Ocean Rules

by Kate McMahon

  Please don’t be mad. I’m doing my paper thing with two choices. Not sure if I want to even go in this comp or on tour.

  C’mon, R U nuts?! Chuck them in the bin, you’re coming. Pleeeease!

  Soooooo sorry, I’m confused. You know I have to do this. Will txt l8r.

  Mel doesn’t reply. Jaspa takes the hand-written note from this morning out of her drawer and tears it into two pieces. Ever since she was six years old, when she couldn’t decide whether her fairy doll should wear a pink or yellow tutu, Jaspa has taken to letting the universe decide. She scrawls the options on two pieces of paper, puts them in a container and pulls out one piece – and that’s what she sticks to. But the older she gets, the bigger the decisions are. Like the time she had to decide whether to get a ride home from a party with 20-year-old Amanda Stone, or call her mum to pick her up like she was supposed to. Although riding with Amanda would have been way more fun, she’s glad the paper ruled with her mum. Turned out Amanda had been drinking – she smashed her car into a pole. No one was badly hurt, but the incident made front-page headlines in the local paper, the Coastal Times.

  Jaspa stares at the two choices for the twentieth time today:

  Don’t go in the trials. Pro-surfing pressure isn’t for you, you should just be surfing for fun.

  Go to the comp, surf your best and have an awesome time – you deserve to be there.

  She folds the paper slips into little squares, places them inside a sock and shakes it. Her gaze drifts out the window where, through the gaps in the balcony railing, she can see the moon glistening on the ocean. She’s left the curtains open so the movement of the sea, the sound of sets rolling in and whitewater foaming onto the sand can send her off to sleep. Her hand dips into the sock, fumbles about then picks out her destiny. Before she’s even unravelled the message in full, she sees the last five words: you deserve to be there.

  #6

  ‘Speed it up, grandma,’ Tyler taunts from the back of the Subaru Forester. His best mate Cooper’s car was full, so a Ryder road trip it is.

  ‘Leave her alone, don’t distract her,’ Ellen warns from the front passenger seat.

  Jaspa had jumped at the chance to drive the 300 metres leading into the cul-de-sac. This is what it’ll be like when I turn sixteen next year, she thinks, slipping into a daydream about the Volkswagen Beetle she so badly wants. She plans to paint daisies all over it, despite Mel’s threats that there’s no way in hell she’ll ride in it if Jaspa does that.

  Pulling into Carolyn’s driveway, Jaspa’s thoughts jolt back to the present as the car bumps up over the kerb, causing Anthony to wince and make a mental note to book in a wheel alignment. Jaspa waves excitedly to her friend from behind the wheel as Carolyn struggles down the driveway with a patched-up board bag and a wheelie suitcase. A white Volcom trucker cap sits high atop her short, curly black hair, and knee-length denim capris hang low on her waist underneath a baggy blue T-shirt. In their four-year friendship, Jaspa has never seen Carolyn wear a dress, but she totally rocks her beachy B-girl style.

  Jaspa jumps out of the car to greet Carolyn as Anthony grabs her luggage.

  ‘Thanks for picking me up, guys,’ Carolyn says, hugging Jaspa and copping an eyeful of boob in the process. They haul the board bag on top of the other three and tie it down.

  ‘Hey, I thought your mum was working?’ Jaspa whispers, pointing at the 2001 Excel in the driveway.

  ‘Yeah, she must’ve switched to the later shift.’ Carolyn squares her shoulders. ‘My guess is she’s sleeping off the bottle of red I saw on the sink. Lucky my pay went in – she left me zero cash.’

  Jaspa swings an arm around Carolyn and gives her a squeeze, not saying a word, then insists that Carolyn shotguns the window.

  Arranging her legs to wedge herself into the middle seat without knocking into Tyler, Jaspa hears her phone bleep.

  WELL???!!!!!

  Oops. She forgot to text Mel back with the verdict.

  Oh gosh sry I forgot to write back and U were already gone this morn! Yes, I’m coming, we’re on our way from Carolyn’s!

