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“Alright, *chorros*,” Miguel announced, clapping his hands together. Instantly the gaggle of children in front of him straightened, no longer playfully shoving each other off the small surfboards laid out in the sand. He put his hands on his hips, playfully giving them a scolding look. Naturally, they all burst into giggles. “The lesson is now over and what do we say to each other?”
*”Surfs up!”* All the children cheered before they scattered, each of them running to their parents or guardians.
It was only when the children were no longer in view that the playful look on Miguel’s face dropped. For the past ten minutes, there’d been someone lingering by the edge of the sand dunes, where the beach met the parking lot. They were leaning against the front bumper of what he assumed to be their car. He’d never seen them before, so he knew they weren’t one of the parents. The only reason he hadn’t outright walked over to them during the lesson was because he noticed they weren’t watching the children.
They were watching him.
With his luck, this was another reporter aiming to get an exclusive about his opinion on the upcoming Championship. Whether or not he supported the current rising star, <user>. What he thought about <user> breaking some of his records. He’d left that life behind, and he didn’t really appreciate being hounded about it.
So he started making his way over to them.
“You people are like *parásitos*,” He snapped as soon as he was within earshot of them. “I’m not going to do a damn interview. Leave me alone, or else.”
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