Did she want him to see her differently? Her own motivations were so murky that she didn’t even know if she wanted to know him, or if she just wanted something from him, like every other boy in her past.
A football game wasn’t going to bring her any clarity either. She just hoped Abby would forgive her for ditching her the very first time they’d planned to hang out.
She grabbed her board from her locker and headed outside to call Mom, but it went to voice mail.
So much for Mom being more involved. Dad might have spent every morning and every night on the waves, but in between, he belonged to Summer. Maybe they weren’t a normal family, but they’d made it work, just the two of them, for the last four years.
They’d never been a normal, really. Mom and Dad had never married. They were barely out of high school when Summer was born and they’d spent most of her childhood on the pro surfing circuit. At least until the spring Summer turned twelve. The spring Mom got pneumonia and suddenly decided to reevaluate her life choices. Like one hospital stay meant she needed to change everything.
But by then, Summer had been old enough to make her own decisions and Dad won, no question. Mom had always been a girly girl, comfortable with makeup and small talk. Summer was like Dad—awkward and chaotic, except on a board. They were loners who knew how to be alone together.
Summer’s phone beeped and she opened the text.
Last minute showing. So sorry. Meet me at 347 Colinas Canyon. I think you’ll like the house & we’ll grab doughnuts after. Big blue house. Code is 76593. <3
Summer rolled her eyes and pulled up a map. Mothers should never, ever, sign texts with emoticon hearts, even with the promise of doughnuts. She dropped her board on the sidewalk and pushed off, carving through the hills of Oceanside with the wind in her face and wheels beneath her.
It didn’t take nearly long enough to find the house, and she reluctantly popped up her board and let herself in.
She slipped around to the back of the house to wait for Mom, but stopped still at the edge of the massive, empty pool.
She grinned. Mom was right: she did like the house. She set her board on the edge, ready to lose herself.
The unique rumble of the wheels over concrete and the irregular curves in the shape of the pool gave her completely different sensory input than the familiar smooth swoop of the wooden vert ramp. A few laps to memorize the layout and she took to the sky, twisting and soaring through the improvised course.
After seemingly ages, she came to rest on the far side, grinning and sucking air into her lungs. Totally, exhilaratingly, exhausted.
“We will never mention this to my seller,” Mom said, smiling at her from the other side. “I knew you could still fly.”
Summer deflated and sat down on the edge, clutching her board to her chest and dangling her feet over the edge of the empty pool.
“When no one is watching,” she said.
Mom settled beside her and kissed her forehead, smudging away the greasy lipstick residue with her thumb. “You just have to shut off all the other voices.”
“Right.” She pushed up. “Because it’s that easy.”
“Everyone freezes sometimes.”
“It wasn’t just sometime. It was the most important competition of my life.”
“So you’re going to let that failure define you?”
Summer shrugged. “Between that and the DUI, I think failure defines me pretty well, don’t you?”
“There’s so much more to you.”
“Like what?”
“You got back up, Summer. That defines you so much more than failure ever will. You got back up and you stared down your fear. You’re a fighter.”
Summer let her mom pull her into a hug, wishing she could believe those words. “I’ll go wait in the car.”
“You’re strong, Keiki. Never forget that.”
Chapter 7
Before the sun breached the horizon, Summer shut off her alarm. Waking to anything more jarring than classical music sent her into a full-blown panic, so she relied on the soothing strains of Vivaldi and Mendelssohn to pull her back to the land of the living.
She slipped out of bed and dressed in a hurry, opting for shorts that just covered her knees and a skin-hugging long-sleeved tee. Clothes that protected without restricting movement. She laced her DCs tight and tucked the ends under the tongue.
She stopped for a moment to pull her dirty-blond hair back and squinted at her reflection. A smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks and nose, reminders that she should probably remember sunscreen more often. But her eyes, the same light brown as Dad’s, looked brighter and clearer than they had in ages. Mom would probably tell her she needed to have her brows done and her nose still looked a little crooked from the wipeout, but at least she’d lost the burnout look. It was something.
Dew clung to the grass in the backyard and the cold air was almost enough to make her turn back. Almost.
She pulled her board from the garage and sat in the drive to inspect it. Trucks, wheels, bushings. The grip tape. The bearings spun with a satisfying whir. With the distant roar of the ocean in her ears, she turned the board over and ollied it a couple times, getting the feel for how everything moved together.
Another week and she’d need to clean the bearings. A few cracks split the grip tape, but nothing to worry about.
She’d nearly finished her drill when Grandma stepped out of the house, pausing at the spot where the grass met the driveway. Dressed in layers of plum and gray, it was hard to know where her duster and tunic ended and where her flowing skirt began.
“Cold morning,” Grandma said. “Certain you want to go out?”
“Still warmer than back home.” Summer positioned her feet on the board, finding the perfect balance. “Besides, I need to move.”
Grandma drummed her fingers against the coffee mug clutched to her chest. “Was your first week bad enough that you’re already restless?”
