by Kate McMahon
Then there are their equally ridiculous bios:
Name: Tammy Delicious
Age: 18
From: Currumbin, Qld
Likes: Energetic surfer boys who can kiss all night
Dislikes: Clothing
Skill: Getting any guy I want, even yours
Mel sticks her index finger down her throat and gags. ‘Why would you put girls in bikinis doing nothing in the mag when you could easily put girls surfing?’
‘Exactly,’ Jaspa agrees, tugging the strap of her swimmers. ‘We wear bikinis and we’re not bimbos.’
Carolyn slumps back in her chair with an exhausted sigh. ‘It’s not gonna change, though. There’s nothing we can do about it.’
Jaspa nods. There’s no way three teenagers from a small town can possibly make a difference.
Mel narrows her eyes and slams her palms on the table. ‘Maybe there is … Jazz, grab your laptop.’ She grins smugly and wriggles her fingers in the air like a villain in a Disney film. ‘We, my shredding sistas, are writing a letter to the editor.’
Dear Salt Action,
We’re writing to commend you on all of your amazing, exhilarating surf imagery and articles, capturing the essence of everything we love about surfing: the waves, the locations, the hardware, the stories, the manoeuvres. However, there’s one question burning our salt-crusted lips: where are the female surfers? In your latest edition there’s only one paragraph dedicated to Trudy Hardwick’s third world title win – and she’s Australian, and lives in the same town your magazine is published in! Are there any other images of surfing females to be found between page one and 138? Nup. Nope. A big fat NO! Yet page after page is littered with horrid skanks for you to perve on. Sexist pigs!
Mel stops typing. ‘It needs more. What else do we want to say?’
‘Does it sound a little harsh?’ Jaspa asks, screwing up her nose.
‘No … yes. It’s supposed to sound harsh. It’s freakin’ outrageous!’
‘Yeah, true. But perhaps we need to explain why?’
‘Dude, she did explain why,’ Carolyn jumps in, scraping her finger around the rim of her glass and licking off remnants of juice. ‘Because they’re sexist!’
Jaspa’s eyes dart between them. She sighs, remembering her mum’s advice when Maxine Margsworth tormented her throughout the whole of year eight. If she wasn’t posting pictures online of Jaspa’s head pasted on the bodies of giraffes, she was spreading lies that Jaspa wore her mother’s underwear.
Nothing she tried worked, until one day Jaspa’s mother suggested she talk it out with Maxine and tell her why her actions were hurting her; that for the first time in her life she couldn’t be herself and how unfair that was. And it worked. Not only did Maxine quit harassing Jaspa, but through a spill of built-up tears she confessed her desire to form true friendships rather than those based on being bitchy. That’s not to say Jaspa and Maxine then became besties, but at least Maxine stopped hassling her.
Jaspa shuffles in her seat and leans forward. ‘Look, I just don’t think we should say that stuff about other girls – at least not in that way. It’s a bit mean. And I don’t think being on the attack helps, either. What’s the real reason we want them to cover female surfing?’
‘Ah, the voice of reason, she speaks. You’re right, you’re totally right. How about …’ Mel deletes a line of text and starts typing.
A big fat NO! Yet, page after page is littered with scantily clad girls purely for your perving pleasure. This reeks of sexism. We’ve got nothing against the female form or girls in swimwear, because – stop the press – we wear bikinis, too. And rashies and wetties. What we want is to be inspired by amazing, powerful, courageous, talented women surfing waves. Isn’t this the kind of role model you’d prefer for your sisters, nieces, daughters …? You’re in a position where you can inspire surfers, and we sure hope that includes us.
Yours sincerely in surfing,
Mel, Jaspa and Carolyn – The Bikini Collective
Bonita Shores, NSW
Mel sits upright in her chair with an expression of cheeky satisfaction on her face.
‘Ha, The Bikini Collective, you’re a genius!’ Jaspa giggles, reading over Mel’s shoulder. ’It’s like you’re giving power back to the word “bikini”, associating it with action instead of posing. I love it!’
‘Exactly, that’s a sick analogy! It’s like that Pussy Riot band, remember them?’
Carolyn flicks her fingers together. ‘Weren’t they those Russian punk chicks?’
‘Yep, that’s them. They took the word “pussy”, which can be degrading, and turned it badass. We can do the same.’ Mel looks at Carolyn with a wide grin. ‘Are you cool with that? It sounds catchy, and I didn’t want those other girls giving our favourite attire a bad name.’
