Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SHELLY
“ W hat do you mean, you can’t do the kissing auction?” I hold my breath, waiting for Lisa to come on the screen. I pick up a menu from one of the hut’s cafe tables and waft it in front of my face to cool me down. Since receiving her text a second ago, I got straight on the FaceTime, but all I’m met with is her bedsheets and a tuft of blonde hair poking out.
Fingers curl over the white cotton, pulling the sheet down enough to see her blue eyes. “I can’t come out today. You’ll have to get someone to take my spot.”
I look around at the team. We all have assignments except for Derek and me, but with his halitosis, I don’t think we’d get many bids in the kissing auction. “Why, what’s going on? Are you ill?” She better be ill.
She pulls the blanket down farther to reveal a huge cold sore around the corner of her lip.
I wince and flinch back from the screen as if it’s catching. “What happened?”
“I get them when under stress. I don’t know.”
If anyone’s stressed, it’s me. “Get well soon.” I let out a long sigh as I stuff the phone into the back of my denim shorts.
“Don’t you get cold sores from blow jobs?” Tasha says. “I heard she went on a date with Bentley.”
I screw up my face, trying to remove the image that conjured. “Thanks Tasha. That’s a visual I didn’t need.”
“Are you filling her slot on the panel?”
I glance around one more time at the team. I can’t expect them to put themselves out there if I’m not willing to do the same. “Sure. I’ll get up on stage.”
Music plays from the beach, the fundraiser already in full swing with the local band, Siren Sisters, playing. The beach vendors have all agreed to donate their profits to the cause today. Nobody wants to see our beach turned into a private bit of real estate with apartments, no matter how luxurious. Our small, quaint little slice of paradise has already seen too much change in recent years, and more and more land is bought up by big city slickers wanting to flip it for a quick buck.
The money raised today will sustain our efforts for the rest of the season and any left over will fight the landowner and his plans to build right where the turtles lay their eggs. With no actual legal protection in this geographical location, I’m having to fight to protect the natural habitat here.
The nature reserve is farther down the coast, but turtles can’t read signs. And while there are plenty of wildlife and turtles in the nature reserve, this area is also their natural habitat, but it’s slowly being disrupted by all the tourists the town attracts. Hopefully, we’ll have enough funds to keep going with our efforts and get the Sea Oats Conservation Club to recognise this space needs protection, too .
I dance to the music, carrying merchandise along the beach. The kids go nuts for a paper flag, all made from sustainable sources, of course.
“Impressive speech, Shell.” Layton, our local firefighter, pats me on the back as he walks by.
“Thanks,” I say, dropping the bucket of flags at our Save Our Seas stall. I wipe my brow with my forearm, then tie my t-shirt in a knot, letting the light breeze swathe my skin.
“Hey, Shell, I got your fave smoothie from the van,” Oliver says, handing me my own personalised reusable cup with a skip a straw slogan.
“You’re a starfish. Thank you so much. I need this.” I place the cool cup against my cheek, then the other one, before taking a long drink of the strawberries and peaches.
“You were great up there.” He points to the stage.
“Thanks. I’ve gotta get up there again.” I take another drink and gulp it down.
“You’re in the auction?” He chuckles.
“Lisa has a cold sore. Don’t laugh.” The kissing auction was her and Tasha’s idea, seeing as we planned our fundraiser on International Kissing Day. Secretly, I think Tasha just wants to hook up and hopes one of these rich billionaires will sail her away on their yacht. She is beautiful and I’m sure she’ll raise us a good sum of money.
Me, on the other hand…I haven’t even dressed for the occasion. I’d be lucky to raise five bucks in my keep the sea plastic free slogan tee and tie-dye denim cut-offs.
The Siren Sisters finish up their set and Harrison takes the stage, ready for his solo, but first, he’s hosting the auction. I wipe my clammy palms against my t-shirt and take another gulp of my drink, wishing there was a shot of vodka in here. Anything to calm my nerves.
“You’d better get up there. They’re lining up ready.” Oli points to the stage, our team waving and blowing kisses at the crowd.
Reluctantly, I slump towards the bandstand, my knees weakening the closer I get. Why did I agree to this? For the turtles. For the turtles. Those little reptiles better be grateful.
As I step up and join the end of the line, Harrison, the owner of Mug Life Coffee Shop and our local singer takes hold of the mic and introduces us. Some girls, including Tasha, do a twirl like they’re entering Miss World. The young students we have volunteering for the summer are loving this. But I’m almost thirty. I’m too old for this crap.
Harrison’s voice muffles as I peer through my haze of dread at the blurry crowd.
