The List

by Melanie Jacobson

  “Yep.”

  “Where have you been all my life?”

  I laughed. “So you’re okay with that?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

  Relieved that I had spelled out my terms, I hid a small smile. Number seventeen?

  Check.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday night, I dressed carefully for Institute. I hadn’t talked to Matt since I dropped him back at his house after our Laguna escapade, but he texted me three times on my shift Monday night. The first time he wanted to know what went on the ultimate grilled cheese sandwich. I sent him the list. The next message read, It works a lot better when you make it, which didn’t exactly inspire hope that he’d remembered our lesson. The final text . . . well, that one I saved.

  I pulled it up and read it again. Does Wednesday seem kind of far off all of a sudden?

  Granted, Matt didn’t profess his undying love, and I didn’t want him to, but it felt good to know he was looking forward to our surf lesson as much as I was. Not that surfing sounded great at the moment, considering my long, unsnapped wipeout streak. But hanging out with Matt again in any circumstance held some major appeal. I grabbed my scripture tote and headed for Old Testament class.

  Since I was a bit early, I had my pick of seats. I chose a desk in the middle and flipped open my scriptures so I could review the assigned sections for tonight’s class. Not two minutes later, I felt a slight jostling as someone took the seat next to me. I looked up to find my good friend Megan settling in, beginning the tedious process of lining up her colored pencils. Two seconds later, her quiet friend slipped into the seat on my other side with an apologetic smile. Megan was employing a little strategy of her own, it seemed, ensuring that no matter where Matt sat, it wouldn’t be next to me. Nice one.

  “How are you, Mary?” I asked.

  “It’s Megan,” she corrected me. Brrr, the chill was back.

  I turned to her friend. “I don’t think I ever caught your name,” I said.

  Before she could answer, Megan interrupted. “That’s Laurel,” she said, and her tone implied I was stupid for asking.

  “Hi, Laurel,” I said, and offered my hand for a shake.

  She smiled wanly and took it but didn’t add anything else.

  Deciding that was a dead end, I stifled a sigh and turned back to my scriptures. Maybe I should skip the review and read scriptures about loving my neighbors instead, and then work really hard to liken the verses to myself before I accidentally knocked Megan out of her desk.

  Another minute passed while I ignored the scritch of Megan sharpening every one of her pencils with a CTR-shaped sharpener. Where did she even find such a thing? I felt my nerves winding tighter with every turn of the sharpener, but I kept my eyes on my begats and showed no reaction. I turned a page, crackling the paper as loudly as possible. Megan’s scritching picked up speed. I dug in my purse for a pack of cherry passion Tic Tacs and shook one out, satisfied with the distracting rattle of the candies as they bounced around in the container.

  I turned to Laurel. “Would you like one?”

  She shook her head and shrank a little, possibly trying to become invisible. I turned back to my Bible and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Megan had just picked up her last pencil. The tension leaked from my shoulders now that the end was in sight. Refocusing on my reading, I found my place and got about a third of the way down the page when a distinct snicking sound froze me. She couldn’t possibly be . . .

  I turned slightly. She is! Megan was sitting right there, clipping her fingernails not eight inches away from me. I hate that sound. I stared, appalled, as a sliver of nail sailed over to land on my desk. My involuntary whimper caught her attention, and she followed my gaze to the offending fingernail now garnishing chapter four of Leviticus.

  “Sorry about that,” she shrugged. And then left it there.

  She left it there!

  Unsure how to handle this enemy encroachment, I gingerly picked my scriptures up, climbed over a reddening Laurel, and headed for the garbage can, where I disposed of Megan’s nail clipping. Then I blew on the page, although I’m not sure why. Can you blow cooties off something?

  I marched back to my seat and examined it for more stray fingernails before I sat down. This time I turned to the Ten Commandments and read number six over and over. “Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not kill.” Snick. Aargh! I concentrated on not flinching. Snick. Don’t flinch. Snick. Don’t flinch. Snick. Don’t flinch.

  Just when I could almost hear the sound of my last nerve snapping, Sister Powers walked in and Megan put her clippers away. I breathed out, long and deep, but as quietly as possible. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a huff. As soon as Sister Powers arranged her materials on the podium, she welcomed everyone and beckoned Laurel up to “play” the piano. This time Laurel hit the button and the opening bars of “The Spirit of God” tinkled out. I kept one eye on the hymn book and one eye on the door, looking for Matt. I’d given up by the time the hymn drew to a close and we bowed our heads for prayer, so I nearly jumped out of my skin when we all murmured amen and a voice from over my shoulder whispered, “Boo.”

  I whipped around to find Matt seated behind me. He grinned at my surprise and that little tickle burbled in my chest somewhere, that Matt Gibson phenomenon I couldn’t seem to stifle.

  Megan gave Matt an enthusiastic wave, which he returned with a cool nod. My smile for him grew wider. I turned back around to focus on the teacher, who directed us to the first scripture of the night. Even with Megan’s “help,” by the time Sister Powers was done connecting all the dots, I had a slightly better attitude toward the Old Testament. I guess I’d been looking for a better way to relate it to my life, and Sister Powers’s lesson offered a good strategy.

