Sea Lion Shores the preacher in a t-shirt told me i could be a leader

She took off like a rocket, with nothing but divots of upturned sand to mark her departure. 

His forehead dimpled as confusion made itself clear on his face - then resolved itself into reluctant understanding. He clambered back onto his feet, muttering a thanks to the ginger evangelist. Despite this act of hospitality, Gav couldn’t shake off the frigid panic of believing oneself to be in mortal danger. 

He didn’t blame the first girl for running away; in fact, he wanted to do the very same. Even for someone as socially inept as him, he could sense all the mores and conventions solidifying in the air. He rolled around words in his mouth like hard candy until they disappeared. 

He stared at the wooden thing on the ground, now crooked, the two sticks at disconcerting angles. Then back at the crying girl, for whom he felt an unexpected swell of empathy that nearly bowled him over. 

Don’t cry, he urged, with the same gingerness of someone under a restraining order who nevertheless wants to impart some good. Your pack’s here for you. Safe as safe can be. A blond ear flicked back at the redhead’s howl. Some trepidation in the gesture, in the way he hunched his shoulders.