Carolyn shrugs her shoulders. ‘Yeah, sure. I mean, I wear ’em so why not? And The Wetsuit Collective doesn’t sound nearly as good.’
Mel nods, types in [email protected] and presses send.
‘Ooh, I wonder if they’ll publish it?’ squeals Jaspa.
‘They won’t have any choice. Watch this.’ Mel presses select-all and copy, then opens Facebook and pastes their letter on Salt Action’s profile page.
‘Sharing is caring!’
#9
Jaspa picks up the pace to join her two jogging buddies, who are at least 10 metres in front. She may have the advantage of long legs, but Mel and Carolyn definitely invest a lot more time in their fitness than Jaspa does. In fact, she hates running; it hurts her boobs and seems pointless unless you actually have somewhere to be. Like the corner store for treats, for instance.
Their feet pound on the chalk-white sand, forming a rhythmic pattern in time with the dance track they’ve synchronised between all three phones.
‘Ugh, the torture’s nearly over,’ Jaspa pants from behind, relieved to see the dots of colour in the distance beginning to form the shape of tents and beachgoers as they get closer.
‘Jaspa, you need to push yourself harder and tap into your inner endorphins. It’s a buzz,’ Mel says through steady breaths.
Jaspa glances at her with a crease of doubt at the centre of her brow and licks sweat from her lips.
‘She’s right, Jaspa,’ Carolyn joins in, removing one earphone. ‘Cardio will really help you with your paddle-outs and surf stamina. Embrace it!’
Jaspa groans. The only thing I want to embrace is a big veggie burger and perhaps a yummy boy. Each time she tries to slow her pace Mel and Carolyn grab an arm each and pull her along, like two monkeys leading a reluctant emu.
Their training session ends at the drinking fountain, where Jaspa clasps her hands on her knees and takes a moment to steady her breathing.
‘What’s the deal over there?’ Mel wonders, pointing towards a crowd of people encircling a fenced-off grassy area behind the tents. As they wander over, they hear boisterous cheers, followed by gasps. A voice bellows enthusiastically over a speaker.
‘Can he beat the record of forty-six seconds? Oh, he’s just come unstuck, what a bummer!’
Peering over the crowd, Jaspa sees a boy tumbling off a mechanical surfboard covered in Rocket Fuel stickers, the latest energy drink to launch itself onto the surfing scene.
‘Oh cool, it’s a motorised surfboard thingy,’ she says to Mel and Carolyn, who drop down from their tippy toes.
‘Do we have any more takers?’ shrieks the commentator, far too excitedly. ‘Come around the side and put your name down. You could win yourself some sick prizes!’
Mel grabs her two friends by the arm and drags them towards the registration area before they have a chance to protest.
‘Hey, girls, are you keen on entering?’ asks a guy from behind the desk. All three of them stop and stare.
For starters, he’s shirtless, exposing his dark, freckle-free skin and a tattoo of a wave and sunrise inked on his left inner bicep. Sticking out from under his Rocket Fuel cap are tufts of brown wavy hair with s
un-bleached tips, and his grey eyes look like a puddle of ash. Jaspa notices that his gaze is fixed in Mel’s direction, rendering her speechless. Jaspa’s equally silent. She’s too busy, keeping one eye on this spectacular looking guy and the other on Mel, struggling to believe her best friend has been muted.
Carolyn pipes up, martyring herself as the icebreaker. It’s rare she’s dumbstruck by dudes, as they usually end up in the friend zone.
‘Yep, count us in, where do we sign up?’
He holds his gaze on Mel a moment longer, long enough to make her grin, then turns to Carolyn with a friendly smile and hands her a pen and a form.
‘Just chuck your names on there and you’ll be up in about five. Have you done this before?’
‘Yeah, err, I mean no. I mean …’
Jaspa swallows back a laugh. Whoa, this guy’s good; he even makes Carolyn stumble.
‘Well, we all surf, but not mechanically.’ Carolyn writes down their names and then they retreat to debrief on exactly what just happened.
‘He was so checking you out, Mel. Who is he?’ Carolyn asks once they’re out of earshot.
‘That’s Kazumi Hall,’ Jaspa whispers. ‘Tyler has posters of him all over his wall.’
