Chapter Text
Neptune, California. A town without a middle class. If you grow up here, your parents are either millionaires, or work for millionaires. If you’re in the first group, you spend your days lounging by your pool, partying with the who's who of young Hollywood, or—if you’re one of the precious with integrity—working an unpaid internship that your parents (or your parents’ name) secured for you.
If you’re in the second group, you get a job. Fast food, movie theaters, minimarts, that’s all bottom rung. Inconvenient hours, polyester uniform polos, fluorescent lighting. At least scooping ice cream at the beach means free ice cream, perpetually sticky forearm notwithstanding. Serving at restaurants or caddying at the golf course equals decent tips, but at the whim of aforementioned temperamental millionaires. The coveted summer job, the upper echelon of young adult employment, so good that even the millionaires’ kids do it just for something to do? Lifeguarding at Neptune Beach Club.
It’s the job every kid in Neptune wants, and I’ve worked my ass off for it. To be a lifeguard for the summer doesn’t just mean the best paycheck for seasonal work. It means tan-lines that last at least until the New Year. Naturally lightened hair, perfectly textured from the sea breeze. Hours contingent on daylight and sunshine. I mean, come on -- your literal job is to go to the beach. It definitely doesn’t suck.
Or so I’m told.
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“First year?” A sweet smile and kind voice greeted Veronica at the entrance of the clubhouse.
“Is it that obvious?” She asked, awkwardly shuffling her belongings in an attempt to free one arm to and shake the girl’s extended hand. “Veronica.” she said, attempting to return the enthusiasm and making sure to keep her grip firm, a lesson from her dad.
“I’m Meg. It’s great to have you here, Veronica! Do you need a hand?”
Veronica shook her head, redistributing the weight in her arms, nearly dropping her faded Padres towel.
Meg seemed skeptical, but accepted the response. “Ok. The lockers are through that door. Did you bring a lock?” Veronica nodded. “Great. We’ve never really had an issue with theft, everyone here’s great, but you know, one-of-those-things.” She’d clearly given this speech before. “Pick any open locker and it’s yours until August. We’ll start the morning meeting right at eight. There’s coffee and doughnuts today, but don’t get used to it. Here, fill this out while we’re waiting. Look forward to working with you!” She balanced a clip board with about a million forms in Veronica’s still very full arms and sent her on her way.
The locker room was in the back far left of the building and exited to the parking lot. While most of the surprisingly large clubhouse was airy and open with fresh white paint covering the 80s style stucco walls and glass bricks separating the common spaces, the locker room was dark and musky and smelled, well, like a locker room.
Since all of the lockers were closed, Veronica assumed the ones without locks were vacant, but the only way to confirm this was to open them. The slight problem was that she didn’t, at the present moment, have the dexterity to unlatch the damn lever. (If I could just get the… hitch? Pulley? Thing that goes up and down and opens a locker? You get the meaning right? Is there even a term for that? I could take out my phone and google it, she thought, but see previously mentioned full arms which lead to previously mentioned dexterity problem.) Admitting defeat, she opened her arms and let the pile containing her belongings and Neptune Beach Club clipboard tumble to the ground.
On instinct, she went for a locker in the far left corner; less foot traffic and no others beside it. And just my luck: empty. Thankful for small victories, she hung her loose lock on the outside and went to acquire her pile from its spot on the floor.
“Dude, what was up with the Irish goodbye last night?”
Oh great. It had been exactly six days since she’d been subjected to California bro speak, she was starting to miss it. Except she wasn’t.
“Wasn’t into the scene,” came the reply of a much deeper voice. “Oh, hey, uh that’s my locker.”
She turned her head, facing them for the first time. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah, Travis Bickle, I’m talkin’ to you.”
“Clever.”
“That’s what they wrote on all my report cards.”
“You’re Logan Echolls.”
“And you’re still at my locker.”
“Funny, I didn’t see a name tag on it.” Veronica leaned back, pretending to scan the outside before swinging the door open and looking at the inside.
“As a second year, let me give you a word of advice: don’t piss off the returning staff. We can make your life hell.”
“He said, voice dripping with the privilege bestowed only to rich, white men.” Veronica narrated, placing a hand over her heart and tilting her head, batting her eyelashes swooningly. “Anyway,” she shrugged, turned, shoved the last of her belongings into the locker, slamming and engaging her lock. “See ya at the meeting, I wanna get out there before all the good doughnuts are gone!” she slipped past them with her sweetest, fakest smile.
I’ve lived in this town my whole life, she thought, I know how to put up with rich assholes.
