The big boy was Junior, the boy next to him Matisse, the smallest whispered, “Tavious.” Their faded shorts and battered flip-flops, their torn T-shirts, their hair dusted with sand grains, made them seem like waifs.

Junior said, “I want tats like you, man.”

“Go for it,” Sharkey said. “But listen. Those kids out there are using the wrong boards. The waves are better suited to body boards, which”—he turned to glance back at the stalls at the margin of the beach by the cycle path—“you can rent.”

“If you got enough bones,” Matisse said.

Sharkey snapped his fingers. “I got the bones.”

“Yo, cool,” Junior said, wheezing with admiration.

Sharkey said, “Me, I’m the Easter Bunny.”

This made them laugh, and they scrambled to their feet as he beckoned them up the beach to a stall with an awning and a stack of boards and swim fins hung on hooks. They were silent and watchful as he spoke to a deeply tanned man slouched in a beach chair.

“I’m going to need four boards with leashes, and three sets of swim fins for my friends here.”

Using the back of his hand, the man tipped up his ball cap and turned his beaky face to Sharkey, not saying anything but sniffing, interrogating him with his nose. He said, “You’re going to keep an eye on them?”

“I’m giving them lessons.”

“I mean my boards, man. I lose a lot of inventory to kids here.”

Sharkey rocked slowly, flexing his toes to calm himself, considering his reply. The man’s nose was burned pink like a peeled shrimp. He said, “That’s harsh on my friends here.” He smiled at the boys, who straightened and smiled back. “But tell you what. I’ll pay you a deposit, and if the boards are cockaroached, you can keep it.”

“These are quality boards,” the man said, heaving himself out of his chair, his sigh conveying reluctance. “I’m putting eight hundred on your card. If I don’t see the boards again, consider it forfeited.”

Sharkey murmured “High finance” to the boys as he handed the man his credit card.

Carrying the boards and fins down the beach, Sharkey heard one of boys say “Cockaroach” and giggle.

At the water’s edge Sharkey said, “Put your board down flat and climb on top, your chest on the upper half. You’re a turtle, right? Now show me how you’re going to paddle.”

They practiced paddling on the sand, scooping with their cupped hands, then holding the nose of the board, duck-diving, and for the wave breaking right, grabbing the left rail with their left hand, their right hand on the nose, and kicking with their fins.

“Tryin’ to remember,” Matisse said.

“Let’s boogie.”