by Lisa Freeman
Hurriedly I pulled Nigel’s wet suit up over his trunks. It felt cumbersome and heavy. I’d never worn one of these things before. But it was so cold out there, I knew I had to. Then I tucked my hair tight into the baseball cap, the one with the faded S that was unreadable, so the cap just read Dodger. No one could know I was a girl.
With Dad, I had always surfed longboards, but nobody took longboard surfing seriously. And obviously he thought I could handle the speed of a shortboard, which was more like a Porsche than a cheesy Pinto. This board was exactly like Gerry Lopez’s. Only a few people in the world had one. It was a major sign of respect that Dad got it for me.
I had night surfed at Queens, but the full moon in Hawaii and lit-up hotels made it easy to see. Not so at State. It was so dark I couldn’t make out the takeoff zone in the distance, even with the full moon. It was spooky out there.
What made it possible to paddle out was feeling my dad’s thumbprints embedded in the wax he had melted on top of the board. He had made them deep, so my toes would have something to grip. Eventually, I’d want to be more sure-footed, so I could maneuver my board tip to tail. I’d need to get some Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax to coat the slippery spots. But for now this would have to do. It felt like he was with me.
In the water, it seemed as if I was swimming into a crypt. The ocean smelled saltier than normal, and the foam was fluorescent white. The tide led me out, as the whitewash fizzled in front of me. I would have chickened out right then and there, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Santa Monica Bay is crescent-shaped. But there is no coral reef, so the paddle out is much shorter than in Waikiki. Easy breezy, I thought. The only catch was, the ride in wouldn’t last very long. I had waited for this moment ever since I got to State. I wanted to max out my high and savor my first wave in almost two years.
But as the waves got closer, I felt a rush of fear. I flipped my board to get under the first one. It’s called turning turtle, but it was a mistake. Without the weight of a longboard, I ate it.
When the next wave came, I didn’t lift up enough over it, so the whitewash couldn’t pass around me. It was so strong. I ended up back on shore with my board on top of me.
When I used to surf, my dad would help me through the foam. But without him I kept getting caught inside. It was pathetic. I had to remind myself of what he’d say: just keep your chest up. But I had boobs now, and they hurt and threw me off balance.
The board was so light it was like paddling on a feather. Actually, it felt incredible. It was quick, but the waves were quicker.
At home, the ocean had wide sections of turquoise and clear shades of blue. Even at night, you could almost see through the waves. But in this part of the Pacific, colors didn’t separate. Everything was smoky gray. Finally, there was a break in the swell. I went for it and paddled hard past little two-foot waves, which seemed like ten-footers to me.
I had to find the takeoff zone or else I’d never get a wave. Except the current kept shifting, sticking me in the ditch. Waves have their own frequency. Each one is different. I had to find the right spot, but I couldn’t find it in the dark. I paddled deeper inside, got in position, but fell off my board and got sucked under. The feel of a shortboard was so different, I couldn’t pop up. I got chased down by another wave and wiped out.
I decided to use Mrs. Kinski’s house on the bluffs to orient myself. She had a light on in her giant front window. I went for the next wave I saw. I wanted it. I wanted it more than anything in the world. I needed it more than a cigarette. As it lifted me up, I thought, I’ve got you. I popped up quick but came down the lip too fast. The board flew out from under me, and I windmilled forward. The ocean twisted me around. Dad used to call it getting stuck in the washing machine. Kelp and sand swirled around me. It’s a good thing I was alone. I was so out of control. The waves pushed me down until I floated back, breathless, onto land.
I wanted to whine like a little kid alone in the middle of the night. This was bogus. I knew how to surf. I dug in and paddled out again. State was not going to get me. I was going to get it. I thought, You watch me. I will bend, and you will never snap me in two. I didn’t care how big or powerful the ocean was. No matter what, I was going to surf.
I used all my weight and pushed the board down over the whitewash. I plowed through a wave with a rush of excitement. My necklace splashed up against my chin. I was tired and wired—good—until another wave caught me off guard. It was so big it blocked the moon.
Darkness. It was violent under water.