  Lucky. I was just about to pay someone a kidnap fee to bring you here. BTW, we just passed Cooper on the highway …

  Despite the air conditioner being on full blast, Jaspa feels like her body is on fire. Cooper Crawford’s face flashes into her daydream like a hologram. His intense green eyes almost make Jaspa gasp aloud every time they glance her way, and his right cheek is etched with an adorable dimple. Jaspa can’t pinpoint the moment when Cooper started to infiltrate her mind. Maybe it was when she was eleven, doing cartwheels in the garden, and she overheard Cooper telling Tyler his little sister was going to be hot when she was older. Or the time he helped carry her home after she stacked her skateboard at the bottom of Hill Street. Jaspa has wondered many times how the delicious warmth of Cooper’s lips pressed against hers would feel. But two things would need to happen before this dream could become a reality:

  1. Cooper would need to know that Jaspa exists. You know, beyond being Tyler’s little sister.

  2. Tyler would need to move to Siberia.

  ***

  Jaspa, Carolyn and Tyler walk across the road to check in while her parents carry their luggage into their rental for the weekend.

  The grassed area of the beachfront is covered in white tents and sponsor flags. Flume’s ‘Never Be Like You’ pumps out over the loudspeaker, and the entire area is packed. Surfers wax their boards, parents and friends set up their beach blankets and gazebos, and grommets skate up and down the closed-off road. Jaspa squeezes Carolyn’s shoulders in excitement. This vibe is awesome!

  The seaside village of Wiloonga is similar to Bonita Shores, but rather than thick, tropical surroundings, green hills stretch to the horizon, hosting paddocks of cows, sheep and horses. In among the modern homes are cute fibro beach shacks of all colours, including one that’s a quirky candy pink and peppermint – Jaspa’s favourite so far.

  The competitive hunger swirls around Jaspa as she waits at the registration desk to have her name ticked off. This is a six-star event, offering maximum point potential to add to the year’s tally and a crucial springboard to qualifying for next season’s World Junior Tour – the first stop on the road of professional surfing.

  ‘Let’s see who we’ve got,’ Carolyn says, grabbing Jaspa’s arm and dragging her over to the board where the heat sheets are posted. ‘We’re in the third round. I’m heat three, Mel six and you’re in seven,’ Carolyn points out, wiping her sunglasses on her T-shirt.

  ‘How come we don’t have to surf first and second rounds today?’ Jaspa looks at the rows of names, wondering about the personal surfing journey of all those people. Do they love competing, or are they conflicted? Are they confident, or do they have doubts?

  Tyler rolls his eyes and walks away. ‘Later.’

  ‘How could you not know that, Jaspa? We’ve been competing all year!’ Carolyn points to the first two sheets. ‘Rounds one and two are for the lower seeds, the girls we’ve beaten during the year or who haven’t entered many of the comps.’

  Jaspa nods. ‘Ah, okay. So what about these spots?’ she asks, tapping the two blank spaces underneath her name.

  ‘Whoever kicks ass through round two then gets to lose against us,’ Carolyn says smugly, then turns to see someone running towards them.

  ‘My chicks!’ screeches Mel, leaping between Carolyn and Jaspa, wrapping her arms around them. ‘So, who are we going to beat tomorrow?’

  ‘You two are so brutal! I’ve got Tara Watson,’ Jaspa says, looking at the name above hers. ‘She sounds familiar, but I can’t remember why.’

  ‘She’s the girl from down near Newcastle,’ Mel smirks. ‘You know, loves her Gosford skirts.’

  ‘Gosford skirts?’ Jaspa screws up her nose, waiting for the penny to drop.

  Mel places both of her hands just below her crotch. ‘Yeah, Gosford skirts – they sit just below the Entrance,’ she says, straight-faced.

 
; Carolyn snorts out a laugh, cupping her mouth and nose, and Jaspa pauses with a blank face before grabbing Mel’s arm as she shakes her head.

  ‘Oh, you’re terrible! I totally know who you mean.’ Jaspa remembers meeting Tara at an event on the New South Wales Central Coast in April. She was friendly enough but, in Mel’s words, definitely rougher than the Tasman, and didn’t mind offering her lips around to any boy who was willing.

  As Mel and Carolyn continue their playful digs at Tara’s expense, Jaspa moves a few steps away to look at the ocean. She just needs some time out. Surfing’s not the only thing that gets judged at a contest.

  ‘Shall we hit it for a free surf?’ Mel suggests, sidling up and pointing to an empty wave down the beach.

  ‘For sure. I can’t believe no one’s on it.’ Jaspa nods, eager to get into the water.

  Carolyn joins them, her arms folded and her hip cocked to one side. ‘Let’s get out there and dominate this scene.’

