Page 43 of Saving Little Lina: Part Two

Later that afternoon, under the blazing sun of South Beach, Mike, Elijah, and I were donning our best beach disguises—sunglasses and hats—as we marveled at the vibrant atmosphere around us. "I feel like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi with these on," Mike joked, adjusting his sunglasses with exaggerated importance.

"Yeah, except no one's chasing us for autographs," Elijah added, his voice laced with amusement. "But seriously, this place is cooler than I imagined. The sand, the sea—it's all so... cinematic."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Cinematic, huh? Well, let's make our own blockbuster then. How about a friendly competition to build the biggest sandcastle?" I suggested, eager to dive into the childlike joy of constructing elaborate sand structures.

Our conversation was abruptly interrupted by Kristen's arrival. Dressed as if she'd just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine, she announced, "Sorry I'm late, darlings. My private jet ran out of fuel mid-flight. Can you imagine?" Her tone was nonchalant, but the boast couldn't have been more transparent.

Rolling my eyes, I whispered to Mike, "As if. She's obviously lying." Mike nodded in agreement, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism.

Kristen, unfazed by our silent exchange, declared, "I'll have you know, I'm quite the expert at building castles. Prepare to be amazed."

Elijah, ever the voice of reason, countered, "That's funny, considering you have a tendency to destroy ours out of spite when yours doesn't turn out quite as regal, which, let's face it, is often."

Her gasp was theatrical, feigned offense coloring her tone. "Liar! My creations are always superior."

Mike said, "We'll have to side with Elijah on this one. At least he doesn't start baseless rumors about people behind their backs."

Kristen's act of surprise was as convincing as her jet story. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm a good girl. My Daddy would vouch for that," she claimed, her voice dripping with false innocence.

As we turned our attention back to the sandy canvas before us, leaving Kristen to sulk under a nearby tree, our competition began in earnest. However, the peaceful endeavor was short-lived. A frisbee, misguided in its flight, crashed into my half-built castle, causing me to stumble and scrape my elbow badly against the coarse sand.

The sharp sting of the scrape sent a wave of frustration through me, mixed with the pain of the unexpected injury. Rushing over to Kristen, who was the last person I saw with a frisbee, I confronted her. "Did you throw that?!" I demanded, holding back the urge to let my emotions get the better of me.

Kristen's denial was as sarcastic as it was swift. "Me? Throw a frisbee? Darling, I don't partake in such peasant activities. Besides, why would I waste my time ruining your tiny mound of sand?"

Her arrogance, combined with the dismissive way she referred to my sandcastle, only added fuel to my irritation.

Before I knew it, Daddy was at my side in an instant, his concern palpable as he gently cleaned the scrape with antiseptic wipes from his first aid kit. With tender care, he applied a bandage featuring Elsa from "Frozen," a small gesture that brought a hint of a smile through my tears.

"There, all better," he said, his voice soothing. "Elsa will make sure it heals fast. Remember, 'the cold never bothered her anyway,' so let's not let this little scrape bother us too much, okay?"

His attempt to lighten the mood worked, and I found myself chuckling despite the sting. "Thanks, Daddy. I guess I'm more of an Anna today, though," I replied, playing along with the theme.

To distract me further, he suggested we go inside our rented beach house so I could rest. Once inside, he entertained me in a delightfully silly way, staging an impromptu puppet show using my stuffed animals. Watching Daddy, a grown man, voicing each character with exaggerated enthusiasm and ridiculous accents, was both absurd and heartwarming. His dedication to making me feel better knew no bounds, and for a while, I forgot all about my scraped elbow.

After resting and feeling much better, I returned to the beach, eager to resume the day's activities. However, I was met with a scene of destruction. My sandcastle, the product ofmeticulous work, lay in ruins, with Mike standing amidst the debris, a look of horror on his face.

"I'm so, so sorry, Lina," Mike stammered, his apology genuine but doing little to salvage my initial horror. "Kristen told me you hid my new Teddy inside the sandcastle as a surprise. I didn't think; I just jumped in."

Following his gaze, I saw Kristen smirking from a distance, her satisfaction at the chaos she'd caused unmistakable. It was a low blow, especially considering the sentimental value of the Teddy Mike mentioned.

Mike was visibly upset, the realization that Kristen had lied about something so personal hitting him hard. To lighten the mood, Elijah and I rallied around him, determined to lift his spirits.

"Next time, we'll build a sand fortress," Elijah suggested, his voice laced with mock seriousness. "It'll be so big and strong that not even Kristen's tricks or misguided frisbees can bring it down."

"Yeah, and we'll make it Mike-proof, too," I added, offering him a playful nudge. "With a special, hidden chamber just for Teddies."

Mike managed a weak smile, the camaraderie and absurdity of our plans providing a temporary balm for his hurt. "And maybe a moat filled with sharks to keep a certain girl away," he joked, the twinkle returning to his eyes as he played along.

During the pretend-play session in the kitchen back at the beach house, my frustration over the ruined sandcastle found a misguided outlet in teasing Mike about his culinary skills. "Wow, Mike, I didn't know you could burn water. What'snext, setting the salad on fire?" I quipped, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, really? This coming from the person who sweeps dirt under the rug and calls it cleaning. At least my dishes don't require a treasure map to find under all that mess," he retorted, his words laced with playful snark.

It wasn't long before Daddy and Uncle Joe noticed the escalating banter and stepped in, their warning about potential time-outs if we didn't adjust our attitudes hanging heavily in the air.

With a heavy sigh, I realized the folly of our actions. "Mike, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you, especially not about something as silly as pretend cooking," I apologized, my voice softened with genuine regret.

Mike's response was immediate, his tone equally contrite. "And I'm sorry for snapping back about the cleaning. I guess I let the sandcastle thing get to me more than I thought," he admitted.

---