The Worst Misreading Yet!

"Y'know, Samson…" I started. I was just going to try and seed the idea. Casually plant it and see if Samson would let it sprout. "Maybe if you cut your hair, Snowcube'd—"

"Stop right there!" Samson jabbed a flattened palm at me in a sign that said: "STOP." Personally, I thought his rapidly reddening face was doing a better job playing stop sign, but hey. "Why the devil would I cut my hair when it's the source of all my immense power?"

"Immense power, dude?" Fence cocked his head to the side in confusion. I was lost too. Snowball might've been too, but she was wearing an illegible smile, so who knew?

"Yes, my immense power."

"But, Samson, you can't even lift five pounds in the weight room in PE."

"Not physical power, you dope."

He whipped his wet rope of hair over his shoulder… and smacked the poor beachgoer who just happened to be walking behind him silly, to the sound of "OH GOD MY EYE! YOU JUST PUT OUT MY EYE!"

Samson continued: "I'm talking about my immense cognitive abilities. My mental acuity, if you will."

"Huh?" I just looked at him slackjawed, which was how people told me I tended to look at people. But this time it was ok cause I was doing it consciously.

"My powers of invention!" He stomped the wet sand some more. "How do you think I became a genius inventor in the first place?"

Oh yeah. Did I forget to mention that? On top of being "secretly" in love with each other, Samson and Snowcube were also something like rivals in invention. They were the only two who could really match each other's mad genius.

Well, except for Snowball, but she was usually off in her own little world.

Anyway, Samson was always inventing something or other that ended up going horribly wrong, all in a series of vain, fruitless, and, that one weird time, peanut-butter-scented attempts to win over the girl he didn't know already liked him back.

"I dunno, man. Hard work?" That was my guess.

"Consistent practice?" Fence offered.

"Dedication to the craft, an unwavering work ethic, and the drive to better yourself each and every day?" Snowball chimed in.

"Hell no. Are you guys nuts?" He flipped his hair again. "It's my hair. That's the source of my genius. And if I want to impress my beloved and finally win her heart, I'm going to need to invent an invention that'll rock her socks off and make her fall madly in love with me."

Like I said: we were pole-vaulting sanity at this point.

Still, I asked: "Your hair is the source of your genius? How does that work?"

"Well enough without your probing, thanks a billion."

Welp. That was as good an answer as I was gonna get, looked like. Still, he didn't have to be so stick-up-his-ass about it. Then again, this was Six-Eyed Samson we were talking about. Maybe he was just trying to stay in character.

"Anyway, until I manage to invent something that will really wow Snowcube," Samson continued, "I can't even so much as think about cutting my hair."

Snowball squinted. "But didn't you just think about it by saying that?"

"Ah! Crap! You're right!" Samson facepalmed. "Gotta get my head back in the game! Can't waste any more time!"

He waded into the water up to about his knees, tips of his hair lapped by the tide, and whipped the odd electronic device from earlier out of his shorts.

"Now, surf! Surf, P4-ND4 Mk. II 🖤! Surf like your monochromatic, mechanical behind depended on it!"

At this incomprehensible proclamation, we turned our attentions in the direction of the sea to see what all the fuss was about.

"Oh, phew, dude." Fence wiped his brow in performative relief. Or maybe it was just cause it was hot out. "It's just a robot panda equipped with high-tech military-grade experimental weaponry absolutely shredding a killer wave on a longboard, dude."

Heh. Yeah. It was just a robot panda equipped with high-tech military-grade experimental weaponry absolutely shredding a killer wave on a longboard, dude.

Er. I mean. Not the "dude" part. But. You know what I mean.

Anyway. Yeah. It was just a surfing robot panda. What the heck was up with Samson then? He was making this seem like some sort of huge dea—

Wait, what?!

"A surfing robot panda?! Samson, what gives?! What's that thing doing at the beach?! Heck, what is it doing existing at all?! And why does it look like it swung by the military industrial complex surplus store on its way out here?!"

I blurted all these questions out at once, so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that I couldn't stop myself. Couldn't stop for even the split second it would have taken to realize I had forgotten to ask the most important question of all:

Where did a robot panda learn surfing moves so sick they needed a doctor?

"Are you blind?" Samson snapped back at me. "P4-ND4 Mk. II 🖤 has been surfing this whole time. Where do you think the rain from earlier came from?"

"Huh?"