Summer moved into a pop shuvit, then a heelflip. “Not exactly. I just need to clear my head.”
Grandma set down her mug and stepped onto the driveway. “Tell me about your board.”
“You don’t have to act interested, Grandma.”
The old woman cackled. “No, I don’t. So if I’m asking, you can assume I am. I haven’t always been a musty old professor, you know.”
Summer cracked a smile. “You’re not going to tell me I’m wasting my time?”
“When you get to be my age, you realize the only time wasted is time spent on things you don’t love. Skating makes you happy. That makes me happy. Nothing wasted there.”
Summer pressed down her heel to pop the board up and hand it over. “I upgraded my wheels,” she said. “Bigger wheels get more speed on vert.”
Grandma nodded. “And speed gives you more height.”
“Speed makes me fly.”
“What is everyone doing outside at this hour?” Mom asked, shuffling toward them while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She, for once, didn’t look a bit put together. Her worn UCLA hoodie and oversize pajama pants brought Summer back to Saturday morning pancakes and watching cartoons on the couch, her parents on either side.
“Discussing the physics of vert skating,” Grandma said. “As one does before finishing a proper cup of coffee.”
“Seriously, Mother?” She snitched the coffee cup Grandma had set beside the driveway. “It’s the weekend. Let my daughter’s brain rest.”
“An active mind is a happy mind,” Grandma said. “You underestimate this girl if you think her mind is anything less than active. And now I am going to replace my coffee. Enjoy your morning, Summer.”
Summer looked down at her board again, repositioning her feet and testing the bend in her knees.
“It’s been too long since I’ve been on a board,” Mom said. The wistful tenor of her voice was enough to make Summer pause.
“You could come with me.” She sounded like a five-year-old, begging her mom to pla
y tea party one more time. Except even then, it had been skateboarding, with the two of them perched on a long board, while Dad chased after them with an ancient video camera.
“I have to get ready for an open house,” Mom said with an exaggerated sigh. “Being a grown-up sucks sometimes.”
Summer chuckled. “You got so old.”
“I’m thirty-four, thank you very much.”
“There’s no one else in the park. It doesn’t even open until eight.”
Mom pursed her lips. “Are you breaking in?”
“No,” Summer said, looking down at her feet and bouncing to find that perfect balance point again. “I got permission from the owner. I’m not going to screw up probation. You don’t always have to be so suspicious.”
Mom turned the coffee cup in her hands. “Pete and I had a long talk last night.”
And with that, Summer’s visions of their family burst again. “Isn’t he over in Europe?”
“We set a date, Keiki. Next month. For the wedding.”
Summer snapped her head up. “Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Keiki. You don’t get to call me that.” Only Dad had that right.
Mom’s fingers tightened around the mug. “Pete and I have been engaged for over a year. You know we already postponed once because of your wipeout.”
“Why Pete? He’s not like us. He’s not—”
“He’s not your dad. I know.”
“Then what do you see in him?”
Mom traced the edge of her coffee cup with her thumb. “Pete snuck up on me. Did you know he surfs? He wants to take me to Bali for our honeymoon so we can go out on the waves together.”
“Gross. I seriously don’t want to hear about your honeymoon.” Summer popped the board up and caught it again.
“I know this is hard for you.”
“No.” Summer turned around. “It’s easy. I hate it.”
“Even if it makes me happy?”
“Why couldn’t you be happy with me and Dad?” The words burst out before she could think. “We were different. We were amazing. We did things most people never dream of! And you ditched it all for some rich guy and a house in the suburbs?”
“It wasn’t always amazing. It wasn’t amazing having to move because we couldn’t afford rent. It wasn’t amazing knowing your dad loves surfing more than anything, including you and me. I worked hard to make a new life for myself here and Pete is a huge part of that.”
“Fine. Congrats.” Summer dropped the board and shoved her foot against the driveway.
“You can’t keep running away when things get hard.”
“Why not?” Summer slowed at the end of the driveway, but didn’t turn. “Isn’t that what you did?”
She kicked off down the street, letting the wind dry the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and the cool air sweep away her disappointment and anger.
Following the street toward the ocean, she drifted through the city. Even so early on the weekend, cars snarled the narrow four-lane stretch of asphalt. A few honked as Summer cut across the Pacific Coast Highway on a yellow light. She turned her board sideways, scattering sand as she stopped.
Behind the Santa Monica Mountains, the sun glowed with red and orange and pink, but at the horizon the night sky still kissed the waves. The gray, half light of dawn swept across the empty beach. No gulls bobbed on the water or cried across the sky. A few streaks of clouds cut the steel-blue overhead. The tang of salt and fish and seaweed coated her tongue and stung the inside of her nose.
Summer popped up her board and walked to the fence blocking off the skate park. It didn’t take much for her to squeeze between the gates. Hips like a twelve-year-old boy and the absence of real boobs were good for more than just a lack of wind resistance.
Beyond the vert ramp, the sand stretched out to meet the sea. The waves bubbled and broke, sweeping neon green seaweed and small crabs up the shore.
