Maya sprinted along the shoreline. Her bare feet kicked up fans of golden sand behind her.
She dove headfirst into a soft dune and rolled, coming up with sand in her eyebrows and a thick smear across her nose. She shook her arms and a cloud of grit puffed into the salty air.
Maya stomped into the beach house and yanked the shower curtain wide. She reached for the knob and turned it.
Only a sad sputter came out, then a single drip landed on her knee. She turned it again and — whoosh! A warm spray burst free, soaking her toes.
She stepped under the water and it tickled her toes. She giggled and wiggled them, then tipped her head back as the spray tickled her hair.
Maya squeezed soap and rubbed her hands until a mountain of white bubbles erupted. She blew, and the bubbles floated up like tiny wobbling planets through the steam.
One bounced off her shoulder, another clung to the faucet and refused to pop. She chased them with her fingers, laughing until the whole bathroom was full of shimmering spheres.
Maya turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel that still held the day's sun-warmness. She ran her fingers through her clean, damp hair — it smelled like coconuts.
She padded across the cool tiles in her bare feet, every step light and quiet, and climbed into bed with a happy hum.
The beach had been full of fun. The shower was even better.