Pulled Under (Sixteenth Summer)

by Michelle Dalton

  I try to extend this emotion when we finish, so I tell him that I’m taking him out for lunch to celebrate his success. When he says that he really should get to work, I say, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  This is me being bold. This is also me being stupid, because he really does have a lot of work to do. We’re only a few bites into our pizza when he gets an angry phone call from his uncle, wondering why he’s late for work. Lunch ends abruptly and this blah vibe carries over into everything we do for the next few days. I pick a movie for us to see and it’s terrible. I arrange a picnic on his lunch break and we get rained out. And unlike the movies, there’s no romantic gazebo to hide under. Karma is doing everything it can to keep us apart.

  On Tuesday we hit rock bottom.

  Ben arrives at Surf Sisters with the summer campers, but we can’t let any of them in the water because there’s a rip current. It’s hard because everything looks fine on the surface of the water and the kids don’t understand. This makes them cranky, and when I try to convert the lesson so that it works on the beach, it all falls flat. Their bad mood boils over into mine, and I wrap up the lesson a half hour early.

  “We’re done?” Ben asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve stretched it out as much as I can without going in the water.”

  “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asks. “The van won’t be here to pick them up for another thirty minutes.”

  I’m sure that I will look back on this moment as a lost opportunity. But my funk keeps me from coming up with any creative solution to the problem. So, instead of saying, “We can go shell hunting,” or something like that, I say, “I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

  He shakes his head and asks, “Why are you being this way?”

  “Because I can’t change the ocean current,” I snap. “And I can’t magically put kids in a good mood. And I sure can’t seem to make you happy about anything.”

  It is totally irrational, and I can’t believe it as I hear the words come out of my mouth. But that’s what I say. I can’t really read Ben’s reaction. I’m not sure if he’s angry or just confused, but I am totally off the rails. Luckily, Sophie has come down to help with the lesson, and she distracts the kids before they get to watch me break down.

  “Who do you think can build a better sand castle?” she says. “The boys? Or the girls?”

  The kids all shout, and within thirty seconds Sophie has them split into two groups who are happily building away. Fearful that I might start crying in front of everybody, I say a quick good-bye and head up to the shop. This is strategic on my part because I know that Ben can’t leave the kids, so he won’t be able to follow me.

  I hide out in the shop’s storeroom for about twenty minutes and make it back down just as they’re finishing. The sand castles look great, and the kids are having a wonderful time. I’m really disappointed that I acted the way I did. I feel like I let them down. Ben walks up to me, and I still can’t read his face.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say, convinced that it’s too little too late.

  “Me too,” he replies.

  There’s an awkward silence.

  “Do you want to do something tonight?” I ask, half prepared to hear him say that he doesn’t ever want to do something with me.

  “Sure,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

  I am so not good at this. Considering my current track record of bad ideas, I decide to stop with the boldness.

  “I want you to pick,” I say. “None of my ideas seem to be working out too well lately.”

  He gives me a little smile. “The picnic almost worked out.”

  “You mean except for the thunderstorm.”

  “Yeah, but the sub sandwich tasted good. Wet . . . but good.”

  It feels nice to joke, even a little bit. “Still, I’ll let you pick. Surprise me.”

  He nods. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  The ultimate surf maneuver is to ride inside the barrel or tube of a wave. It’s super difficult, especially here in Florida where there aren’t usually waves big enough, but when you do it, you are surrounded by water collapsing on you from all sides. Your only hope is to keep aiming for the light at the end of the barrel where you come back out again. That’s how I’m feeling about things with Ben. Everything is collapsing around me, but I’m still aiming for that light, still hoping to ride this wave all the way in to the shore.

  Since I don’t know what he’s got planned for us, I’m not sure what I should wear. I decide to turn a negative into a positive. Rather than worry about what’s appropriate, I just pick out the cutest outfit I can find: a navy skater skirt with a white tank and a sleeveless plaid shirt. I like how it looks, but just to play it safe I text a quick picture to Nicole, and she responds with a row of smiley faces. The most important smiley face, though, is the one Ben shows me when I greet him at the door.

  “You look great,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “Is this appropriate for where we’re going?”

  “That all depends. Can you dance in it?”

  Dancing. I like it already. I should always let him decide what we’re doing.

  “I can dance in anything,” I say with some surprising confidence. “Where are we going dancing?”

  “There’s a party down the beach.”

  Suddenly my mood drops.

  “Whose party?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” he says. “Kayla promised that it was going to be huge and fun.”

  “Kayla?” I say, trying to control my anger. “Seriously?”

  He looks utterly confused by my reaction. “Is that a problem? She invited us to a party, and I thought it would be fun.”

  “Kayla didn’t invite us to a party. She invited you to a party because she likes you. She saw me have a breakdown today at camp and probably figures she’s in the perfect position to swoop right in.”

