by McKayla Box
I ignore him and grab the board from him. I get on a little slower this time and I manage to stay upright.
“When the white water comes, I'm going to give you a push forward,” he says, moving behind me to the end of the board. “Just hold on and get a feel.” He pauses. “Okay, hold on. Here comes one.”
I grip the sides of the board and I'm up on my elbows. I move forward, slow at first, and then I take off. The white water surges over my legs and I'm gliding over the top of the water for a few seconds. Then I slow. I turn around.
Archer waves me back out.
We do this a number of times and I'm feeling comfortable. Then I move to my knees and we do that a few times. It's a bit harder, but I get a feel for it and I don't topple off.
“Okay,” he says. “Now let's get you on your feet.”
“Already?”
He smiles. “Can't do it if you don't try.”
He's right.
“Same thing,” he says. “But as soon as I tell you, pop up, just like you did on the sand. You'll fall, but just try anyway.”
“Maybe I won't,” I tell him, sliding back onto the board.
He laughs. “Right. Okay, get ready. I'm gonna shove you first, then tell you to get up.”
The board surges forward.
“Get up!” he yells behind me.
I push up and just as my feet slide forward, I go over the side into the water.
He's laughing when I stand up. “Told you.”
I grab the board and stalk back toward him.
“Keep your hands on the rails,” he says. “Keep the board as steady as you can as you get to your feet.”
I look at the board. “The rails?”
“The sides,” he says. “Okay, again.”
For thirty minutes, I try and I cannot for the life of me get to my feet. I fall to the left and to the right. I fall forward and I fall backward. No matter what I try, the board squirts out from underneath me. My arms are heavy and my entire body aches.
“Need a break?” he says as I wade back out for what feels like the hundredth time.
“No,” I snap. “I'm getting up.”
“We can take a break,” he says. “It might help.”
“No,” I say, sliding back onto the board. “Push me again.”
He comes up alongside of me and puts his hand over mine. “Loosen your grip.”
I look at him.
He taps my hand. “You're squeezing it to death because you're pissed and tired. Relax your hands for a second.”
I let go of the board and flex my fingers.
“Two motions,” he says. “Push up, on your feet. Just do those two things. You can do it.”
I'm not sure I believe him, but I'm not quitting.
“Get ready,” he says.
I place my hands on the board, trying not to leave fingerprints on the foam this time. I take a deep breath.
“Here we go,” Archer says.
The water pushes me forward and he pushes me harder.
“Go!”
I push up, lifting my chest off the board.
Then I get my feet underneath me.
I'm up.
I'm on top of the water, my knees bent, my arms out like I'm flying.
I hear Archer let out a whoop behind me.
I smile.
And then lose my balance and crash into the water.
But I got up.
Chapter 30
I thrust my arms in the air and turn around. “Fuck yeah!”
Archer does the same. “Fuck yeah!”
I laugh, the thrill of finally having done it rippling through me like an electric current and making me giddy. I flip the board around and head back toward him.
“I wanna do it again,” I say.
He nods. “By all means. Now you know what it feels like.”
And for the next half hour, I mostly keep getting up. It's get a little easier and, save for a couple of spills, I'm able to get up and stay up. It's an amazing feeling, gliding along the surface of the ocean. It's literally a new perspective.
When I fall two times in a row at the end of the half hour, Archer is waving his hands across the top of the water, indicating it's over.
“I wanna keep going,” I say when I get back out to him. “Can we paddle out further?”
He laughs. “No. You're tired. And that's when things go bad.”
“I'm not tired.”
“Yeah, you are,” he says. “You've gone off twice in a row. Your legs are cooked. I'm guessing your upper body is shot, too.” He shakes his head. “You're done.”
I frown. I know he's right, but I don't want to stop.
“But you did pretty good for your first time,” he says. “For real.”
“Thanks.” It feels good to hear a compliment from him.
“So maybe catch your breath on the beach,” he says. “I'm gonna grab my board and go out for like twenty minutes. Unless you want me to take you home now.”
I shake my head. “No, you don't have to.”
We walk out of the water together and it's apparent how tired my body really is. My legs each feel like they way four hundred pounds and I'm unsteady as we get to the shore. My shoulders burn as I try to keep the foam board over my head. He tries to take it from me, but I step to the side, determined to manage my own board.
We get to the sand where he left his board and I drop mine to the sand. I drop down on top of it, sprawling across it like a rag doll.
“Thought you weren't tired,” he says.
I turn to look up at him. He looks like this golden giant towering over me and I don't hate it.
At all.
“I might be a little tired,” I tell him, sitting up. I motion toward the water. “Go. Do your thing.”
He picks up his board. “Is that why you wanted to come down here?” He grins. “Just so you could watch me?”
My face heats up and I look toward the water. “Hardly.”
He chuckles as he turns and walks down to the water. He drops his board in, dives on top of it, and starts paddling as if it's no effort at all.