She stepped up to the ramp and ran through a few practice runs to loosen up. A few turns up and down the ramp before a handful of simple tricks. Just enough to prime her muscles and know exactly how her board would behave.
As the sun began to warm the air, she stopped on the table to start her routine. Looking down at the park, she set down her board to watch a boy with dark, longish hair and thick-framed glasses.
He sat on a picnic table, arms resting lightly around his bent legs. His camera lay beside him and he held a steaming cup. In the soft morning light, his face held such longing—such vulnerability—that she ached to wrap him in a hug and never let go.
He turned slightly, like he’d heard her even though she hadn’t moved an inch. A slow smile curled one edge of his lips, beckoning her closer.
Leaving her board on the ground, she settled beside him, unable and unwilling to resist the lure of his smile.
He looked out toward the ocean again and passed the mug to her. She took a sip of bitter, black coffee and handed it back.
The waves rushed in and out, sometimes etching new boundaries, sometimes only reaching halfway up the shore. The earliest birds took to the sky, ushering in the day on gray-tipped wings. At the horizon, surfers lined up to catch a wave, then paddle back.
“Remember the year the men’s soccer team won gold at the Olympics?” Bastian said, shoulders loose and hands relaxed.
“Sure. That was huge. America isn’t exactly known for soccer.”
“My dad was the captain.”
“Wow.” Summer shifted to study him, to search for any clue as to what he was thinking. “That’s impressive.”
“But the thing is.” Bastian turned his face toward her. “I can’t play soccer. My parents think it’s too risky. I can’t surf or skate or play football. They wouldn’t even let me try tee-ball.”
“The bleeding thing.”
He nodded. “Hemophilia. Doesn’t it sound so innocuous?”
“I thought most people with that could live pretty normally.”
“Most people. But I’m my parents’ special snowflake. I’m not allowed to be normal. No, I had to wear kneepads every day until I was two. I nearly died from internal bleeding the one time my grandma convinced them to let me climb a tree. I still have to give myself factor infusions a couple of days a week or I start bleeding into my joints. I keep an ER bag packed for when—not if—I have to make trips to the hospital. Mom treats me like I’m made of glass and Dad just looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do with a son who knows his way around a darkroom better than a locker room.”
Summer resisted the urge to reach out and comfort him. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Sorry.” He shook himself. “That was weird. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”
“What?” She touched his arm. “No. I don’t mind.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, and then exhaled in a single puff. “It just sucks to sit out here day after day, watching other people live a life I can’t have ”
“Then why are you here?” She was enough of a masochist to understand. But his explanation mattered. His thoughts mattered.
That slow, curling smile transformed his face again and he turned away from the ocean to look at her. “Because even watching is better than nothing. At least I can feel like I’m part of it.”
“Is that better?” Her voice faded, a lump rising in her throat. “I came really close to losing skating once. I could never just watch. I don’t even know who I am without my board.”
“You’re Summer O’Neill, by all accounts terrible at hangman, adequate at navigating high school hallways, and excellent at making me feel less awkward.”
She shifted toward him, all too aware that they were too close together. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
He nudged her shoulder, eliminating what minimal personal space she had left. “Not bad at all.”
“What about you?” She lifted her eyes to meet his, near enough to feel his presence without actually touching. “You know all these t
hings about me and I still don’t know much more than your name.”
He chuckled and broke away from her gaze. “Well, you now know way too much about my screwy blood. And you know I share a name with a singing cartoon crab and a band that plays sad bastard music. I think that’s more than enough.” He took another sip of coffee. “What are you doing out this early on a Saturday anyway?”
“Girls don’t ride vert,” she said softly. Across the sand, the first surfers returned to shore and she pressed her lips into a tight line.
Bastian nodded at one or two as they passed, that jerk of the chin acknowledging familiarity without bothering with actual words. “It’s pretty rare.”
Summer waited until the beach cleared, pulling at the frayed edge of her denim shorts. “No. Girls really don’t ride vert. Most of the guys are decent, but it’s not exactly a safe place for a girl. I come before the park opens so I can ride without getting groped or harassed.”
His brows knit together. “What kind of asshole would mess with a girl just for skateboarding?”
Summer hunched her shoulders. “The kind that are threatened because I’m better than them. I’m lighter. I can fly higher. It gives me more time for tricks.”
“So you have to sneak in any time you want to practice?”
His outrage made her smile. “Not always. I usually meet up with a crew, make a few friends.” She let her gaze trail away, thinking of all the times she’d willingly used her body to make a place for herself on the ramp. The boys she’d hooked up with just so the others would leave her alone. She sat up straighter and cleared her throat like it could clear the memories away. “It was easier up north. My friend Tobey runs a skate and surf shop, so everyone knows him. He’d get me set up, make sure everyone knew who I was and would let me skate. But I don’t know anyone here. They might be cool. They might not.”
“Dude, that sucks.”
“It’s life.” She shrugged again. “I don’t belong here. I haven’t earned my spot.”
The Trick to Landing Page 4