Waves roared across the shore, their echo reaching Cordelia as she sat curled on a white wicker chair outside their cottage. How quickly time passed! The first night at the resort, she had been positive that the days would move slowly because, without her friends to chat with, there would be little to do. Yet, four days sped by as a routine was quickly established.

  They started each day with a small breakfast in the cottage. Her mother and brother chatted about schoolwork or something they had done the day before, but Cordelia just picked at her food, shoulders tight, reminded again of feeling out of pce in her family. Afterward, they headed to the main hotel where their grandparents had a long list of chores to be accomplished in various areas of the resort. Beach cleanup and scrubbing chair loungers on the patio took up most of the first day, and by the end of it, Cordelia was dreading the days ahead. The second and third days involved cleaning in the living areas, which at least provided opportunities to explore.

  Cordelia had discovered that there had been a few guests staying at the resort, but they had now checked out. New guests weren’t expected until Thursday. Because of the prep work needed for the new guest's arrival, she had searched every room and supply closet. There had been one close call when her grandmother found her rooting around the supply shelves on the second floor. Her brain stuttered, no expnation coming to mind, so she stammered something about needing a better cleaner. Her grandmother’s brow folded down, a skeptical gleam in her eye, yet she reached up and took a bottle from a higher shelf, handed it to Cordelia and walked away with a chuckle.

  It was on this same day that Cordelia had also peeked at her grandparent’s upstairs rooms. Lunch always followed chores, with the afternoon ending in schoolwork, and it was during lunch she excused herself to use the bathroom. Once out of sight, she snuck quietly up the stairs, thankful that none creaked. At the nding, she could clearly see three rooms, all but one with doors open.

  Lic scent hit her as she entered the first room. This had to be her mother’s. The double bed covered in a yellow and white comforter, flower throw pillows neatly stacked, and a dog stuffed animal confirmed it. Light reflected off the old perfume bottles that lined the top of a three-drawer dresser by the window. A white, uncluttered desk sat next to the door. Its top held nothing personal. In the closet hung some old dresses, several of which looked as if they were from the 50s or 60s. Cute, but obviously for an older woman. Her grandmother must use the closet for storage.

  A hurried search revealed little about her mother or a hidden family secret. The room in general held few personal items. There were some older pictures, but none of them were of her mother when she was a child. There was no hidden scrapbook or journal. Thinking of where someone might hide things, she searched for a secret space in the closet or something taped underneath the desk or bed, but found nothing.

  Standing in front of the second door, she debated whether to go in. The closed door cried out a warning; a warning her conscience couldn’t overcome. Instead, she headed to the third room. Clearly, it was a sewing space used by her grandmother. A worktable scattered with crafting supplies showcased a quilt in progress with neat hand stitches. Against one wall were pced a cute white couch with gold trim and a side table with a crystal mp. She could picture her grandmother here. A simir search only revealed her grandmother’s love of the sea, reflected in the ocean-themed pieces she crafted.

  Despite all her efforts, today hadn’t yielded much either. She’d spent hours assisting her grandfather in his office, a pce where she would have assumed there would be some personal items. Instead, the walls were filled with photos of the resort as it changed over the years. An impressive architectural rendering hung over her grandfather’s desk, its yout one she was quite familiar with by now.

  Her primary duty today had been tackling the stack of mail, which she opened and sorted as her grandfather had instructed. It was easy work compared to the st few days, and thus provided time for her mind to wander to schoolwork and friends. What excuse had her father used for their absence? Did her friends worry about her? There was comfort in seeing her messages backing up on her phone, but those had slowed in the st day or so.

  A word in the newly opened letter caught her eye, scattering everything else from her mind. It mentioned wanting to schedule an advisory group meeting during the new moon. She read it again. A meeting during a new moon?

  She gnced up to see if her grandfather had noticed her interest in the letter, but she found him poring over the accounts on his computer screen. Looking back, she read the name of the advisory group carefully, committing it to memory, then pced the letter in the appropriate pile. Something to look into, she thought, her curiosity piqued.