I had slammed the curl of the lip so hard it jammed my board up, and I fell backward again—totally tossed. I didn’t even know if I had hit bottom. My eyes stung from the salt when I opened them, and I finally floated up, gasping for air. I was smack dab in the middle of an enormous swell.
A slight wind had picked up. I tried to catch another wave. I told myself, Paddle, paddle, paddle. “Wiki, wiki, faster, faster,” my dad would have said. I popped up quickly, but again I came down the lip too fast and fell. I tried and fell again and again and again until a thin pink line on the horizon warned me: sunrise. I’d lost track of time. Like Cinderella, I had stayed too long at the ball.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dodge the Devil
As I dragged myself out of the water, I saw the VPMs driving into the lot. As soon as they parked, Lisa and Jenni slipped sleepily out the back. News flash: the tailgate party had lasted all night. When more vans started chugging in, I grabbed my stuff and ran into the tunnel that led directly to the bluffs.
I was waterlogged and exhausted. Every bone in my body ached, and my calves were so cramped I could barely walk. Where was I going to stash my board?
Mrs. Kinski’s back gate was cracked open. I made a dash for it, just as Lord Ricky rounded the corner in his mom’s station wagon. Brad and Stu were sitting shotgun. I crouched behind a rusted old car that had no front seat or wheels and was raised up on bricks. Through the splintered fence, I could see Lord Ricky guzzling a Mickey’s big mouth, the breakfast of champions.
I searched for somewhere I could hide my board before they noticed me. There was a shed—sort of like a storage bin or closet. I separated two rotting planks of wood and looked inside. It was like a museum of broken surfboards cluttered together. Rumor was, Mrs. Kinski had fifteen grown kids. Talk about a baby machine. It made sense that some of them surfed.
I set my board alongside the slabs, replaced the planks, and pushed the tall grass up back against the sides. This was a good hiding place, and I’d have easy access to it for my next session. As quietly as I could, I rinsed my wet suit with the garden hose and hung it on a hook to dry. There was a rusty stove and boxes of pots and pans littering the muddy yard. I rolled my trunks and hat into my towel, and exchanged them for my signature look: a tied-up blouse and low shorts. Lord Ricky’s pills fell out of my purse. I was so over it. I undid the baggie. I’d never pulled an all-nighter before, and I was really feeling it. If I took one of them, I’d get some sleep. The question was, where?
I tried to sneak past Lord Ricky and his two buddies, but I startled them instead. They must have jumped a mile, and they dropped the joint they were sneaking. After the night before, I knew better than to laugh. They were talking about their new surf shop, Amphibian. It sounded like their business was more about dealing drugs than selling boards, and the second they saw me, Lord Ricky threw what was left of his beer at me.
He yelled, “What are you, Bewitched? Where’d you come from? Where’s my kiss?” I stumbled backward and fell over Mrs. Kinski’s low fence. My legs lifted up from under me, and I slammed down onto the ground. Lord Ricky, Brad, and Stu laughed. As they stood above me, I felt my skin getting tight like a wet wool sweater that was shrinking. “Where’s my kiss?” Lord Ricky spat again.
I threw the bag of pills at him. I had forgotten it was open. Quaaludes went flying into the street. Brad and Stu ran after them as they rolled in every direction. Lord Ricky said, “You’re not a l
ittle witch. You’re a little bitch, and I’m gonna get you.”
I didn’t need a broomstick to fly down those stairs, and as I ran, I yelled across the highway, “Hi, Jenni. Hi, Lisa.” Everybody in the parking lot turned and looked at me, as Lord Ricky slid back into the bushes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Black and Blue ERA
I wasn’t awake, and I wasn’t asleep. I was stuck somewhere in between, and I had no idea what time it was. Lisa and Jenni were talking in that hush-hush tone Rox and Claire used to use. “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“Yeah. Good thing Rox hasn’t.”
I knew they meant me and Jerry. I slid back into my dream state. I wasn’t ready to explain anything, or to open my eyes.
In my mind I was still surfing—steady and in slow motion, like Gerry Lopez in Five Summer Stories, my fingers stretched out like his always were, guiding me through a wave as big as a house. I was fluid and seamless, and I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t want to marry Gerry Lopez anymore; I wanted to be Gerry Lopez.