And as I watch him for the next few minutes, it's kind of spectacular.
It's like the board is glued to his feet as he maneuvers across the water, cutting and slashing through the waves. There is an energy to what he's doing and I see that even some of the other surfers are watching him. It's hard not to. He makes the board do things I didn't realize it could do, zipping up and over and across the three and four-foot walls of water that roll in. On one wave, he cuts back and forth, zigzagging across the face. On another, he charges hard straight down the line, racing the wave to its end.
I don't see any way I'll ever be as close to as good as he is, but there is a thrill in watching him own the water.
He's still grinning at me when he emerges from the ocean and struts up the beach. “You like that?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, it was fine.”
He chuckles, drops his board, and sits on the sand next to me. He's breathing hard and the beads of ocean glisten on his chest. I catch myself thinking about running my hand across them, then look away.
“Then why were you smiling?” he asks.
“Because...because I was still thinking about how I got up out there,” I tell him. “That's why.”
He laughs and every time he laughs, there's something behind it. Like he knows what I'm really thinking. It's both maddening and charming.
“You did good, Orleans,” he says. “Really.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “And maybe now you could stop calling me that.”
“Why does it bother you so much?”
I dig one of my big toes into the sand and think for a moment. “Because it's a bit too right on.”
“What does that mean?”
I dig my toe in a little further and watch the water. “Because they named me Nola because that's where I was apparently conceived and it's always felt super fucking weird to me.” I look at him. “
New Orleans. Nola is short for New Orleans, you know?”
I expect him to start laughing, but he surprises me by just nodding. “Yeah, I know. Okay. I get it.”
I immediately feel like I've made a mountain out of a molehill. “It's fine. I'm just overreacting.”
“It's not overreacting if that's how you feel,” he says. “I won't call you that anymore.”
“No, you can. It's fine.”
“No, it's not. You just explained why.”
“No, seriously. It's fine.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And now you're mad at me because I won't call you that? This is where we're at?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I don't even know.”
We sit there quietly for a bit, watching the water.
“My mom had cancer,” he says suddenly. “When I told you the other night that she died, I didn't tell you how. She had cancer.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “I'm sorry.”
He does that shrug thing people do when they want to pretend that it's not a big deal, but you can still tell that it is.
“Was it recent?” I ask.
“Feels like yesterday,” he says, his eyes still on the water. “Yeah. A year ago.”
“I'm sorry,” I say again.
He does the shrug thing again. “I didn't know for a while. Then I did and then she was gone. Now it's just me and my dad. It's still kinda weird. He's weird, I'm weird. Our house is weird.” He looks at me. “So when I said the thing about family shit the other night? That's what I meant. I get it.” He leans back on his hands and looks at the water again. “And I don't wanna call you something that stirs that up.”
I didn't know what he meant the other night, but now I do. I'm not sure why he's sharing all of this with me, but I'm glad that he is.
“Thanks,” I say.
“But what is the deal?” he asks, eyeing me. “I can tell there's more going on than what you told me.”
My stomach knots. “It's complicated.”
“It usually is.”
I need to choose my words carefully here because I'm not ready to tell anyone about what's happened. But I feel like I owe him something. He opened up to me, so maybe I should do the same with him.
I'm just not sure I can.
“My parents,” I say. “They...aren't together anymore.”
Technically true.
“That sucks,” he asks. “I'm sorry.”
I nod. “Yeah. It does. My mom hasn't handled it very well.”
Also technically true.
“So, what?” he asks. “She sent you out here? To live with your grandparents? I mean, I know there was the school stuff too.”
“More or less,” I say. “It was all just a mess.”
Totally fucking true.
“I'm sorry,” he says.
“Me, too,” I say. “But it's okay. I'm here. My grandparents seem to like having me. So.” I do the same shrug he did. “I'm here. Gotta make the best of it.”
I glance at him. He's looking at the water.
“I have another question for you,” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Saturday night,” he says. “How did you get to that lot?”
I dig my toes into the sand again.
“Because you couldn't have walked that far,” he says. “I saw you go up the stairs. From the time you left to the time I found you, you couldn't have walked that far.”
“You saw me leave?” I ask.
He gives me the shrug.
If he saw me leave, then he saw me go up the stairs with Heath.
“I got a ride,” I tell him. “With Heath.”
He makes a face like he wants to throw up. “With fucking Heath. Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Uh, because I wanted to leave. And because he offered. But—”
“How can you even stomach that guy?” he says, cutting me off. “You shouldn't be hanging around with him.”
“I know. I—”
“He's a dick,” he says. “Just don't hang out with him.”
There's something in his tone that rubs me the wrong way. Like I'll just do what he says because he says it. If he would shut his mouth long enough, he'd hear me tell him that I already know Heath is a dick. But he won't shut his mouth and I don't like being told what to do.
I stand. “Thanks for the advice. I'm going home.”
He stands up. “I gotta rinse off the boards.”
