The Shore by Todd Strasser Page A

mess, and had drooled onto the couch. Polly winced. “Do you think we should wake him?”
    Avery shook her head as she headed for the front door. “Best to just let him sleep it off.”
    “We’ve lived in the same house for two weeks and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him sober after three in the afternoon,” Polly said as she and Avery left the house and stepped out into the morning sunlight. “You think he’s an alcoholic?”
    “I hope not,” Avery said.
    A minute later they were walking down the beach, their shoes tucked into their tote bags. The sand squished between Polly’s toes in a pleasing way. It was just after ten, and the beach was starting to fill up with families under the brightly colored umbrellas.
    As usual when they walked to work, Polly dropped her eyes to the sand, searching for shells. She had only found one really good one, so far—it was the size of a baseball and black with gold streaks—and she kept it in a place of honor on her dresserin between a picture of her parents and another one of her grandparents.
    “You’re quiet today,” Avery said, interrupting her thoughts.
    Polly looked up quickly. “Sorry.”
    “No, it’s cool, you’re just usually more talkative. Everything okay?”
    “Fine,” Polly lied. In reality, things were far from fine. Every day all around her it seemed like everyone else was partying, hooking up, and even getting into relationships. Why can’t I just meet a nice guy?
    “How’s the man-hunt going?” Avery asked with a grin.
    Polly blushed, surprised that Avery had seemed to read her mind. “Not as well as I’d like,” she admitted.
    “What about Fred? He likes you.”
    “But nobody likes him,” said Polly.
    “That’s not true,” Avery said. “Just a few big mouths in our house.”
    “Yeah, but I have to live with them,” Polly said. And, anyway, she didn’t want to talk about it, and the best way was to change the subject. “What about you?”
    “Me?” Avery asked, caught by surprise. “I’m with Curt.”
    “You never wonder about other guys?” Polly asked.
    “Who?” Avery asked.
    “Anthony?”
    “Our manager Anthony?” Avery asked bewildered. He was the manager of The Seashell and therefore her boss.
    “Yeah, he’s gorgeous, and I think he likes you.”
    Avery laughed. “No way.”
    “Come on, even I’m not that naive,” Polly said. “He’s so obviously into you. Why else would he tell you that you were too pretty to be a waitress and make you the hostess?”
    “Uh, maybe because he saw immediately that I’d make a terrible waitress and he couldn’t think of anything else for me to do?” Avery said.
    “Nice try, Ave,” Polly scoffed. “You’re not that naive either. Now don’t make a big deal about it. It’s not your fault you’re beautiful and men fawn over you.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Which part?” Polly asked. “That you’re beautiful, or that men can’t help fawning over you?”
    “Uh, both?”
    “Sorry, even Lucas stares at you sometimes.”
    “He does?” Avery asked, sounding surprised.
    Polly shook her head. It was ridiculous that Avery didn’t know this. “They all do, Avery. Even the ones who pretend not to.”
    “I guess I just don’t notice,” Avery admitted.
    “Well, do me a favor and from now on, notice a little. It’s frustrating that you don’t even enjoy it. I would kill to get a tenth of the attention you get.”
    “I’m sorry,” Avery said.
    “Don’t be sorry, just don’t pretend it’s not happening,” Polly said, surprised at her own bluntness.
    “Okay, but seriously, I am sorry about the hostessing thing,” Avery said.
    “Well, at least as a waitress I get tips,” Polly said, trying to make Avery feel better. “And don’t forget, if there’s a party of six, I automatically get fifteen percent.”
    “Right,” Avery said, grinning. “Would it help if I steered the larger groups to your tables?”
    “As long as the other waitresses don’t notice,