  “No,” he says, completely oblivious. “She knows you’re coming with me. I thought you would like this.”

  “Why on earth would I like this?”

  Is it possible that he doesn’t know that Kayla and I are mortal enemies?

  “You said you never get invited to these parties. I thought you might like to go to one and meet some new people.”

  I’m trying to keep my voice down so my parents don’t hear, and as I take a deep breath, I realize why he went for this.

  “Is that what this is about? You want me to meet people?”

  “I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”

  “I don’t want your charity,” I reply. “I don’t need you to find people for me to hang out with once you’re gone.”

  “It’s not charity.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I have in fact met all of these people? It’s not that big an island. I’ve grown up with them, and they never became my friends. That’s not going to magically change because they see me arrive at a party with you. They might be nice to me while you’re around, but they’ll be making fun of me the second we leave.”

  None of this has occurred to him, and I see him trying to make sense of what I’m saying.

  “It’s just a party,” he says. “You said you wanted me to surprise you.”

  “Well, you certainly did that.”

  “We can just drop by and then do something else.”

  “You still want to drop by?” I reply, incredulous.

  “I don’t want to be rude. I told Kayla I’d go.”

  “Oh, yes. Let’s make sure we look out for her feelings and not mine.”

  “Fine,” he says. “We won’t drop by. We can do something else.”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t feel like doing anything. You go to the party. You have fun. Meet all the people you want. I just want to stay home. Alone.”

  It’s at this point
that I think we might be breaking up. It is excruciating and painful and more than I can bear.

  “Okay,” he says. “I really am sorry.”

  There is a hesitation, and for an instant I think he can save the moment. I don’t know what he could do, but I know I don’t want it to continue this way. I look at him with sad eyes and wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. He bites his lower lip for a second, and then he turns and walks away.

  I don’t start to cry until I’m back in the house with the door shut. I don’t know how I made it this far, but once I’m clear of the outside world, the tears start to fall. My mom comes down the hall toward me, and from her expression I can tell I failed miserably at making it so my parents didn’t hear me. I bury my face into her shoulder. She doesn’t say a word. She just puts her arm around me and hugs me tightly as I sob uncontrollably.

  Izzy.”

  A hand grabs me by the shoulder and tries to wake me.

  “Izzy, get up.”

  I am completely disoriented as I wake up from the deepest sleep. My eyes are still sore from last night’s extended crying jag, and they’re also bleary due to the early hour. I squint and look out the window and my fears are confirmed. It’s still pitch-black outside.

  “Dad? What time is it?”

  “Five oh seven,” he says.

  My head slumps back onto the pillow. “Leave me alone. I need to sleep.”

  He yanks the pillow out from under me, and my head plonks down on the bed.

  “Oww!”

  “We’ll take the pillow with us,” he says. “You can sleep in the truck.”

  Now I am completely confused. “Where are we going?”

  I’m finally able to focus on him as he flashes a huge grin.

  “Sebastian!” he says. “It’s going to be epic.”

  Now I’m starting to wake up. Sebastian Inlet is the best surf spot for over a hundred miles.

  “How epic?” I ask.

  “There are two hurricanes in the Caribbean, and according to the surf report the waves might be as big as we’ve seen in years.”

  I let this sink in. “We better get going.”

  Dad has an orange and blue Ford Bronco that was old when he got it back in college. It’s not much to look at, but it’s weathered decades of salt air and sand, and is the ultimate surf vehicle. We load our boards into the back and minutes later pull out onto A1A, the highway that runs right along the Florida coast. It’s going to take us about an hour and a half to reach Sebastian, so I tuck my pillow against the window and fade off to sleep.

  At the halfway point we pull off for a pit stop at a hole in the wall diner that serves amazing breakfast burritos. They have egg, peppers, chorizo sausage, and salsa all rolled up in a homemade tortilla. Dad and I stop here whenever we get the chance.

  “That is so good,” he says as he savors his first bite.

  I’m still too tired to talk much, so I just nod my sleepy agreement and smile before taking another bite. We sit there silently eating for a moment until Dad catches me off guard with a comment.

  “Despite what you may be thinking,” he says, “Ben really cares about you.”

  I continue to eat in silence, but I flash him the expression that says I’m not interested in having this conversation.

  He totally ignores it.

  “He’s probably not great at expressing it, but he’s heartbroken about his parents. It makes him doubt everything.”

  I swallow another bite of my burrito and look right at him. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  He nods. “Okay. I just know you’re hurting.”

  “I’m serious, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “All right, my mistake. Let’s finish these in the Bronco and get back on the road.”

  We climb back up into the truck, and after silently finishing my burrito, I resume my sleeping position. I’m not actually sleeping this time, but I figure it’s the best way to keep him from trying to talk about Ben.

