Tigers on the Beach by Doug MacLeod Page A

looks worried,’ I tell him.
    â€˜No. I’m smiling.’
    â€˜But it’s a sort of worried smile, not your usual one.’
    â€˜I must try harder, for the sake of the business.’
    â€˜Dad, a lot of kids at Samsara High have parents who are separated. The teachers keep telling us it’s no big deal.’
    â€˜Your mother and I are not planning to divorce. We love each other and we love you boys. I promise.’
    I need comfort food. I pull out a packet of chocolate-coated peanuts from the charity box next to the till.
    â€˜You have to pay for those,’ says Dad. ‘They’re to help the orphans in Sumatra or something.’
    â€˜I will.’
    Dad takes a pack too. We chomp on chocolate peanuts.
    â€˜These taste disgusting, Dad.’
    â€˜Well, they’ve been here a while now. I told your mother we shouldn’t have taken that box.’
    â€˜Maybe whoever left it has forgotten about it?’ I say. Dad shakes his head. ‘People never forget when it comes to money. Mark my words, we’ll have orphans from Sumatra banging on our door one day, demanding money or their chocolate peanuts back.’
    â€˜I think I’ll have to spit this out,’ I say.
    â€˜It’s a shame Stanley Krongold isn’t here,’ says Dad, chewing slowly. ‘You could spit it at him.’
    I spit the peanuts in the bin.
    â€˜Why does he keep coming around?’ I ask.
    â€˜He’s trying to wear us down.’
    â€˜But he won’t, will he?’
    â€˜Never. We are invisible.’
    â€˜That would be cool,’ I say, ‘but I think you mean
invincible
.’
    Dad decides to spit his peanuts into the bin as well. I am proudly showing Mum my nearly finished Ponderosa website. I am trying to think of FAQs, but I’m struggling. I can’t think of any Qs, let alone ones that are FA.
    â€˜Should I mention that there has never been a serious fire at The Ponderosa?’ I say.
    â€˜No,’ says Mum.
    â€˜What about, “There has never been a major disaster of any sort at the Ponderosa”?’
    â€˜It might be better to focus on other things. Like the beach and the wildlife.’
    â€˜I have described you as cheerful managers. Is that okay?’
    â€˜Of course it is. Even if we’re not all that cheerful at the moment. It will pass.’
    Sam rings the next morning as I am beating doormats. I imagine that the doormats are Stanley Krongold, which makes my work easier. My pulse races so quickly that I wonder if it’s possible to have a heart attack at the age of thirteen years, ten months, three weeks, six days and sixteen hours.
    â€˜How have you been?’ I say.
    â€˜Good,’ says Sam. ‘You?’
    â€˜I was afraid you wouldn’t call.’
    â€˜I said I would.’
    â€˜I know, but things haven’t been going that well for me lately. One of our guests had his pants stolen by a koala.’
    Sam laughs, even though I don’t think it’s funny.
    I explain about how my parents are arguing, and Grandma is making life difficult and Xander is worse than ever. Sam cuts in.
    â€˜Do you still want to see me play the flute?’
    â€˜Sure. Of course. I want to see you. Even more than the next Star Wars movie.’
    â€˜The woodwind ensemble will be giving a concert this afternoon.’
    Sam tells me that they will be playing a selection of popular classics, including ‘Air on the G String’ by J. S. Bach. I laugh at the title. Sam groans. Apparently
everyone
laughs when they hear the title. The ‘G String’ refers to a string on a musical instrument. J. S. Bach did not, in fact, write a tune to be played on skimpy underwear. I tell Sam that I’ll be at the concert, if my assistant managerial duties permit, which I’m pretty sure they do.
    â€˜See you, Adam.’
    â€˜See you, Sam.’
    â€˜Oh, one more thing.’
    I pray for Sam to tell me that she