  Her chair creaked as she shifted her position. Thinking back over the st four days, she could only conclude that her grandparents were rather ordinary people who spent most of their time working to keep their resort going. They weren’t big fans of modern technology, but all their records were electronic, as were the hotel and cottage door locks. Her grandparents felt free time should be rare, and if you were given some time, it should be spent reading. That, to them, was the highest form of enjoyment. Their second passion: spirited debate during dinner. Cordelia was now convinced that her grandfather lived to debate. She suspected he spent the majority of his day refining whatever argument he pnned to unleash that night.

  It was through these debates that stronger pictures of her grandparents were being shaped. They didn’t all see things the same way, and some things her grandparents said made Cordelia wonder how that opinion had been formed, as it seemed to be from another century. Even so, it was hard to refute their arguments, particurly her grandfather’s opinions, as he supported them with facts and came to discussions with receipts. Both her grandparents also listened carefully to them when they spoke. They weren’t afraid to offer advice. Although conversations were focused on things happening in the world, Cordelia had ferreted out some more information on her grandparents and mother.

  Things like both of her grandparents having been born in Greece, but meeting and moving to the United States long ago. They went to Europe to see different countries once a year, often with their many friends.

  Cordelia sat straight up. There had been mention of her grandfather being on an advisory board at dinner two nights ago. She racked her brain for the name he’d used, but it didn’t come. Was that reted to the letter she’d seen today? Once again, her mother had been quick to jump in and change the subject about the advisory board for her “grandfather’s people”. More than a few times she had heard "our kind” or “our people” yet before she could question, the subject changed.

  Cordelia pushed up from the chair, no longer able to sit still, she headed inside. Maybe studying for one of her exams, along with the quiet p of water at the pool, would move her thoughts elsewhere. She needed a break from the questions swirling in her mind that just couldn’t find answers. With a book from her room tucked under her arm, she stopped next to Kai on the couch. “I’m heading over to the pool,” she said.

  Kai waved his hand, not taking his eyes from the action movie and the gruesome car crash that happened as she had walked up. She doubted he had heard her. Still, she pulled open the door, slipping out into the cooling afternoon. A light breeze picked up her hair, sweeping it behind her as she wandered on the flowering walkway to the pool. She lifted her face to catch the st rays of the sun, breathing deep the salt in the air. Then, the letter’s request surfaced again in her mind before drifting to the mundane conversation about activities her grandfather enjoyed. Stop.

  When she reached the pool gate, she noticed a sign indicating that it was closed for cleaning. Odd! Wasn’t it te to be cleaning the pool? Assuming her grandfather was inside, she pushed open the gate and called, “Papou?” No answer.

  She scanned the area, but she didn’t see her grandfather anywhere. There was evidence of someone cleaning - a bucket, a long pool cleaning net, as well as a hose sat next to the main pool. Yet the space was empty and silent. “Papou?” She called again as she walked toward the shed on the right, hidden behind some artfully arranged bushes. Her eyes gnced over at the beach beyond the pool, but no one was working out there either.

  “What are you doing in here? Can’t you read?” a voice barked from beside her, and she whirled, startled. Standing there next to a side gate was a boy a little older than herself and a few inches taller. He had bck, slightly messy hair, dark eyes that pinned her in pce, and his skin was browned into a tan. An athletic build and that tan spoke of long hours in the sun. He wasn’t exactly cute, but then again, he wasn’t ugly. Looking up at his face, she saw his scowl as he banced something in his hands while he reached for the gate tch.

  * * *

  Completely caught off guard seeing him standing there, she stuttered, “S-s-sorry. I was looking for my grandfather. I thought he was the one cleaning the pool.”

  “Your grandfather? Kostas is your grandfather?”

  “Yes,” Cordelia replied with what she hoped was a friendly smile, but the boy continued to look at her with suspicion. His eyes narrowed further on her. She added, “Believe me, this surprised me too.” She stopped reconsidering what she had been about to say. “I’m still processing.”

