8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Victor
Cara and I have spent the past three mornings walking along the beach, snapping pictures for the scavenger hunt, and chatting about New York. It’s making me homesick, especially since I know she’ll be returning without me in a few more days.
She sighs, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. “What’s up?” I ask.
“We only have one thing left to find on our beach scavenger hunt… and then we have to do a bike tour of the town. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really not comfortable on a bike.”
I chuckle. “Maybe we can rent a tandem bike, and I can do all the work?”
“I’d probably just knock us both over.”
“What’s left on our scavenger hunt list?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “A perfect seashell.”
“Why are you rolling your eyes?”
“Because it’s impossible. All the shells are broken.”
I grin at her. “Perfection is subjective. It doesn’t matter if the shell is broken. Just find the perfect one in this moment, right now.”
We pick up shells for the next ten minutes, inspecting them carefully.
She picks up a pretty shell with a broken tip and exclaims when a hermit crab uncurls itself. “Eek! This one has something living in it!”
“That’s it! To that hermit crab, that is the perfect shell. That fits the challenge, in my opinion.” I pull my phone out of my pocket to take the picture. “And with that, the scavenger hunt is complete!”
“Which activity should we tackle next? Biking or paddling?”
“Paddling,” she insists.