  ‘You know it,’ Mel says with a determined stare, not taking her eyes off the horizon.

  Jaspa glances between Mel and Carolyn and wonders how she’s going to fit into this picture.

  Let the games begin.

  #7

  Downward dog, high plank into cobra, repeat. Jaspa is on the beach with Mel and Carolyn, smashing out some yoga stretches as they warm up for their practice heat. Hearing several wolf whistles behind them, they are mortified to see six surfer guys walking past, admiring the girls’ unintentionally crowd-pleasing butt thrusts.

  ‘Oh my god, I think that’s Matt Thompson and the WA team,’ Mel says as the three girls abruptly sit on the sand to put on their leg-ropes, ending the peep show.

  ‘Well, ten bucks says they aren’t whistling at these tree stumps,’ Carolyn laughs, slapping her thighs.

  ‘Stop that, you.’ Jaspa pokes at Carolyn’s butt cheek through her sporty two-piece. ‘I’d kill to have your toned legs – you can probably top turn better than they can.’

  Mel stands up with her board tucked under her arm and the slack of her leg-rope looped over her fingers, coaxing the two girls to their feet. ‘Right, down to business,’ she says, looking out to sea. ‘Twenty minute heat, best three waves, we judge each other.’

  Jaspa bites her bottom lip as she sees Mel and Carolyn set their stopwatches. ‘I, err, I forgot to bring my watch,’ she shrugs.

  ‘We can give you time calls for this practice, but you’ll need one for the comp,’ Mel calls over her shoulder, then launches into the ocean ahead of the girls.

  ‘Too easy, I’ll just borrow Dad’s,’ Jaspa says to Carolyn as they paddle out at the open beach break, duckdiving under the head-high waves that slam onto a shallow sand bank.

  Jaspa strokes into a wave but quickly pulls back her board to avoid getting dumped. ‘Whoa, it’s a bit sucky and straight.’

  Mel froths about, trying to find the best place to sit. ‘There are some longer rides, you just have to choose the right one.’

  Carolyn paddles strongly past Jaspa for a late take-off, dropping on her forehand into a hollow left. She freefalls with the lip of the wave and just as it looks like she’s going to eat it, Carolyn lands with a thump, tucks tightly into a closeout barrel and then punches through the back of the wave, still standing on her board.

  ‘I thought you were about to get seriously sand crumbed!’ screams Jaspa, impressed by her friend’s quick exit.

  ‘Nice save,’ Mel offers. ‘I give you a 2.5.’

  Had the wave opened up for Carolyn to ride right through the thick tube, it would’ve been a perfect ten.

  Mel powers towards a line of swell swooping in from the south and strokes into a right-hander. She pops to her feet, facing the ocean, and waits until she’s at the base of the wave to carve her rail through the water and lean the full weight of her body into a bottom turn. Then, angling the nose of her board up towards the breaking section of the wave, Mel uses her back foot to thrust her fins into the air and whip the board back around underneath her. She links two more turns before straightening out as the wave shuts down in front of her.

  ‘That could be a heat winner,’ Carolyn shouts as Mel makes her way back out to them. ‘An 8.5 for you.’

  ‘Oh, man, that was a fun little runner.’ Mel sits up on her board. ‘I blew it, though. I should’ve ollied to get more air into the first turn.’

  ‘It looked amazing from where we were sitting,’ Jaspa says, fascinated at how surfers can have such different styles but be equally incredible. Mel is zippy and light, and is already starting to land aerials. But Jaspa also admires the power in Carolyn’s turns – the amount of spray she produces could fill a swimming pool. Jaspa’s eager to get her first wave, turning to catch what looks to be another right-hander. She springs to her feet and snaps a smooth and explosive manoeuvre into the wave’s top pocket, but it doesn’t offer any more face to ride along, so Jaspa swan dives over the back of the sandy foam.

  ‘The ride was short, but we’ll give you a four for the sick turn,’ Mel says. ‘And a ten for the dismount!’

  The three friends finish their twenty-minute mock heat, going wave for wave. Mel is unanimously deemed the winner, and Jaspa’s reminded that wave choice in less-than-perfect conditions is what will give them the edge over their competitors tomorrow. Tomorrow. Jaspa’s belly suddenly bubbles with nerves.

  ‘Shhh, can you hear that?’ Jaspa whispers, pausing at the shore to listen to the announcement over the loud speaker.