I squinted my eyes open. Julie Saratoga was chatting away and making Lisa and Jenni laugh. She was definitely in. Jenni and Lisa had also invited some pampered Palisades girls, who lived in cliffside mansions. They were pool blonds, who’d stayed in the chlorine water so long their hair was turning green. Good breeding wouldn’t help them get in the lineup. Their voices floated right past me.
I mean, why come to the beach when your own pool is the size of a lake and the palm trees on both sides of your street are planted in straight lines, same as the ones in Hawaii that mark where kings once walked? When they trotted away, their gold loop earrings and Tiffany rings glimmered in the near-blinding sun.
Lisa shrugged them off, saying, “It was really dark at that party.”
“For sure,” Jenni said. “You never know what you’ve got to work with until daylight.”
They inspired me to write a new rule that even locals need to know:
Never, ever join any circle without an invitation.
Here’s the point: it will save you unnecessary doubt and the humiliation of feeling unwanted. Seriously. Go where the aloha is.
I had been asleep so long I felt like I was actually getting sunburned. It was the first time I had totally crashed out at State. When I finally managed to sit up, I realized how sore and hungry I was, and that the Topangas had moved their towels dangerously close to ours. They had added another girl, too, so now it was six to six. The lineups were even. I had no time to waste. I had to get recruiting.
“Hi, sleepy.” Baby curled into my side. She was wearing a periwinkle-blue bikini. It made her eyes look like two small, blue, Mediterranean flowers. It was going to be her color for sure.
Lucky for me, Baby’s mom had packed her a lunch. She gave me her bologna sandwich, potato chips, and one of her four Twinkies.
“Hey, how’d you get that?” Lisa asked, tapping her finger on my leg.
I looked down at my calf. Like any surfing bruise, it didn’t hurt when I was in the water, but now that I looked at it, it was a real humdinger. “Uh, I rearranged my room last night.”
“Look at the one I got,” Lisa said.
“Me, too,” Julie chimed in.
It turned out they had all gotten scratched up the night before, while hiding from the police. They wore their marks proudly, like badges of honor.
“When do I get to go to a party and get bruises?” Baby asked.
“When you go to Pali.”
Baby looked like she was going to lose it. “But that’s not for over a year!”
“Don’t worry. Ninth grade goes really fast,” I told her. Then I said, “O-M-G.”
Lisa pointed at a girl with an amazing body walking slowly down the beach.
Jenni whispered proudly, “I told her to stop by today.”
It was Ellie Katz, the girl from the party who’d nearly drenched me and Windy with beer. No way did I imagine that, under those baggy overalls, Ellie had an explosive body. She wasn’t very tan yet, but that could change. She was making a statement by walking onto State wearing her feminist T-shirt that read: “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” Unfortunately, I don’t think one guy read the words across her chest. They were too busy gawking at it. 34-24-35. Not a combo to a locker. They were her measurements, from my guess.
I struggled to make sense of her as she came closer. It was original that she wore a tight T-shirt with her bikini bottom. She seemed savvy, like an Aries, which meant she was probably short-tempered, since they’re ruled by Mars, the war god. But most likely she could hold her own. Sun signs are like that.
As Ellie situated herself, Lisa couldn’t help but stare. “Hard to believe you’re only going into eleventh grade,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re so smart,” said Jenni. “Get cozy! Sit next to me!”
We all knew that Claire had dubbed Ellie Ms. ERA, after the Equal Rights Amendment. She came up with that diss because on January twenty-second, when Roe v. Wade was decided and women were assured the right to have an abortion, Ellie tried to get school closed. She wanted it to become a national holiday.
Ellie was really big on women’s rights, and calling her Ms. ERA was meant to be a put down. It was how Rox and Claire made fun of her behind her back. But when we saw her in that bikini, the nickname started to seem more like a compliment than an insult.
“Is it okay if we call you Ms. ERA?” Lisa asked.
“Ms. anything is good by me,” Ellie answered cheerfully.