Rule number one of dealing with 09ers: under no circumstances do they get the upper-hand.
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Veronica wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she’d heard ‘free coffee.’ A box-o-Joe, maybe? One of those metal containers that are definitely a fire hazard? Whatever it was, a pop up Starbucks — complete with blender for frappuccinos — was definitely not it.
Getting into line, she mumbled, “for the cost of this, they probably could’ve gotten a few Keurigs and some Costco muffins and doughnuts for the whole summer.”
“Yeah, but then how’d they trick us into coming back tomorrow, V?”
“Wallace, you’re here to go into battle alongside me!” Veronica turned, embracing him, a little too enthusiastic.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he replied, wagging his finger, “what’s this? You’re the one who forced me to take hours of CPR and god knows how many other acronymed certification courses, promising this was the best way to spend the summer. Now we’re going into battle? You pull your own little Starbucks pop up bait and switch on me, Mars?”
Veronica put a hand to her chest, mock outrage crossing her face, “I’d never.” At Wallace’s side eye she straightened, “no it’s just, I just don’t know anyone and you know how I feel about people I don’t know…” She raised her hands next to her, as if encouraging audience participation.
“…you don’t like people you don’t know.” Wallace finished for her, rolling his eyes and moving his head side to side, having memorized this motto years earlier.
“There’s that stunning intellect my best friend is famous for!”
“Yeah. Ok. And just exactly how do you plan to make friends next year when you’re on a campus with fifteen thousand new people?”
“Uh, excuse me.” She interrupted in her best Cher from Clueless impression. “Thirteen.” She planted a period in the air with her index finger. “Thirteen thousand.”
“Oh, ok then. I mean that’s a huge difference.” He replied with feigned sincerity.
“I know,” Veronica replied, drawing out the ‘I’, “Right?” They smiled and exchanged an amused glance.
When it was time to place their orders, Veronica snagged a venti frappuccino with whip. When in 09er-land, right? for her and grande black iced with just a splash of milk for Wallace.
“Hey everyone!” It was the chipper voice from earlier, Meg, “Can you all grab a seat? We’re on a bit of a tight schedule this morning and we don’t want to scare the first years away before their first actual shift.”
Veronica attempted to toss a few dollars at the baristas, who insisted they “couldn’t possibly,” before admitting they weren’t allowed to accept tips before she and Wallace made their way over to the semi circle of collapsible chairs facing Meg’s definitely bleached white (and possibly - maybe - veneer) smile. In the few minutes they took to volley banter back and forth at each other, the room had filled up.
After a few minutes of chatter and the sounds of chairs scraping on the cement floor, the room quieted down again.
“Ok! So, first, welcome or welcome back to Neptune Beach Club! Or as we like to call it NBC, but there are no peacocks here, just mean seagulls.” She paused for a few chuckles. “Most of you know me or met me this morning, this is my third year as a lifeguard here at NBC and I’ll keep coming back as long as they’ll have me! I’m your head guard this year…”
Somewhere behind her, Veronica heard the unmistakable screech of metal as someone scrambled to stand, “EN GUARD!”
Suddenly the majority of the room, including Meg, was standing in what could only be described as a warrior pose. Each had their chests and shoulders back, right arm flexed upward in front of them, their chin angling toward it.
All at once the room echoed with a loud chorus of “EN GUARD!”
Veronica glanced around the room and then caught Wallace’s eye, his expression mirroring hers.
What the fuck.
“For those of you first years,” Meg began again, once the room had quieted down, “that’s sort of our battle cry. In fencing, ‘En Guard’ is the directive given at the start of a match, telling the opponents to be ready, to pay attention to their surroundings, and be aware of potential danger coming their way. Since lifeguard is often shortened to guard, our director likes us to pass on this message at the end of each morning meeting.” She paused, looking at a spot behind Veronica. “One of our more enthusiastic first years last summer decided to have some fun with it and now we use it as a means to get everyone pumped up for the day. Typically we wait until the end of the meeting for that, but it’s been a bit, so I’ll let it slide this time, Logan.”
“Touche, Meg. Touche!” Came the reply, from that same spot behind her.
Of course, Veronica thought, the jackass who tried to claim the locker by pissing all over it in front of his douchebag bro. Logan Echolls.
Veronica had never met People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive Aaron Echolls’ son, but it was impossible to live within three counties and not hear stories about him and his friends. Growing up in the same town, she’d seen paparazzi hanging outside stores and restaurants waiting for him or other just-as-famous families. But those kids went to private school and didn’t mix with poors. And they most certainly didn’t get jobs that paid fifteen dollars an hour to make sure their just-as-wealthy peers didn’t drown after a few too many pina coladas at the beach bar.
