Page 22 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Joey squinted at the ticket. "Oh. Right. There it is."
"Crisis averted," Bea announced, appearing at Stella's elbow with a fresh pot of coffee. "I heard my artistic interpretation required translation services."
"It's beautiful," Stella said, and meant it. "Very... expressive. But maybe we could try a hybrid system? Art for inspiration, words for Joey's sanity?"
"That's very diplomatic," Bea said approvingly. "I like your approach to conflict resolution."
"I like your approach to making Joey's eye twitch," Stella replied. "It's quite an artistic achievement in itself."
Joey was indeed developing a slight facial tic as he tried to decode Bea's next ticket, which appeared to feature a small sun with radiating beams. He slipped back into his Coffee Drinker pose while staring at it.
"Grilled cheese," Stella translated. "Extra crispy. The beams mean she wants it golden. And Joey, the artistic meditation is very convincing, but the customer's waiting."
"Right," Joey said, snapping out of his tableau. "Golden cheese. The butterfly ticket needs to radiate quiet competence too, doesn't it?"
"Everything needs to radiate quiet competence in your world," Bea observed. "It's very zen."
The lunch rush began in earnest, and the three teenagers fell into their usual rhythm. Bea created beautiful, confusing order tickets. Stella translated them. Joey stress-folded napkins between customers while occasionally freezing in artistic poses.
"You know," Bea said during a break, "we work pretty well together. I make art, Stella makes it make sense, and Joey makes geometric napkin flowers while channeling classical coffee drinkers."
"I'm right here," Joey pointed out, folding a napkin into what appeared to be a geometric flower. "And they're not poses, they're character studies."
"Of course they are," Bea assured him. "Your stress-folding has reached new levels of artistic sophistication. Very method."
Stella watched this exchange while refilling coffee, noting how the three of them had naturally found their roles. Bea created chaos with artistic flair, she translated it into functionality, and Joey managed to keep everything running despite his obvious preference for clear, logical systems and his growing obsession with Pageant perfection.
It was, she realized, a much smaller version of what was happening with the adults.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, settling at the counter while they waited for the next wave of customers.
"Always," Bea said, sketching what appeared to be a small dragon on a napkin. She looked up suddenly. "I love your accent, by the way. It's so authentic and musical."
Stella rolled her eyes but grinned. "Right, well if you like that, you'll love this—Fair dinkum, mate, this arvo's been bloodybrilliant, yeah? Reckon we should grab some tucker before we rack off, no worries."
Joey burst out laughing. "You get used to it after a while. Though I still have no idea what half of that meant."
"Food," Stella translated. "I said we should get food."
"See? Very practical," Bea said, delighted. "Authentic AND functional."
"Unlike some people's artistic visions," Joey muttered, then immediately looked like he wished he could take it back.
Joey and Stella exchanged a look. Not unkind. Just… knowing.
Bea caught it. Her smile faded a little. "What?" she asked, more curious than defensive.
Stella opened her mouth, clearly trying to find the right words, but Joey blurted out, "She just wants things to feel meaningful, but people get... tired from it?"
The question mark in his voice made it clear he immediately regretted saying anything. Stella shot him a look that said smooth, Joey.
"What Joey means—" Stella started, her voice careful now, like she was walking on eggshells, "is that sometimes your mom's ideas don't land the way she thinks they will."
Bea blinked, processing. "Tired from... what exactly?"
Stella felt the delicate weight of the moment. This was Bea's mom they were talking about, and sixteen-year-old daughters didn't usually want to hear that their mothers confused people. But Bea was looking at her with genuine curiosity, not defensiveness.
And Bea was family. Her cousin. That made this conversation feel even more important to get right.
