Part 2 - And we thanked the good Lord for the afternoon..

Eventually they tired of the game and someone suggested a chicken war. So Andrea climbed on Marco’s shoulders and Chelsea got up on Brandon, and the girls each tried to push the other off.
By the time they emerged from the waves and trudged across the sand to their bags, the sun was high in the sky, and their stomachs told them it was time for lunch.
“So what’d you make us for lunch, girls?” Brandon teased, eying the sandwiches Chelsea produced from her pink and white polka-dotted beach bag.
“That is so chauvinist; like we’d bother bringing anything for you!” Andrea retorted.
Chelsea smiled and passed Brandon a package of Oreo cookies. He took them and stuck his tongue out at Andrea. She pouted.
“Thanks, Chels, you just made me look bad!”
“Sorry. I brought extra for everyone.”
“Well, I’m telling you it’s a waste of cookies. He’ll scarf those down in a second and then beg for more. Guys are such overeaters, and they pretend its all ‘muscle food’.”
“Hey, you can’t complain, your lunch is bigger than ours!” Marco inserted.
Andrea looked down at her foot-and-a-half long sub bursting with ingredients, two bags of chips and two doughnuts. She shrugged, a sheepish smile on her face.
“The sea air makes me hungry.” She ripped open a bag of chips and crunched down on one to prove her point.
Brandon shook his head and took a bite of his burrito. Chelsea looked down at her ham-and-lettuce sandwich for a moment and then cleared her throat.
“Um, would you mind if we prayed first?”
“Oops,” came out of three mouths, and three pairs of hands set three lunches down and folded themselves.
“Thank you. Marco, would you mind praying?”
“Yeah, sure. Uh, Thanks God for the day, for the time together, for the food…and...yeah…Amen.”
Lunch passed with the usual amount of smart quips, chip-stealing and flirty fighting. When it was over, the boys very courteously left the mess of bags and crumbs to the gracious ladies and ran off to try their luck at surfing. The gracious ladies stretched out and tanned.
The beach had been fairly empty during the morning; the only other visitor was an old lady with a yappy dog and a metal detector. Now, as the day lengthened and the sun grew hotter, a few more people began to appear. A couple who’s bleach-blond hair, white and red complexion and Hawaiian outfits shouted ‘tourists’ talked loudly to each other and took pictures. A fat man in a Speedo just stood there, laughed, munched on a hot dog, laughed some more. Then he walked up to the water, dropped his hotdog right where Brandon was doggy-paddling on his board, and laughed so hard his enormous stomach jiggled and bumped Marco on his way toward the towels.
The boys looked at him in disgust while they lay down on their towels beside the girls.
“Retard,” muttered Brandon as he shook his head over Chelsea, splattering drops of water on her.
“Did you just call her a retard?” Andrea was all over him.
“Not her, that obese dope who’s still busting his gut over there.”
“Brandon, that’s mean!” Chelsea scolded, ignoring the shower from his hair.
“Whatever.”
“Waste of a hotdog,” Marco put in his two cents.
“Waste of a human being.”
Andrea tried to glare at him while hiding a giggle. Chelsea just looked at him for a moment, and then turned away. Brandon shifted uncomfortably. To him, Chelsea was some sort of an angel, and she had a way of making him feel like a creep. He would rather die than show it, though, so he just laughed and started imitating the fat man’s jiggles. Only Andrea laughed, then promptly punched him on the shoulder. Conversation resumed, everyone bantering back and forth.