Marley Mason despised Miami beaches. He thought the sand was too white— artificial —as if someone in a factory somewhere was making each grain one by one, attempting to imitate nature. But Marley saw through their falsehood like transparent glass and he thought it piteous. He knew that real sand usually touched a little closer to brown. Sand that had people being buried in it up to their necks every day and plastic bottles scattered across its surface. Sand that housed fearful crabs and shards of unsuspecting glass if you weren't looking keenly enough. Like everything else, sand could not be perfect.

But in Miami, it seemed, Marley could not be more wrong. Sand, and a multitude of other inherently infinite things, were sculpted to be, and remain, flawless. They existed without bruises or blemishes and were praised for their unattainable bravado.

But where Marley was from, a bravado meant you hadn't lived. It was the callouses wrinkling your hands that told everyone you had held onto great, untouchable things and the scars adorning your kneecaps evidenced that your feet were blessed with excitement and speed. But here, in perfect Miami, the only great things were perfect houses skimming against the ocean's waves and speed came in the form of perfect, tiny cars zipping along open roads.

Marley Mason did not care for such things.

But he said nothing about it, either. It didn't matter. Miami and all its people were different from him in a way he had long accepted by now. So instead, Marley took his headphones from around his neck and placed them over his ears, selecting a Protoje track that had enough bass to drown out the sound of Bayside's waves pushing up against the beach and stuck his hands into his pockets. The reggae came out clear and deafening, a little nostalgia pressed between the drums, and all its quick lyrical jabs and enticing production keeping Marley's attention his entire walk. Besides shifting his headphones once, Marley went along undisturbed, until he stepped foot into the busy building of his father's restaurant.

Tafari Mason immediately caught sight of him from behind the counter. "Thank God! Where were you?!" he came around to meet him, slinging his arm around his son. "Yuh know seh I need you, right? You said twenty minutes. It's been a hour, Marley!"

Marley folded his lips inward and offered him all he could, an apologetic shrug.

Tafari didn't like Miami more than his son did, but it paid the bills and sent Marley to school. That was all that was important. Tafari sighed, but managed a relieved smiled and shook his son healthily. "Come," he said, leading Marley around the counter and grabbing an apron. He pushed it into his chest and grimaced. "Alright, I know I always have you working di kitchen but, from now on I need you waiting, Marley."

Marley's stomach dropped.

Tafari tried to hold off the anxiety he knew was coming to undertake Marley's mind by showing him his open and urgent palm. "I know, I know, Marley. But you will be fine. Christina and Jimmy starting to get a hang of tings, yuh know. Dem nuh suh bad like one time. So while they in di kitchen, you need to be out here"

The tremble jerking Marley's right leg was soon energised into vexation. Marley grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes.

Tafari narrowed his back. "Don't give me that look." But Marley did not ease up. His father knew that waiting was more than just a job for Marley. It was hell. But he was still making him do it anyway?

Tafari gave in and sighed, hanging the apron over his son's head. He spun Marley around and slowly began tying the knot around his waist. "Look, Marley, when people come to Jah-Jah's dem nuh mind waiting for good food. But when di wait is long and there is no customer service, dat is when they will get fed up," he finished it with a tight bow then turned his son around again to look him in the eye, "Plus, you know how Americans stay. How you look will help sell di food. Christina and Jimmy can't do dat." His father's hand reached out to twirl Marley's shoulder-length locs swinging over his forehead.

Marley's fist curled and he blinked away, eyeing the fake mahogany counter-top and the fake plants spilling over its edge.

"You don't have to talk, Marley. Just wave, smile and take their order, okay?" Tafari squeezed his shoulders and attempted a proud smile. "You won't be needing these," he said, gently lifting the headphones from around his son's neck, "and don't forget to use the hand sanitizer," he warned lastly, ducking into the kitchen and leaving Marley there to stare after him.

Jah-Jah's Jamaican Jerk Foods was perhaps the only thing Tafari Mason has to be proud of, besides Marley. When migrating to America Tafari didn't have much. In fact, he had nothing. His standard English was a work in progress and his years of experience in Jamaica as machinist were null and void here without a degree. But Tafari did notice one thing. Here, Jamaica was a treasure. Surely, he could use that to his advantage. So, he begun digging within himself and found his own little gold mine: Jah-Jah's Jamaican Jerk Foods.

If he could go back in time, maybe Tafari would've chosen differently. But, he can't. So, Tafari Mason has to count his blessings to keep himself sane.

One: His son.

Two: Jah-Jah's Jamaican Jerk Foods.

That was all he had.

Across the restaurant, Marley was trying his hand at following his dad's advice word for word. Wave. Smile. Take their order. Everything had surprisingly been easy when he realized that people didn't care so much for him as they did for their food. Some people, he thought, didn't even realize he hadn't said a word to them. But things only went well for so long until he arrived at his third table and saw exactly who was sitting there. The girl looked up— clueless— as if she didn't know he was there. Marley did his best to not flinch.