I could tell she was the type who fought for what was important and let the small stuff slide. I bet she even read the newspaper. And I got the sense that Ellie wasn’t obsessed with boys the way Lisa and Jenni were. I needed someone dependable. Maybe Ellie was it.
“Guess what?” Jenni said, looking at Lisa for approval. “Tonight we’re doubling at Chart House.”
“Just the two of you?” Ellie asked. “Sounds romantic.”
“No, us and our boyfriends,” Jenni said defensively.
“Wow, sounds serious,” I said.
Lisa chimed in, “Yeah. Rox is getting us a table by the window for sunset.”
I tried not to react, but Jenni saw something in my eyes.
“What’s wrong, Nani?” Jenni asked.
The last thing I wanted was for them to know Rox wasn’t talking to me. It hurt to be excluded. I promised myself that when I was a ruler I wouldn’t do that to anyone. “Red Baron,” I told them. My period was always a good excuse.
I was starting to notice how often I made stuff up.
“Anyway,” Lisa said, “Rox’s new hostess job is in full swing.”
I wished I could have hidden behind the smoke of a cigarette. Funny that no one had even noticed I wasn’t lighting up.
“What do you want to be when you graduate?” Julie asked.
“What do you want to be?” Lisa countered.
“I want to start my own bikini line,” Julie said.
This was met with great approval. Jenni still planned to be a stewardess and see the world. Lisa said she hadn’t thought too much about it, and Baby wasn’t sure if she wanted to be a wife or a mother anymore after hearing about that dirty book, The Joy of Sex.
Lisa, Jenni, and I laughed. “What about you, Nani? What do you want to be?” Ellie said.
I couldn’t tell them I wanted to be the best surfer in the world, but I knew the truth, and that’s what was important. I had to figure out a way to stop lying, so I told them, “I want to be something in Hawaii. That’s all I know.”
Ellie was satisfied enough with our answers to enlighten us, “You know what I want to be?” she asked. “The first woman president.”
“Oh, right.” Lisa sort of laughed, but Ellie was serious. She wanted to be the first skirt in the Oval Office.
“Why not?”
Jean always said Republican men in their sixties or seventies make the best presidents. Like Ike. But mayb
e not anymore. Even so, the idea of a woman president sounded way too far-fetched. While we’re at it, I thought, why don’t we just get a president who is brown, like me? Some guy from Hawaii who’d show up for diplomatic dinners in a Spooner shirt with sand between his toes. A guy with full lips and a big, bright smile, who looks totally primo in shades.
No doubt he’d serve poi and pig from an imu—which is an underground oven—he dug himself. And he’d set up a real luau, so all those uptight white guys would have to eat with their fingers and sit on mats. There’d be flame torches on the White House lawn, pupus, hors d’oeuvres like Spam-and-pineapple kabobs, and coconut chips, and mai tais with rum and lime juice, crushed ice, and a cherry on top. “Mai tai” means “good time,” and I bet those politicians would be having just that. Plus, anyone would be better than the faker in Washington now.
Ellie was a real pistol. She talked about how Phyllis Schlafly, the number one enemy of the ERA, was trying to screw up women’s lib by getting housewives to hate it.
Ellie said, “I guess those women want abortion to be illegal again because they still want men to be in charge of everything—including their bodies.”
Mary Jo blurted out, “Where would you be if your mom had had an abortion? Nowhere. Plus, I don’t want to get drafted. So who wants equal rights? Do you want to fight in Vietnam?” she asked the entire group.
Ellie gave her a flabbergasted look. She said, “Regardless of what you want or don’t want, laws are changing for good. And as far as women’s lib is concerned, I personally don’t want to be a baby machine and cook and do the laundry all day. I want to have a job, and a purpose beyond my husband’s agenda.”
Ellie’s boobs jiggled when she got worked up. That was quite a speech, I thought. Ellie was the most openly brainy person the lineup had ever hosted. She left the SOS silent for a moment. Then Lisa, our fearless new leader, chimed in, “Yeah, look at Mary Tyler Moore. She has a job.”
Baby got all excited. “Yeah, she has her own TV show and, like, in the TV show she even has a job at a news channel. So she has two jobs.”