Why the fuck was Logan Echolls working here? And why was he already on her last nerve?
Veronica’s eyes glazed over as Meg ran through a well-rehearsed rundown of expectations for the summer including hours (lifeguards needed to be on duty 8am-4pm), requesting time off (pretty liberal as long as you got coverage and it was worked out before schedules were posted two weeks out), and certification requirements and rescue training (Sunday mornings, 6-8am for the month of June to catch first years up to speed and provide a refresher for returning staff). The final announcement got expected grumbles from the group.
“I know, guys, but it’s important we’re all ready and know the protocols by the time the crowds really pick up in July and August,” Meg reminded the group.
“And we all get wasted to celebrate when it’s over!”
This outburst came from the same general direction behind Veronica as the previous ones, but it wasn’t Logan Echolls’ voice. She turned to see the same Cali surf bro from earlier in the locker room. 09ers do travel in packs. With his shaggy blonde hair and dopey expression eagerly seeking the approval of his peers, he reminded her of a golden retriever.
“DICK.” Veronica raised her eyebrows and shot an impressed look at Wallace at Meg’s crass admonishment. Didn’t expect that from her.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” Ah, a classic case of nominative determinism.
Meg bristled. “I think it can go without saying that we don’t condone ‘getting wasted’ in any capacity. But… just make sure you’re sober by 8AM.” She sighed. It seemed like her energy had finally dissipated. “I think that about wraps it up. Schedules for the first two weeks are up,” she gestured towards the door; a large glass-covered bulletin board was on the outside wall of the locker room, facing the parking lot.
This time, Wallace was ready for the “En Garde” rallying cry. He jumped up, arm outstretched, with a sheepish look down at Veronica as she begrudgingly pulled herself to standing. He elbowed her lightly, “if you can’t beat them…”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “Tase them?”
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There was a method to the schedules that Meg had tried her best to explain in her opening remarks before giving up. (“You don’t need to get it, just go look at the wall.”) To fairly distribute shifts on the weekends, they worked a 6-day rotation: 4 days on, 2 days off. If you were on, you were assigned a partner and any of the five chairs on the beach, each a few hundred feet apart, or the Clubhouse for back up aid. While days on/off remained pretty consistent barring shift swaps, your daily assignment/partner was randomized. Wallace scanned for his and Veronica’s names.
“I’m off days 4 and 5, you’re off days 5 and 6. We overlap!” They high fived.
Wallace peered closer. “Looks like we won’t be on the same assignment, though…”
Veronica pushed him aside. “Nah, they’ll pair the first years with experienced guards until the Sunday training sessions are finished.” She found her name and assignment—a couple days on Chair 5, then 3, back to 5 —then looked for her partners. Meg on Chair 3, and on Chair 5…
“Well, well well, are we going to have oodles of fun together!” Logan Echolls clapped his hands together, causing Veronica to flinch. Perfect.
She spun around, eyes flashing.
“Listen. I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t care why you’re here. I’m here to work and not goof off. I plan to take this seriously. Feel free to check out chicks or catch some rays or whatever you plan to do, but not when you’re paired with me.”
“Dude, I don’t think she likes you,” Dick stage-whispered.
“What do you, like, follow him around?” She gestured between them. “Whatever. I gotta go. My ride is here.”
Logan looked over to the waiting car lingering in the firelane of the parking lot and snorted. “Duncan Kane is your ride?”
“Duncan Kane is my boyfriend.”
Logan snorted again.
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing… nothing at all…”
Veronica waited.
By way of explanation, Logan shrugged. “I know Lilly,” he offered.
Lilly Kane, Duncan’s older sister. She and Veronica hadn’t crossed paths much, but Veronica had heard plenty of stories about the infamous elder Kane.
“You dated Lilly,” Veronica corrected, feeling it was a safe assumption.
“Well, who hasn’t?” Logan shrugged again, leaning against the stucco building.
“I haven’t!” Wallace piped in, raising his hand.
“Shut up, Wallace.” Veronica rolled her eyes.
“Don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting,” Logan smirked.
Veronica ignored him.
“See ya later, buddy,” she punched Wallace on the arm. He nodded goodbye.
She slid into the passenger seat of Duncan’s sedan. Aware she still had an audience, she gave him a chaste kiss then leaned back on the headrest, closing her eyes and soaking up the air conditioning.
It was going to be a long summer.