Page 4 of Without a Clue

“Can’t we, though?” Hugh says casually. “With a little nudging?”

“Focus,” Neena says under her breath, smiling through gritted teeth.

I take a step forward.

Neena takes a small step forward to meet me. “The important thing is to focus on what kind of positive effect we can have.”

I nod, aware suddenly that the boom box feels heavy on my shoulder. The weight of this situation I put myself in is beginning to settle on me, and the fire in me that started this whole mess is fizzling out.

“I want to have a positive effect,” I murmur and trudge through the waves.

My skirt is soaked.

My white blouse is dangerously close to getting soaked as well.

And my hair has twisted so far around me, I feel like a furry teddy bear.

I step onto shore.

“I know you do.” Neena clasps my shoulder with one hand in welcome home, soldier fashion and grabs hold of the boom box with the other. Swiftly she hands off the boom box to Hugh, who hands it to Ricky, who hands it down the line to Gordon, Crystal, and finally Jackie, who hands it, with the kind of severe look only Jackie and very, very angry librarians can give, to Pineapple Trunks.

He takes it.

People begin to clap.

“What a breakthrough. I’m very proud of you, Pip.” Neena engulfs my soaking wet, frizzy-hair-ensconced body in a hug (effectively soaking herself entirely) that lasts several moments too long.

Eventually, the clapping dies down.

And Hugh clears his throat.

I look and see Pineapple Trunks with a screwy look on his face, the look of a drunk man trying desperately to use his remaining working neurons to deduce whether this was a situation in which to call the police.

The cruise ship gives another honk.

And I realize I’m already gearing up to make a statement, quietly hoping for a female officer who’s more likely to follow the thread of how discussion of a perfectly beautiful view has led to this.

Neena swings her wide smile to the man. “You know what?” she announces. “You look like somebody who appreciates a good fruit basket.”

Crystal rolls her eyes.

“Fruit baskets are not the answer to everything, Neena,” Jackie snaps.

They are, of course, to Neena, who firmly believes that a fruit basket is perfect in every situation from infant baptism to petty crime.

“Forget the basket. Consider this your lucky day, sir,” Crystal, the youngest of 90 percent of the group by several decades, says. “You get a heck of a story and a group picture! Free of charge. That’s worth a dozen fruit baskets and two dozen of your archaic boom boxes.”

The man watches The Six begin nodding and mumbling in approval as though this is a most generous apology gift for an insane woman who stood in the ocean holding his boom box hostage.

“Ship’s dropping ropes now,” Ricky says, squinting at the cruise ship in the distance. “I think they’re really going to leave.”

“They’re playing with us,” Hugh retorts. He kicks his suitcase, which topples into the sand. “And two can play that game.”

“Time for the photo op! Everybody in,” Crystal says, gathering the group together. Her eyes graze over the man dubiously. “Do your . . . swim trunks have a phone swimming there, or should we use one of ours?”

“All the sunblock’s covering my makeup,” Jackie protests, souring as she reaches into her handbag.

“Has anybody seen my hat?” Gordon says, twisting as he scans around him.