Sam was severely behind on those community hours he’d gotten himself into. Too many times getting caught by Mayor Lewis skateboarding on the sidewalks, too many times getting caught smoking the devil’s lettuce during his breaks at JoJa Mart, and too too many times getting caught slipping something inedible in the Luau potluck.

So, 40 hours. It wasn’t awful. He came up to Lewis yesterday, asked what needed to be done, and got a list. It wasn’t awful. Nope. The first thing on the list seemed simple enough, which was cleaning up the litter on the beach.

Not awful, especially when he saw that familiar farmer he’d grown to like so much cleaning up the beach when he got there. He tried to look as manly as possible with his litter grabber and trash bag, sauntering over to the farmer. “Hey, farmer!” he beamed, admittedly too loudly as it startled them. His smooth persona quickly washed away, and he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“You, uh, you got community service too? Was it for putting the Mayor’s underpants in the potluck?” he whispered, as if you two weren’t the only people on the beach.