‘Oh, right, it is, too,’ Carolyn nods. ‘He looks different with dry hair.’
Mel glances back at Kazumi only to catch him gawking straight at her. Instead of shying away, she removes her sunglasses, narrows her eyes, tilts her mouth in a half smile and raises one eyebrow.
‘Oh my god, you’re giving him the hook-up look!’ Jaspa says, poking Mel in the ribs. ‘I haven’t seen that since Anna Roland’s party when you seduced, what was it, like, ten guys?’
‘I think it was twenty,’ Carolyn says with a semi-straight face.
‘It was two, you bitches,’ Mel laughs, ‘so shut up! It was just one of life’s little slip ups.’
‘More like slip in – of the tongue,’ Carolyn teases, jumping back before Mel can tackle her.
‘Hey!’ interrupts a voice behind them. ‘This is for you from Kazumi.’ A micro grommet, who is no more than eight years old, wearing skinny jeans and an oversized fedora holds out a piece of paper for Mel.
‘Oh, thanks little dude,’ she says in surprise, and starts to unfold it. Jaspa and Carolyn look over her shoulder to read:
Hey, comp closing party tomorrow night at the Rocket Fuel house, 7 Whaler Road, you’re all invited. Hope to see you there. Yo, KH
‘Ooh, looks like you’re in for another slip up, Mel,’ Carolyn jokes.
Jaspa silences them with her hand. ‘Mel, you’re up, they just called your name. Go, go!’ She catches the phone Mel tosses her and admires her friend’s confident strut. If anyone has the mindset to be a world champion surfer one day, surely it’s Mel. Jaspa watches her kick off her thongs underneath a box covered in a thick blue waterproof cover, pump her fist at the sea of people and climb on top of the 6-foot-long board. Jaspa hopes she doesn’t have to make such a dramatic entrance.
‘Get up there, Mel, and show us your moves!’ pumps the commentator.
Mel decides to try something different and lies down on the board, pretending to paddle.
‘Look, ladies and gentlemen, she’s seen a wave she wants!’
The crowd shouts encouragement as the board starts rocking from side to side and Mel pops to her feet. However, just as she’s about to land, the board changes direction, pivoting from nose to tail. The transition takes her by surprise and with too much weight on her front foot, she topples forward and hits the grass in a running motion.
‘Oh no, we’ve got a wipeout! I’m sorry, Mel, but that was only a ten-second session. Next we’ve got Jaspa. Come on up, surfer girl!’
‘It’s really hard,’ Mel says as she passes Jaspa. ‘Don’t try and be a smartarse like I did, just hang on!’ They high-five each other and Jaspa climbs onto the board.
The Beach Boys’ ‘Surfin’ USA’ starts playing and the crowd hoots. Jaspa feels the board start to rock from side to side and then seesaw up and down. She’s concentrating so hard she forgets there are more than fifty pairs of eyeballs on her. The board swings around 180 degrees clockwise, so she crouches down low and rides through the manoeuvre, hearing the crowd start to count, ‘… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven …’
The commentator announces that they’re going to crank things up a notch. The mechanical board swings ninety degrees clockwise, so Jaspa dips her front shoulder for stability and flows with the movement. On the way around she catches a glimpse of Tyler, who’s giving her the filthy look usually reserved for the most blatant of wave drop-in perpetrators. What has she done now? She’s barely seen him all day! Maybe she used too much of the sunscreen? Or maybe that was his pawpaw she scoffed this morning? Oh god, maybe he’s picked up on her Cooper crush? Nooooo! Her thoughts travel one way while the board swings the other, sending her bum-first onto the grass.
‘Jaspa Ryder takes a tumble, folks, just shy of thirty-eight seconds,’ the commentator announces. ‘Have we got Carolyn here?’
Mel stretches up her arm and points at Carolyn. ‘She’s here! Our only hope left is here!’ She gives Carolyn a playful push towards the limelight.
‘Yeah, Carolyn!’ encourages Jaspa, as she dusts the grass from her butt and joins Mel, eager to get her take on what’s behind Tyler’s death stares.