  Cordelia bit at her bottom lip, waiting for him to do anything other than stare at her. After a few more seconds of appraisal, he opened the gate, brushing past her as he headed over to the pool. The something in his hands was actually a white chemical container and a measuring cup. Waiting for another few seconds, and getting the sense that he was going to ignore her, she fell in step behind him. “So - you clean the pool here?”

  He looked back at her as a resigned look fshed across his face. “I do odd jobs around here for your grandfather when I have time.”

  “How often is that?”

  He set the container down next to the bucket and measured out the chemical. “A few times a week. This week’s been kind of crazy, so I didn’t make it out here until today.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That expins why I haven’t seen you.”

  He grunted as he closed the container and headed to the edge of the pool, pouring it in.

  “So . . .,“ she tilted her head, “do you enjoy cleaning pools, or is it just a job?”

  “This is the only pool I clean. It isn’t the worst thing I do.”

  Cordelia moved out of his way as he returned to the container and bucket, grabbing them up and heading back to the shed. “What is the worst thing?” She heard him sigh as he opened the gate.

  “Answering questions from noisy guests.”

  “Ha ha - obviously that doesn’t include me since I’m not a guest.” Cordelia shot back, putting her hands on her hips, fshing him a smirk as she watched him through the fence. Was that a twitch of his lip? She couldn’t tell for sure because he had gone into the shed. Noise inside kept her from saying more until he stepped back out. She waited for a minute. “Seriously,” she grinned, “what chore do you dread my grandfather asking you to do?”

  “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  Cordelia shrugged, not sure her questions even had a purpose. “Making small talk to get to know someone.”

  “Why would you want to get to know me?”

  Cordelia frowned at his strange question. “I’m curious about people.”

  “Well, most people like to keep to themselves.”

  “I don’t know,” she gnced away from him, looking out at the ocean. “Maybe that’s part of the problem. People don’t get to know anyone anymore.”

  “So asking me questions about what chores I like is how you are saving the world?” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Okayyy,” she sighed, “When you say it that way it sounds stupid.” Cordelia headed over to a lounger and plopped down on it. “I guess I just got excited to talk to someone my own age. I’ve been here almost a week, and I’m getting kind of tired of talking just to my family.

  He grabbed the broom that was leaning against the fence before turning to look at her thoughtfully. Was he lonely too? A silence fell, and she thought he might just continue to ignore her. She debated about leaving when he said, “My name is Hector. I guess I’ve been working for your grandfather for two years. He’s great. I get work when I need it, and most of it isn’t unpleasant or very hard.”

  Cordelia couldn’t prevent the self-satisfied smile that lit up her face. This was progress, much quicker than expected. “I’m Cordelia. I didn’t realize I hadn’t told you my name.” She fought the heat climbing up her neck. “Why do you need the work?”

  Hector began to sweep, starting near the entrance she had entered earlier. “I’m a professional skater. Competitions and trainings don’t pay for themselves, and gear isn’t cheap.”

  A professional skater? That was the kind of thing every boy her age said, but he seemed serious. “How long have you been skating?”

  “Seems like my whole life, but doing it seriously for about three years. I love the challenge of it.” He looked at her with a grin, “Learning new tricks takes time and practice. We have a great skate park nearby in Port Royal, which is where I spend most of my free time.”

  “Your parents don’t help you?”

  He shook his head, “Skating’s not really . . . encouraged at my house.” His broom moved a little faster. “Some things you don’t spend ‘hard earned money’ on." He had reached the far side of the pool, making sure to get around all the chairs and loungers, his voice drifting to her, “Especially on something that is just a ‘phase’.”

  Cordelia watched the expressions cross his face - first anger, sharp and hard, then a hurt that settled in around his eyes. His broom fshed over the pavement, unsettling dust that rose into the air, catching the st light.