  When you drive along A1A, you can see the ocean in between gaps in the sand dunes, and with the sun rising over it, it all seems kind of magical. I think about what Dad was saying in the diner, and after about twenty minutes of mulling it over, I ask him, “How do you even know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That Ben cares about me? Parents just say that stuff to make their kids feel better. You can’t know that.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he says. “I can know it. I see it in the way he looks at you and in the way he talks to you. But I also know it because he’s told me so.”

  Now I sit up and look right at him. “When?”

  “We run together three times a week,” he reminds me. “What do you think we talk about?”

  “Sports?”

  “No,” he says. “Well, sometimes we do. But mostly we talk about life and things. He talks about you a lot.”

  “What does he say?” I demand. “I want specifics.”

  Dad shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. It wouldn’t be fair. Just like I wouldn’t tell him things you told me in confidence. But I can tell you that he cares about you more than he’s cared about anyone in his life. You mean the world to him, Iz.”

  “It sure doesn’t seem like it,” I reply.

  He smiles the same smile that he’s smiled at me my whole life. “I know, baby. Being a teenager can be really confusing, can’t it?”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “Just remember that sometimes it can be amazing.”

  “Like when?”

  “Like right now,” he says as we pull in to the parking lot and look out at the surf. The sun has just broken over the horizon, and there’s enough light to see that the waves are amazing.

  “You weren’t kidding,” I say, referring to his prediction. “Epic.”

  We spend hours surfing the inlet. It’s crowded, so you have to wait your turn, but the wait is more than worth it. These are the biggest waves I’ve ever surfed, and the fact that I’m sharing them with my dad makes them even more special.

  We’re both working on specific skills to help at the King of the Beach. I’m still trying to be more aggressive, and Dad is practicing his carving. Carving is what you do when you make turns and dig the rail—the side of the surfboard—into the wave and send water spraying.

  “You’ve gotten so much better,” he says while we wait in the lineup. “It’s unbelievable.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he says. “I bet you’re ready to try an aerial.”

  “Come on. There’s no way.”

  An aerial is when you ride up the face of the wave, launch into the air, and then come back down and land on the same wave. It’s an incredible move, and not only have I never done it, I’ve never even tried it.

  “The waves are big enough,” he says with a wink. “You can get the speed.”

  I shake my head as though it’s a ridiculous idea, but in my mind just a little part of me considers it. Completing an aerial would be awesome. I remember the first time I saw one. My dad and I were watching a DVD of surf highlights, and seemingly out of nowhere Kelly Slater just rocketed right off the wave. I couldn’t believe it. I made Dad pause it and go through it frame by frame. Last year Bailey Kossoff did one during the King of the Beach, and that’s the moment I knew he had it won.

  “Just try it once,” Dad says. “For me.”

  I give him another skeptical look, but I don’t completely reject the idea. Am I good enough to land an aerial? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

  The next wave I catch is my biggest one of the day. I am flying across the face, and I pass up some prime turning opportunities to look for just the right spot. I see it on the lip and shoot right up into the air.

  For an instant I feel like I’m fl
ying. It’s breathtaking.

  I reach down and grab the rail with my right hand to keep the board from separating, and then I land back on the wave. Or rather, I try to land. I come in awkward and fall off the back, slamming hard into the ocean. It takes my breath away, figuratively and literally. That doesn’t take away from the experience one bit. I try it a few more times, and each time I come close but struggle with the landing and wind up eating a face full of ocean. By the time we climb back into the Bronco, I am battered, bruised, and exhausted. I’m also inspired.

  “So, what do you think?” asks Dad as he pulls out of the parking lot and back onto A1A.

  I know he’s asking me what I think about the day in general, but my answer is much more specific.

  “What do I think?” I reply with a big grin on my face. “I think I can land it.”

  Dad cackles as we start to glide down the highway. “That’s my girl.”

  As I blend in with the tourists near the bandshell, I watch the summer campers get picked up by their parents outside the Parks and Rec office. None can leave without sharing a high five or a supersecret handshake with Ben. Kayla’s there too, which complicates things, but luckily she heads off in the opposite direction and doesn’t see me. Once Ben is alone I walk over to him.

  “Hey,” I say quietly as we make eye contact.

  “I tried to call you yesterday, but you never answered.”

  “Sorry about that. My dad and I went on a day trip that was kind of sudden.”

  There is an awkward pause before I ask the question that has been eating away at me for the last forty hours. It’s one that I have to ask in person.

  “Did we break up? The other night on my porch, was that what happened?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I,” I reply honestly.

  We stand there for a moment, and I can tell that he’s in real turmoil. I certainly don’t want to be the cause of that.

  “Can we maybe grab a bite at Mama Tacos and try to figure it out?” I suggest. “I promise there will be no drama. No raised voices. No tears.”