“You do that,” I tell him, walking up the sand toward the truck.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” I say. “Did you not hear me?”
“What? Now you're pissed at me?”
I stop and turn back to him. “I don't need you or anyone else to tell me who I should be hanging out with. I can figure it out on my own. And if you'd stop and use your tiny little brain for even a second, maybe you'd realize that while I left with him, I ended up alone in that lot for a reason.” I stare at him. “But I guess asking you to think is asking a bit too much.”
“I don't need to hear this,” he says.
“You don't have to,” I tell him.
I turn and walk to the truck and grab my clothes out of the back of his truck. I pull on my shorts and T-shirt.
I look down the sand at him. He's standing next to the boards, watching me.
“And you can shove both of those boards up your ass,” I yell at him.
Then I turn and head for home before he says anything else.
Chapter 31
“You spent the whole afternoon with him?” Dylan asks. “I'm envious.”
It's the next day and we are having lunch at a small Mexican place that Brooke tells me is the best Mexican food within an hour's drive. She's not wrong. The carne asada tacos on my plate are fabulous, and after an anxious morning of classes and avoiding Archer, I'm starving. I've told them about my afternoon surfing with Archer.
“I'm not,” Brooke says, forking a bunch of lettuce out of her salad. “Sure, he's smoking hot, but come on. He's already trying to tell her what to do?” She shakes her head. “No thank you.”
“Same,” Mercy says, ripping a piece of tortilla off of her burrito. “No one needs that shit.”
“I didn't say she should listen to him,” Dylan says, frowning. “But I'd definitely think about using him and then telling him to fuck off.”
We all laugh and eat some more. I'm glad that we're off campus. The homecoming stuff has just completely eaten up the school day and it's overwhelming to me. Even the teachers are into it, and it just makes classes weird. I'm already ready for the week to be over.
Mercy puts her hand on my shoulder. “You haven't had the best intro to the guys at Del Sol. I'm sorry.”
“What does that mean?” Brooke asks.
Mercy looks at me.
“Heath offered to give me a ride home from Archer's the other night,” I explain. “It didn't go well.”
“He was in econ with me this morning,” Dylan says. “Looked like he got in a fight with his cat or something.”
I raise my hand. “I'm the cat.” I flex my fingers. “And these are my claws.”
“No shit!” Dylan says, leaning forward. “What happened?”
I give them a brief recap.
“You should've taken his fucking eye out,” Brooke says. “Unbelievable.”
“He literally looks like Freddy Krueger got him,” Dylan says. “Well done, Nola.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I say. “I would've preferred not to have done it at all, though.”
“Well, duh,” Dylan says. “That shit should never happen and you could file a police report if you wanted to. What he did was criminal and we've put up with it for far too long. Fuck him.”
The other girls nod in agreement. But I don't want to file a police report. I know that I could, but I don't want the attention. I feel like I've already had more than my fair share in the first few days of school and I don't want anymore. Hopefully, my nails are enough to keep Heath away fr
om me.
“Are you excited for the nominations?” Brooke asks, her voice deadpan. “I'm practically dying from the excitement. Not.”
Mercy laughs. “I just want it over with so people will stop wondering.”
“I like it all,” Dylan says, elbowing Brooke. “And I know that's the most anti-Dylan think of all time, but I like it. And, you guys. This is the last time we'll get to go through it. This is it.”
They are quiet for a moment, like they hadn't considered that before.
“Yeah, I still don't give a shit,” Brooke says.
“Well, you're a lock,” Dylan says. “And you know it.”
Brooke makes a face.
“She's been nominated each of the last three years,” Mercy informs me.
“And would've been nominated if we did this shit in middle school,” Dylan says. “So, secretly, she's a bit excited about it.”
Brooke makes a show of setting her fork down and wiping her mouth with her napkin. She looks carefully at each of us. “Yeah, I still don't give a shit.”
We all laugh. We finish our lunch and head back to school. I stare out the window as we drive. Dylan's declaration about it being the last time we'd go through this hits me in a different way than I assume it hit them. This isn't the senior year I imagined. It all changed so fast for me and now I'm riding in a car with three girls I barely know on the other side of the country, staring at the Pacific Ocean. All of their last things are firsts for me, and there's a disconnect for me that I don't know how to describe. It's a very strange place to be.
We get back to school and head to the open courtyard in the middle of the school. It's a zoo. There's a stage setup near the center and people are packed around it like it's a concert. I look around but don't see Archer.
Good.
I think.
Music blares from the speakers and we find seats on a stone bench on the edge of the crowd. A girl I don't know is up on stage, a mic in her hand as she studies a piece of a paper.
“Rebecca Standen,” Mercy says in my ear. “Student body president and in charge of the nominating committee. You'd think she was presiding over a federal election. She takes this very seriously.”
I nod as the music dies down and Rebecca taps the mic to make sure it's working.
A brilliant smile spreads across her face. “Good afternoon, Vikings!”