  “Besides, I like working to fund my passion. It makes it more worthwhile. It means I’ve earned everything myself,” he ended with a shrug, although she saw a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

  Cordelia hadn’t thought of that. How good it might feel to work and buy your own things, knowing that it was for your future. “Cool!”

  He looked up over at her, a slow smirk forming, “How about you? Do you work or have a passion for something?”

  She thought for a minute, feeling kind of stupid that she really had nothing she was passionate about other than clothes and friends. He would think she was shallow. Feeling moisture gather on her upper lip, a sudden thought came to her: “I swim competitively. Hoping to make the high school team next year.” She wondered if he noticed her pause.

  “That’s cool. That you py sports.” A blush reddened his cheeks as he continued, “I assumed you were more into clothes and gossip, what with all your questions.”

  She couldn’t have been happier that she replied as she had. “I told you the reason for all my questions was me trying to learn more about you, not to use in gossip. Besides, who would I gossip with - the seagulls.”

  “They can be good listeners,” he retorted.

  A snort broke free, “Well, I’m not that desperate yet, but give it a few more days.” As the words left her mouth, she realized they were truer than she wanted to admit. A little desperation was growing regarding finding out what secrets this pce held. More importantly, why her parents had lied. Would he know anything? Trying for casual, “You said you’ve worked here for two years. Anything about this pce that people don’t want to talk about?”

  He was now sweeping on her side of the pool, but stopped when she asked her question. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, “I’ve never been here before. Trying to figure it all out.” Did she say more? “Sometimes I feel like I’m missing something.”

  Hector went back to sweeping, but she could tell he was mulling over her question. “Maria and Kostas are some of the simplest, kindest people that I know. I can’t imagine them being involved in anything shady.” He stopped, leaning against the top of the broom, looking at her again. “Some people in town think they keep to themselves too much, but I think that is just because they’re busy with the resort. They don’t have a lot of help. Running this pce doesn’t leave much time for getting involved in the community.”

  Cordelia nodded before turning her head from his gaze to look out at the ocean. The broom started up again. “Do you know if they have always run this pce?”

  Brushing continued, “Kostas and Maria have been running this resort for decades. I think Kostas’ father ran it before him.”

  “So no secret weed-growing sites on the property?” She asked, unable to hold back her grin, as she turned back. “Or maybe Kostas is a chemist and makes designer drugs like in that one TV show?”

  “Do your grandparents even drink alcohol?”

  He had a point. One gss of wine was usually all that they would drink, and even then it was with dinner. “A little,” she added. Another thought: “Maybe since they’re secret drug dealers, they know how bad it is for you, so they don’t use any drugs or alcohol themselves,” she stated with a slight nod and a raised eyebrow.

  Hector ughed, “Not buying it - I can’t see your grandpa doing any back-alley deals. I’m telling you. Nothing shady is going on here.”

  She sighed.

  He pushed the dirt out into the pnter bed and looked over at her with a questioning gleam, “You’re trying to figure out why you didn’t know about your grandparents?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m guessing it was something personal. Like maybe Kostas or Maria doesn’t get along with one of your parents. Isn’t that the usual reason families stop talking?”

  “I guess.” Cordelia watched him take the broom and other equipment and head to the shed. It seemed he might be finished for the day. “It has to be personal. My grandfather was really angry with my father when we first arrived. I don’t think you get that mad if something isn’t personal.”

  Stepping out of the shed, he pushed the door closed and snapped on the lock. A bck backpack was slung over one shoulder. “Are you done working?”

  “Yep,” he said, adjusting his backpack as he moved to the gate, “I need to head home. The sun is setting, and I still have homework. I’ve been here almost three hours.”

  “Well,” she said a little awkwardly, “it was really nice meeting you. Thanks for listening.”

  “Same,” he replied. “I don’t talk to many people around here, so it was actually a nice change.”

  “See,” Cordelia smirked as she waved to him and headed to the gate and back to the cottage. “People really do like talking to each other.”

  “Ha,” she heard him say from behind her. She smiled, knowing she was right, at least in this case.