade watched her for a bit, feeling smug, then turned on his heel and went back to the vehicle. He'd wait for her there. A dip in the water would cool her off and they'd be good to go once more.

   He sorted the Polaroids as he waited for her. 

When she returned, absolutely dripping and toting only one shoe in hand, his smugness drained. He'd thrown them in the ocean as a joke, and hadn't intended to lose them. Her face was red from either the sun, or her rage, and she climbed into her seat with the demeanor of a child that's lost its favorite toy.

Without a word, he got out and retrieved a towel from the trunk for her to wrap herself in. She took it, not making eye contact but mumbling a choked thanks, and buried her face in it before breaking down again. He sat behind the steering wheel, staring at the dash and not knowing what to say because it wasn't funny anymore. He'd taken things too far.

"You...have other shoes, right?" He stammered.

She shook her head, negative. His expression fell further. 

"...Oh. Well then." Blinking rapidly, he scoured his mind for any ideas on how to make it up to her.

"Look. Next time you're supposed to pay me, don't. Buy yourself a new pair of crocs. And...uh...heck, I dunno, I'll buy you ice cream."

"Ice cream doesn't fix anything," she whined, voice muffled by the towel. She started to shiver from the air conditioning, so he turned it off. No point making her sick after making her cry, even if it wasn't intentional.

"I know it doesn't, but it helps."

"I'm cold. I don't want ice cream. It's all your fault."

"Yes, it is, and I'm sorry. We'll get you new ones right now. Okay? I'll pay for them myself. Just stop crying, it makes your face look all puffy and stupid like you played in a hornet's nest."

She threw the surviving shoe at him and huffed, finally wrapping the large towel around herself. "You owe me more than shoes."

"I guess I do. Supper."

"No. You owe me an apology."

"I said I was sorry! And I'm buying you new shoes, and I turned off the air conditioning, so we're even. Also. The Polaroids turned out great. Even when you look dumb, you're very photogenic."

"Your compliments fall on dead ears." Turning away from him, she leaned out the window and remained that way the entirety of the ride. Even when he did stop and get her new crocs, she ignored him. He took this treatment as a penance and didn't pester her. And he did get ice cream—which she did eat, despite claiming she was too cold to do so. 

"If you're really that cold, you can borrow my hoodie. I think it's in the backseat." Wade thumbed behind them and adjusted his sunglasses. Silent, Skipper took the hoodie and drowned herself in the soft, detergent-scented fabric. It was warm. It felt better. Like a hug.

She continued to nibble at her ice cream.