'Breakwater' by Shelly Jones

“Make a decision already,” a teen in line at the beachside snackbar spat. The kid ahead blushed, words trapped in her mouth as she tried to process the dizzying menu.

“S-s-sorry,” she managed. “You, you, you can go.” She stepped aside, still reading the choices emblazoned above the counter.

“Finally,” the teen scoffed. “Hot dog.”

Lavana nodded, her gray braid swishing as she filled his order. She looked over her glasses at the kid, watching her lips move, reciting something to herself. Lavana handed the frankfurter to the teen, who dropped a crumpled bill on the counter and left.

“Pretzel?” Lavana asked as the kid stepped up to the counter. She nodded, relief washing over her face, tanned skin relaxing. “Take this,” Lavana said, dropping extra packets of salt in her hand. “Might be useful.” The kid nodded shyly, her eyes staring at the scattered sand and salt that lined the snackbar floor.

As the sun dipped into the ocean, Lavana looked out onto the shore. The kid sat serenely on the beach, a ring of salt encircling her, as the teen shouted, his hot dog lost in the surf. Lavana smirked as his cruel words were blocked, broken by the barricade, dissolving in the sea like waves, as the other child enjoyed her pretzel.

“Break’s over,” the snackbar manager announced.  

Lavana began replenishing the condiments, letting grains of salt slip to the floor. As the manager’s voice distorted, she closed her eyes, the sound of distant waves filling her.