  ‘Next in the water we have Michael Trimm from Manly, Snapper Rocks’ Sean Blake, Tyler Ryder of Bonita Shores and Todd Grainger from Middleton,’ blares the commentator.

  ‘Oh phew, we didn’t miss Tyler’s heat.’ Jaspa coaxes Mel and Carolyn towards the tent her parents are sitting under. Anthony throws each of the girls an apple as they stand their boards upright, wedging the noses into the sand, and find a spare bit of picnic rug to plonk down onto.

  ‘How’s Tyler doing?’ Jaspa asks, sinking her teeth into the apple and sucking up the juice dripping down from her mouth.

  ‘Is he cool, calm and collected as usual?’ Mel adds with a fair serving of sarcasm.

  Jaspa snuffles back a laugh at Mel’s bluntness. She’d love to tell Tyler to chillax, but that’d be harder for him to swallow than a clump of seaweed.

  ‘He’s not too bad, actually,’ Ellen says with a bit of maternal diplomacy.

  ‘This should be a fairly easy heat for him,’ Anthony adds. ‘It’s the next few he’ll have to focus on. If he wants to make the world juniors, he needs to reach the semi-finals.’

  ‘Hey, me too,’ Carolyn says, swinging around to face Anthony and lifting her cap from over her eyes.

  This contest is the highest ranked of the entire amateur Australian Junior Tour, and rewards with maximum point potential. Jaspa ponders the logistics. ‘So, how many get to travel next year?’ she asks Mel while digging her coral-pink painted toes into the sand.

  ‘Aussies? Eight girls and thirteen guys. It’s different for each country.’ Mel looks at Jaspa then at Carolyn, and then stares out to sea. ‘I wonder who the other five joining us will be.’

  Anthony scribbles notes on his printed heat sheets, reminiscent of his days as head judge for the local boardriders. ‘What about you, Mel?’ he asks, writing down the score of Tyler’s last ride. ‘What do you need to qualify?’

  She holds three fingers above her head without turning around. ‘But I’m aiming for second.’

  Jaspa breathes a quiet sigh of relief, thankful for a subject change as she sees her brother jog from the water to return his rash vest. His score of 17.8 left his challengers in a combination situation – where they needed a further two waves to beat him. Even from a distance she can see a massive smile on his face. Phew – he might be just bearable for the next twenty-four hours. Jaspa stays silent, preferring not to involve herself in the discussion of points and qualifying that continues around her. She’s aware that the only reason Mel didn’t say ‘first’ is because that
’s exactly what Jaspa needs to come to qualify for the junior tour. And that seems like a ridiculous notion.

  #8

  Mel pushes through the gate into the courtyard to see Carolyn sitting at the outdoor bamboo setting flicking through a copy of Tyler’s Salt Action magazine. ‘This is such crap!’ Carolyn mutters through gritted teeth.

  ‘Oooh, someone’s fired up.’ Mel pokes at Carolyn’s shoulders, then swings into the seat next to her. She loves it when other people are as dramatic as she is – some call it psychopathic, she calls it passionate.

  Jaspa appears at the sliding door with two glasses of watermelon and mint juice. ‘Mum, we’ll need another one. Mel’s here,’ she calls over her shoulder, offering a drink to each of her friends.

  ‘Check this.’ Carolyn turns aggressively from page to page. ‘The only pics of girls in this mag are those posing in g-bangers.’

  ‘And who are definitely not on a surfboard,’ Mel adds.

  Jaspa leans back and rests her foot on Mel’s seat. ‘Did you notice the only mention of girls’ surfing is a paragraph in the news section about Trudy Hardwick winning her third world title. A paragraph!’ It’s only recently Jaspa has realised how absurd something like this is. She’s always subconsciously accepted not seeing females represented in sport as much as men – she just got used to it. And besides, what could she do about it anyway?

  ‘Oh, what have we here, then?’ Mel holds out her phone to add fire to the topic. ‘Their website has a “chicks” tab, so let’s see …’

  Carolyn snatches the phone in anticipation of what lies a click away. ‘Oh, this is such BS!’ she shouts, throwing the phone back at Mel in disgust.

  Jaspa shuffles in close as Mel scrolls through endless self-submitted images of wannabe swimwear models with their ridiculously stupid duck-pouts and flared nostrils, kneeling in the sand. Oh, and they’re dripping wet from the ocean. Of course. Mustn’t forget about the ocean – it’s a surfing mag, after all.