"It's supposed to rain today, but not yet. The sudden shower just now was P4-ND4 Mk. II 🖤's massive, endangered-mammalian bellyflop as he wiped out!"

"Dang, dude." Fence whistled. "That musta been one huge flop."

"It was a huge flop. And a huge flop is also what our chances of winning the surf contest will be if I don't concentrate and remote control P4-ND4 Mk. II 🖤 better, so put a sock in it!"

Fence didn't really seem to care that he basically just got told to shut up though. "Also, just so you know, dude, giant pandas are technically classified as vulnerable, not endangere—"

"Whatever. That's not the point." Samson was hammering away at the remote controller for the robot panda, its chrome face covered with buttons, levers, and switches that Samson was operating effortlessly. "The point is that I now have to take matters into my own hands — literally!"

He thrust the controller towards us for a split second, then went right back to his furious controlling.

"When that big wave came in and P4-ND4 Mk. II 🖤 bellyflopped and I dropped my remote — how many points in this competition do you think I sacrificed, huh?"

"Competition?" I asked. "You mean this surf-off thing you keep mentioning? What's that about?"

Samson just shook his head. "Wow. You seriously are blind, aren't you?"

Curious, I looked around — up and down the beach and out over the water. I hadn't been paying much attention to it before, tensions as elevated as they were and all, but there sure were a lot of people surfing today. Way more than you'd expect, even now that summer was starting to get into swing. I could see them all the way up and down the curved shoreline.

And, man, was the shoreline ever curved. It was so curved it was practically a semicircle. From where we were standing on one end of the beach, you'd think the other end would be off in the heat-hazy distance, fading into the horizon or something.

But no. I could clearly make the other end of the beach out even from here. Could clearly see it sweeping back out in the direction of the water after curving in, a perfect U-shape of sand against the waves. The other end of Waxing Bay was directly across from us, just on the other side of the rounded patch of blue dotted with surfers coasting the waves.

If I had to wager one, my guess would be that Waxing Bay was probably one of the most curved beaches in the entire world.

…

…

…

WAIT.

HANG ON.

NO. NO FREAKING WAY.

I froze, shock thunderbolting up my spine and paralyzing me in place. I turned to Snowball and it was like my body was suddenly too stiff and clumsy for my brain to control right.

I shouldn't have been so shocked. Logically, I knew that. Knew that if what I now knew was probably true, it wasn't even actually that big a deal.

But if I had been put through all of this over a stupid misreadi—

No. No, not yet. I couldn't jump to conclusions yet. I had to confirm things first. And confirming the things I needed to confirm started with Snowball.

"Hey, Snowball?"

"What is it?" she asked innocently, oblivious to the fire of indignation — mostly at my own likely stupidity — kindling up inside me.

That's right: stupidity. I've never shied away from the term, even when applied to me. I mean, I had been stupid enough to get suckered into this trip, right? This disaster waiting for us to let it happen. This ridiculous, cursed day at the beach just hanging out on the sidelines, chilling and doing its own thing until I inevitably stumbled headlong into it. This, all of this — this beach trip, the curses I've had to endure, almost dying a couple times, and even my realization that Matchstick and I just weren't meant for each other, weren't meant to be owner and pet after all — had started with my agreeing to go.

And my agreeing to go had started with Snowball asking me to come.

And where had Snowball's asking me to come come from?

Funny story about that.

"C-can I" — my voice was cracking harder than an egg under a lead weight — "can I see your phone for a second?"

"See my phone?" She cocked her head to the side. My brain was overclocked and overheating, spinning so fast I didn't have the mental capacity to think she looked cute like that. Not that I would have anyway, mind you. I'm just saying. "Sure. Here. But why?"

I didn't even bother answering her question. Before the phone had even left her hands, I had already opened up her favorite social media app. The one she found the post about Waxing Bay on in the first place.

The post that had made her want to come here.

The post that started all of this.

The post that I was now just about certain she had read without her—

I gulped. And then I read it.

"Snowball?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?"

"Did you by any chance not have your glasses on when you read this promo post about Waxing Bay?"

"The one about it being the most cursed beach in the world?"

I nodded, gravely.

"Nope! I was reading it in bed and wasn't wearing my glasses. But how did you know?"

At that moment, not even a straightjacket could have stopped me from facepalming.

I sighed and just turned the screen her way. She had her glasses on now, so she would surely be able to read what the post actually said.

Visit beautiful Waxing Bay!

The most curved beach in the world!

To be continued!