My body freezes. I close my eyes and open them again to check I’m seeing things correctly.
Finnegan, Fitzpatrick shenanigan, begin-again, or whatever he’s called, is smirking at me, rubbing the stubble on his chin-egan. This guy doesn’t take a hint.
I wipe the moisture from my top lip and tug the knot from my t-shirt to cover my belly like I did the first time his eyes were on me. I don’t know what it is about him, but my body betrays me in the worst ways when he’s around.
My heart rate picks up a notch and I search the crowd for his unsavoury friends. Thankfully, they’re nowhere to be seen.
Samantha, our student volunteer, sashays up and down the stage, a hand on her hip, wearing a red swimsuit like an extra from that old TV show. I blow air upwards, wishing Harrison would get to me already, so I get this over with. I have countless tasks and being on this stage wasn’t on my itinerary.
The bidding starts and ends on one hundred and fifty dollars. Samantha bounces off stage to a young man who’s ready to claim his prize .
Harrison makes eye contact with me and lifts the mic. “And next we have the fierce and fabulous turtle conservationist, the one who organised this entire event. Please give a cheer for the cofounder of the Save Our Seas project, Shelly Myrtle.”
I step forward, absently waving to the crowd, feigning confidence, but underneath, my heart is pounding and my knees are threatening to give way at any minute.
“Who’s gonna start us off?” Harrison says. He searches the crowd for any sign of movement.
I clench the hem of my t-shirt, scrunching the fabric into a ball as if wringing it out. Let the sea wash me away, now. Even Finnegan shenanigan or whatever he’s called is looking around for a taker.
This is worse than gym class, always the last one chosen. I step back, trying to hide between the rest of the lineup.
Tasha gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. Oli, my closest friend, waves from the crowd, signalling me to stay strong.
Harrison points at Oli. “Five dollars from the back. Thank you, kind sir. Can I get ten dollars?”
Oliver’s eyes widen in fear, his cheeks reddening by the second.
I slip my phone from my pocket and shoot off a quick text to him.
Thank you, you at least saved me from looking like a complete loser.
Just when I think it’s all over, Finn raises his hand, his eyes fixed on me with a slight curl of his lips. He can’t win this thing, he just can’t. Not after I told him I wouldn’t kiss him if he paid me .
Harrison waves a hand at Finn. “Ten dollars from the gentleman over here. Can I get fifteen?”
I shoot off another text to Oli.
Please outbid him. I’ll pay you back.
After glancing at his phone, Oli raises his hand.
“Another bid. Can I get twenty dollars?” Harrison says, pacing the floor and searching the crowd. He’s a natural up here, unlike me, sweating profusely with buckling knees.
Finn lifts his hand almost immediately.
“Twenty dollars to the fine gentleman there. Do we have thirty dollars?”
I nod to Oli, and he raises his hand, earning a somewhat annoyed look from Finn.
“Fifty,” Finn shouts, folding his arms across his broad chest.
I dig my fists into my hips, my head tilting to the side as I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, irritated that he’s bidding at all. But I’m more annoyed he thinks he can win me for fifty dollars.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Shall I go higher?
Yes, one hundred.
Oli shouts, “One hundred dollars!”
The crowd turns to him, probably wondering if he’s now batting for the other side.
My shoulders relax. Surely Finn will give up now. I inhale a deep breath of the salty sea air, feeling a little lighter—one hundred bucks lighter. But less like I did in gym class, even if I was technically bidding on myself. I’m used to it. Back yourself, Mom always says .
I slink sideways, attempting to sneak off stage.
A British voice shouts, “Ten thousand dollars!”
I halt at the steps, pivoting on the toes of my flip-flops as I turn to face Finn with his arm raised.
The crowd gasps. All eyes on him. Cameras snap and phones flash in his direction.
My heart hammers in my throat. My head is light. It’s so hot up here. I fan myself, fearing I may faint at any minute. I question my sanity and if I heard what I heard.
Apparently, so does Harrison, as he holds the mic to his mouth. “Come again?”
“You heard me. Ten thousand dollars.”
My phone pings. With a shaky hand, I peek at the text from Oli.
If you don’t kiss him for ten Gs, then I will.
Harrison glances my way with wide eyes. His voice a little higher pitched than usual. “Any advance on ten thousand dollars?”
Finn glances around, a confident smile on his face.
“Going once. Twice. Sold to the gentleman in the white shirt. Come and claim your prize.”
Finn swaggers towards the makeshift stage on the bandstand. I think my heart’s stopped. Fainting now might not be so bad.