“Do not encourage him,” he says as he slips out of the truck.
I can’t suppress my smile as I hop down too. Mars quickly steps around the front of the truck and comes to stand by my door.
The young man swaggers up to us in bare feet. His hair still looks wet and sticky with salt from his morning surf. He’s maybe in his mid-twenties, his face already deeply lined and weathered by the sun. Behind him, a beat-up, yellow Jeep sits stuffed with several surfboards.
“How’s it goin’， Mars Mission?” He says, offering out his hand to Ilmari. “Whoa, who’s the duchess?” he says, looking at me.
“Your new boss,” Mars replies, shaking the surfer’s hand.
“Awesome,” Surfer Joe replies, nodding like a bobblehead.
“Mars Attack?” I say with a smile. “Mars Mission? Are those his nicknames?”
“Oh yeah, totally,” Surfer Joe replies.
“May I ask why?”
Surfer Joe slings an arm around Ilmari’s broad shoulders as he flips the sunglasses on his head down onto his face and says, “‘Cause this guy is out of this world.”
The pained look of tolerance on Ilmari’s face is giving me life. Surfer Joe may just be my new favorite person. “You know, I’d have to agree,” I tease, flashing Ilmari a grin.
“I said don’t encourage him,” Mars mutters.
“Oh, come on now, Rocketman, where’s the fun in that?”
Mars gives me a look clearly meant to convey sentiments of deep hate and loathing. Then he gestures at me. “Tess Owens, this is Joey Ford. He’s the current head of the organization.”
Surfer Joe’s name is Joey? I nearly choke holding back my laugh as I eagerly shake his hand. “Joey, nice to meet you.” His hand is rough as sandpaper and his grip hard as iron.
“The king is dead, long live the queen, eh, duchess?” Joey says with a grin. “I don’t know the first thing about running a nonprofit. I’m just here to give the turtles a fighting chance.”
“And behind you are Cheryl and Nancy Lemming,” says Ilmari at my side.
I turn to see a pair of smiling older ladies walking up to us holding hands. They, too, look like they just came from the beach. Their bare toes are sandy, and their cheeks are flushed from the wind.
“Hi,” I say with a wave.
“Oh, Nance, she is so pretty,” coos the one who must be Cheryl. She’s tall and willowy with kinky grey curls. Meanwhile, her partner is shorter and more pear-shaped, with dark hair and eyes. “Honey, you are just the prettiest thing.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a smile.
They close the distance and shake my hand, then Ilmari’s.
“We’re so excited to meet you,” says Nancy. “Mars said you were a wizard with nonprofits.”
“I’ll admit, we’re new to this game,” chimes Cheryl. “But what’s the proper sports vernacular? Put us in, coach,” she says, and they both laugh.
“We’re willing to do the work,” adds Nancy.
I glance up at Mars. “Are we waiting for anyone else?”
“No,” he replies. “This is it.”
I glance around at the four of them: the goalie, the surfer, and the lesbian nature lovers.
And now me.
“All present and accounted for,” chimes Joey, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Welcome to the Northshore Turtle Crew.”
An hour later, I’ve forgotten all about the cold. I’m sweating and panting, my feet sinking in the sand as we walk along the base of the dunes. We’re nearly back to the parking lot now. I can see the patio of blue umbrellas marking the entrance.
I don’t know what I expected for my first meeting with the Northshore Turtle Crew, but it certainly wasn’t a grueling hike in deep sand while Joey, Nancy, and Cheryl rapid-fire explained absolutely every aspect of sea turtle conservation and dune restoration. My mind is spinning as I try to hold it all in my head and remember to breathe at the same time.
Fuck, I’m outta shape.
Meanwhile, Mars Attack looks almost bored as he strolls barefoot, his hands in his pockets, easily keeping pace. The crazy Finn is wholly unbothered in his shorts and T-shirt, the wind whipping at his hair.
“So that’s pretty much it,” says Joey, gesturing with both hands at the expanse of beach in front of us. “Any questions?”
We all slow to a stop, and I place a hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. My Achilles heels are screaming at me, unused to the stretch and pull of walking in this deep sand.