I turned the squirrel face down on the table. It struggled on the tablecloth, its limbs stiffly extended. Dianzi reached out and flipped it back, making it face her. The poolside was even more crowded than before, the air thick with sunscreen and water vapor. The general-area line had doubled.
People fanned themselves with towels, crouched scrolling through phones. A boy in a fluorescent-yellow swimsuit squeezed through the railing; an adult yanked him back. His knee hit the tiles—a cry, then silence.
The VIP area sat behind its glass partition: two rows of empty loungers, folded towels, iced drinks sweating onto tables. The seagull still perched on a front-row chair, feathers damp, watching. It had been there since morning. No one had chased it away. No one had sat down.
I crouched by the pool and placed the squirrel on the tiles, facing the VIP area. Its black-bead eyes reflected the empty chairs, unblinking.
A different staff member appeared—a young man in a white uniform, folder edges curled. "Little misses, empty seats in the VIP area. This way, please."
"No need." I adjusted my cover-up ties. "This side is fine."
"But there's a long queue, and no loungers. Complimentary iced drinks over there."
"This girl likes sitting on the floor." Dianzi was already at the pool's edge, legs in the water, toes tracing the surface. Her shell pendant had dried from morning-soaked darker to pale gold. She flicked water droplets that glistened in the sun.
He glanced at the crowd, then at us, lips moving—but he only nodded and vanished into the crowd.
[chat] The staff member is so persistent 😂
[chat] The VIP area is empty, and they still won't let anyone sit?
[chat] Daughter just wants to be down-to-earth
[chat] That seagull is here again 🕊️
I retrieved the body powder from the Lingguang Armlet—a white round box, lid tight, my nail scraping faintly as I unscrewed it. Dianzi reached over. "This girl will hold it."
She dabbed powder onto her hand. "Too fragrant." She wrinkled her nose and sneezed—a tiny cat-like sound.
The line shuffled forward. The young mother was back, same bag, two more diapers, child awake on her shoulder, tiny fingers in her hair. Seven or eight people from the entrance. Her unfocused gaze rested on the pool's reflections.
Yesterday she had been near the front. Today she was further back. She had arrived later. Slept later, maybe. Or the child had kept her up. Either way, the line had grown without her, and she had taken her place at the end without complaint, as if the queue were the only thing in her life that still made sense.
——The button is still there, but her hand has dropped. That speaks louder than a smile.
A middle-aged man walked by—dark blue swim trunks, white T-shirt, slight paunch, gel-parted hair. Empty cup, only ice clinking. He paused at the glass partition, glanced into the VIP area, then passed directly in front of us, flip-flops smacking. His shoulders had a permanent hunch, the kind that came from years of standing in lines that never seemed to move.
Dianzi stood—a natural movement. "Sister, don't you think this powder is too slippery?"
"It's alright."
"This girl thinks it's really slippery, look." She tilted the box. White powder drifted as fine mist, landing perfectly on the man's pant leg from thigh to knee—solid white, like a chalk swipe.
He stopped, ice clattering.
"Oh dear, sorry, sorry, sorry! This powder is too slippery, this girl's hand slipped." She stepped forward, hand reaching, then pulling back quickly—as if burned by the thought of touching a stranger's thigh.
He looked down, brow furrowing, then smoothing. "It's fine." He brushed at it; pale smudges remained. The powder drifted up, vanishing in the sun.
"I'm really sorry." Dianzi's voice softened. "See, even the powder can't stay standing. But people who've been standing a long time, they're steady."
She tilted her head, eyes clear.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Thank you." He walked away, pace unchanged, ice still clinking.
I screwed the lid tight and stored the box. The click of the seal was sharp.
"Ask them why they don't go over there," Dianzi said.
"Because they don't sell tickets to that side."
She leaned against my shoulder. "The empty chairs over there are brighter than the full ones over here."
"The empty chairs are the point. They're not there to be sat on. They're there to remind everyone on this side that there is another side. That's why they keep them polished, keep the towels folded, keep the ice from melting. An empty VIP section works harder than a full one. Everyone in this line looks at those chairs and learns the same lesson: some things are not for you."
Dianzi didn't answer. After a moment, she pressed her shoulder closer to mine. The VIP loungers gleamed, number tags catching sunlight.
The seagull took flight from its VIP perch, flapped over the partition, and landed on the general-area railing with a metallic click. It tilted its head, black-bead eyes watching the splashing children.
The young mother reached the entrance. She bent to retrieve a dropped pacifier—one hand supporting the child, the other reaching, fingertips taking two attempts to grip the tiny plastic ring. She wiped it on her hem and returned it to the child's mouth. Suckling sounds.
The child, pacifier in mouth, eyes half-closed.
As she straightened, our eyes met—less than a second. She looked away first, down at her child. Her fingers paused, then resumed their gentle patting.
Dianzi rested her chin on my shoulder. "Sister, she didn't smile today."
"She smiled yesterday. But she couldn't smile today. Smiling takes energy. When she can no longer smile, she'll remember us."
The seagull folded its wings with a rustle.
I turned toward the exit. Dianzi followed, squirrel in hand, its tail swaying.
I glanced back. The young mother had chosen a spot against the wall. She placed her bag on the ground, sat, leaned back. The child slid into her lap. She bent and kissed his forehead—lips lingering two seconds.
She still didn't smile. But her right hand rested quietly on the child's back, no longer touching that button.
[chat] Daughter, are you leaving? 😢
[chat] Will you be here tomorrow?
[chat] Bye, wifey 👋
[chat] That seagull flew over here
The floating interface dimmed, the livestream shut off. The corridor fell silent save for the distant waves—lapping the hull, one after another, very slow.
"Sister, do you think she'll come again tomorrow?"
"She will. She has nowhere else to go. Once she realizes that coming to find us is more comfortable than being alone, she'll come every day."
Dianzi walked beside me, slower than usual. Through the porthole, the sea shifted from blue to gray, clouds pressing low. The light dimmed, our shadows stretching long across the carpet. She traced a finger on the glass, leaving a transparent streak.