"Marley," she said, her voice raspy like it was being stirred from sleep. "How's your summer going? Anything interesting happen to you?"

Marley glared at her, clutching the notepad and pen firmly at his sides. Wherever there was Ava, trouble usually followed and Marley knew that. Internally he prepared for the storm.

Ava DeLoughery waited for his reply for a moment, her eyes searching his before she shook her head and moved her gaze to stare at some invisible thing in front of her instead. She slumped in her seat.

You see, Ava DeLoughery was beautiful, Marley couldn't ignore that much. It was because she did not aspire to be perfect in the Miami-manufactured way. She did not try to be white like the sand and her hair was wider and more daring than the ocean. It only took Marley a few more seconds, however, to realize that her eyes weren't as bright and challenging as he knew them to be and her glossed lips were set in a straight, stoic line. Something was wrong.

"Who am I kidding?" she exhaled. "You're only going to stand there and stare at me. I might as well be talking to a brick wall." A beat passed. "Richie isn't here, okay?" she told him. Between their silence, her plucked eyebrows had drawn in and she sighed. "I'm actually trying to forget him right now." A part of Marley told him she didn't mean to say that last bit out loud.

Marley Mason considered leaving her there. Clearly, she was upset and if the roles were reversed he was certain that she would have left him in a heartbeat. At school, they were strangers. Why should summer be any different? The most Marley Mason ever saw of Ava DeLoughery was when she was laughing at him after some unimaginative joke Richard O'Riley had uttered. He should leave her there to wallow. But leaving meant pulling his eyes away, and that was the problem. Even Medusa was beautiful, Marley thought.

Marley scribbled something on his notepad and tore the page out, sliding it over to her on the table.

She read it, but didn't reply. Looking up at him then, her dark eyes began to scrutinise his face, analysing every tiny feature that made it up and Marley suddenly felt a little smaller despite him towering over her and he was quickly hyper-aware of how the sun struck her umber-toned skin like it struck fresh-water rivers. Ultimately, she decided to speak. "Why don't you ever talk?" she deadpanned.

Marley's jaw tightened. Ava DeLoughery caught the way his entire posture shifted and snickered. It almost riled up enough anger in him to walk away. Almost.

"Hey, I'm just asking," she said, the laughter still spinning in her voice, "No one knows, you know." Marley blinked and found the half-empty salt shaker on the table. She was still in his periphery, but this was more manageable than looking at her head-on. "People don't talk to you because they're too busy talking about you. You're a legend, Marley Mason. And not the kind with heroes and gold but the kind con-artists tell frighten people."

Marley faced her again. This time, his eyes were the ones taking their time on her face. He couldn't believe Ava DeLoughery had said something that idiosyncratic. In fact, he didn't believe Ava DeLoughery could even spell the word 'idiosyncratic'. She always seemed to linger in the clique that trailed Richard O'Riley in and out of school like they had nothing else better to do. And with Richard O'Riley as their collective mouthpiece, you couldn't blame him.

Marley scribbled on his notepad quickly and showed it to her.

Ignorant, it read.

"Confused," she retorted.

Marley shrugged, and she knew without any ink nor paper what he meant:

Same thing.

She smiled and folded her arms in that exciting way Marley thought she only did when Richard O'Riley was saying something ridiculous. "Okay, I bite. Enlighten me."

The truth was, Jah-Jah's Jamaican Jerk Foods was not that close to the beach, but Marley could hear the waves crashing in his ears now. It rushed into his eardrums and filled his face with heat. But the sensible side of him knew that the beach and Jah-Jah's was a much greater distance away, so he expelled all the swelling from his face and told the waves to ebb back to their depths.

Marley pointed to his uniform, an apologetic look suddenly clouding his expression.

"Right," she nodded, "the dreaded nine to five."

His lips tightened into a smile as he shrugged.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. I've got enough company right here," she told him, holding up her phone.

Marley nodded a goodbye and turned away, making his way toward the other customers that needed his attention. And perhaps, he might have been right to do so because Ava DeLoughery stayed on her phone the whole time she was in the restaurant and left without ordering a thing. Back to Richard O'Riley, he thought.

But yet, Marley Mason was still hearing seagulls and splashes.

See, this is what I meant by sporadic updates.

This week's dedication goes to because since I dropped the very first intro they have shown me SO much love and was the first to comment and vote on the previous poem. I LOVE YOUR SUPPORT. Thank you so much! Remember, readers all you have to do is vote and comment and the next dedication could be !

Honestly, readers I got so tired of editing and re-reading this chapter because I was so anxious. I got so many great comments on the last chapter so I was trying to make this perfect for you guys. But, to save myself the stress here you go! It's giving me way too much anxiety. I hope you guys like this chapter though! Tell me what you think in the comments!