‘Whoa, look at Carolyn, she’s absolutely dominating.’ Jaspa links arms with Mel and they watch their friend intently. Carolyn’s low centre of gravity and ability to flex her ankles for prompt weight shift make her more than a match for the board’s movements. The controller rolls her back, forth, sideways, and even throws in a spiralling 360-degree backhand turn, and she rides through each manoeuvre without a wobble or flail to be seen. A cluster of year eight surfers, who hang out at the surf shop she works in, go totally nuts with screams of ‘yew!’. Carolyn not only beats the record but smashes it, staying on for one minute and eight seconds. She scores a GoPro Hero3+ and a $100 voucher for the local pizza place.
‘This is so sick, we can make mini surf movies,’ Carolyn says, admiring her prize. There’s no way she could ever afford such gadgetry.
‘Excuse me, can I get a quick photo for our website?’ asks a guy decked head-to-toe in Rocket Fuel gear.
‘Sure can,’ Carolyn replies, still buzzing from her victory. She holds up her prizes and gives the camera her best almighty attitude-ridden smeer – half smile, half sneer.
‘Hey girls, quick, quick, let’s go,’ Jaspa pleads, spotting Tyler and Cooper walking towards them – and doing an awful job of pretending not to notice.
‘Nice one, Jaspa. I can’t believe you idiots did that!’ Tyler spews.
‘What, why shouldn’t we?’ Jaspa replies with a combination of annoyance and confusion. How is entering a mechanical surfboard comp any of her big brother’s business? She sees Mel open her mouth, probably about to tell Tyler to rack off, but he cuts her off.
‘Good on ya, write to the mag with that ranting femmo letter.’ Tyler was mortified. All his friends had read it and commented on it.
‘Wait, how do you know …’ Jaspa begins, before remembering the Facebook post. Jaspa shoots her friends a look to suggest they should exit stage left immediately, and get their phones into their hands, pronto.
#10
Two thousand likes, ninety-three shares and 202 comments from all over the world.
‘Check this one out,’ Mel says, scrolling down her screen, stopping at a profile picture of a girl standing at the Hollywood sign with a surfboard. ‘Wow, I wonder if she’s actually from California? “Way to go, girls! Good on you for speaking up and saying what we’re all thinking. Surfer girls deserve to get exposure, too, it’s the only way the sport will grow!”’
‘Oh, this one doesn’t sound happy.’ Jaspa points to a new post from a guy called Sanga, whose profile picture shows him with temporary tattoos of the Australian flag all over his face. ‘Eww, he’s awful. Get this: “Rack off ya
butch bitches, we want tits and ass, the more flesh the better!”’ Jaspa cringes, wondering how people like that can exist in the world. He could be someone’s brother or even boyfriend. Yuck.
‘Yeah, there are a few weirdos,’ Mel says, speed-reading. ‘But most of it is pretty positive, even from the guys.’
‘Jaspa?’ Jaspa looks up as she hears her mum calling from downstairs.
Footsteps approach. ‘Jaspa, can I come in?’ Ellen asks, pushing open the bedroom door.
‘Yeah, Mum. What’s up?’ The phone continuously beeps in Jaspa’s hand with notifications.
‘The Coastal Times called to say they wanted to speak to you three – something about a letter?’ Ellen has freelanced for the Times for years.
‘What, are you serious?’ Mel screams, startling Ellen. ‘What did they say? Tell us everything!’ She bounces on the bed on her knees. Jaspa shuffles closer to Carolyn, making room for Mel’s enthusiasm.
‘They just wanted to know if they could interview you. So, what letter are they talking about?’ Ellen leans against the door and folds her arms with a hint of suspicion.
‘This, look,’ Jaspa says, handing her phone to her mother. ‘We’re sick of Salt Action being so sexist, so Mel wrote a letter.’
Mel waits a moment for Jaspa to elaborate, then jumps in. ‘Make sure you read the post and the comments.’
Ellen stares intently at the screen, reading, then looks up at them. ‘Good for you, girls. It’s articulate, maturely written, to the point and obviously a fair assumption, judging by the response it’s getting.’
Jaspa smiles at Carolyn, knowing neither of them would ever have had the initiative to speak out like this. Banging your fist down on a table with your two best friends is very different to sticking up your middle finger in a public arena. Mel has always had a way of forcing Jaspa outside of her social comfort zone before she even realises she’s in one.
In their first year of high school they saw four year twelve girls leave a pile of empty cans and chip packets on the beach. Before she knew it, Jaspa was following Mel, each with a pile of the rubbish in their arms, to the litterers’ open car windows. They threw the waste into the girls’ laps, asking if they’d forgotten something.