  As soon as the volunteer for the closing prayer said amen, people were out of their seats and mingling. I stayed put, waiting for Matt to find his way over. Megan hopped up and pushed her desk out of the way so she could walk straight back to him instead of talking to him over the back of the chair. It gained her about twelve inches of proximity, but in her rush (and I was totally giving her the benefit of the doubt here), she accidentally shoved her desk into mine and knocked my scriptures and purse to the floor.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Do you want me to help with that?”

  No scenario existed where I would ever ask Megan for help, so I waved her off and crouched on the floor to pick up the scattered mess. “I’ve got it,” I said.

  Matt stepped forward through the gap in the desks to help instead, squatting down and fumbling with the loose papers that had flown everywhere. Megan was stewing over our shoulders, foiled in her attempt to snag Matt’s attention. Deciding to make her own opportunity since none presented itself, she leaned over and tugged on Matt’s shirt sleeve. “Hey, Matt, I’m thinking of buying my neighbor’s surfboard. Can you come check it out for me and tell me if it’s a good deal or not?”

  “Now?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, I tied it to my car out in the parking lot.”

  Wow. Give the girl some credit. She dragged a surfboard all the way to Institute to create an excuse for getting Matt alone. Well played.

  He looked at me apologetically, but I smiled to let him know it was okay. When he stood, Megan took his arm and asked him questions as she led him out of the room. I turned back to my mess, not at all annoyed. Megan could talk used surfboards all she wanted to with Matt, but he was taking me out surfing in the morning and that’s all that mattered. I reached for another stray program, and without a word, Laurel slipped to the floor and began picking up odds and ends to help me. There was still a lot to pick up even though Matt had thrown away a decent pile for me on his way out. I smiled my gratitude, and when she handed me a small stack of miscellany, I shoved everything back into my scriptures and climbed to my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She nodded and smiled in return but didn’t say anything, just slipped from
the room. I stared after her for a minute. Interesting girl. She had such a pretty face, but being so quiet, she kind of blended into the background as Megan’s faithful shadow. A shame, considering I got the distinct impression she didn’t always enjoy Megan’s antics, either.

  I passed Megan and Matt on the way to my Jeep, grinning at Matt’s look of longsuffering patience as Megan gesticulated toward her beat-up surfboard. He caught my grin and scowled, but I didn’t feel at all repentant and smiled even wider as I cranked the ignition and drove away.

  A minute later, a text dinged on my phone. I checked it at the next stoplight and laughed out loud at Matt’s message. You are so going to pay for that tomorrow morning. Be ready at 8.

  I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked, eyeing the high swell of the wave rolling in. “That’s bigger than I’m used to.” The waves broke about chest high, and while I’m not tall, it was an awful lot of water to tame with eight feet of fiberglass.

  “You’ll be fine,” Matt answered. “You’ve got all the skills. You just lack the confidence. Believe you can achieve.”

  I turned to gape at this piece of hackneyed wisdom and caught his impish grin. “Oh, I get it, this is where you make me pay for leaving you with Megan.” I smacked the water to splash him. “Getting me killed doesn’t really fit the crime, does it?”

  “Relax, Ashley. Nothing’s going to happen to you. And yes, I think it’s funny that the waves are high today, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Today’s your day, I can feel it.”

  I sighed. “Let’s do this, then.”

  Twenty minutes later, I trudged the last several yards to the sand, flopping down in frustration. Matt was about a minute behind me and took a seat next to me, bumping me with his shoulder. I stayed put, my arms on my bent knees, my face hidden in their cradle. I didn’t want to face him after yet another ugly wipeout.

  “You hurt?” he asked.

  “Just my pride. You know, the usual.”

  “That was pretty good,” he said.

  “What, the show I just put on? I aim to please.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean you picked the right wave, you got up right. That was good. You did a lot of things right.”

  “And yet I still ate it,” I grumbled. “This is hopeless.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. My nerves stretched with the silence, and I snuck a peek at him. He was watching me.

  “Give it to me straight,” I joked. “How bad is my surf mojo broken?”

  He shook his head. “I keep telling you, your surf mojo is fine. It’s your confidence that’s busted.” He studied me for another minute. “Why did you decide to do this? Learn to surf?”

  I hesitated, then shrugged. No way was I telling him that I was removing another one of my obstacles to marriage and crossing it off my list. I wasn’t telling him about The List at all. Some people thought it was nuts, and I couldn’t care less, but it would bother me if Matt thought so. I pieced together an explanation that held as much truth as possible. “I guess it just seemed like a great adventure,” I said. “Something exciting and different from boring old Utah. I’ve wanted to try it ever since I used to visit Dave and Celia on vacation. I watched them out on the waves with their dad while I got stuck playing in the sand because I didn’t know how to surf.”

  He leaned back on his hands and tilted his face toward the sun. “Okay,” he said after a while. “How much does it matter to you to say that you did this, to pull this off?”

  I thought about it. My list said, “Learn to surf,” not “Try surfing a few times and quit.” I’d been true to every item on there since the day I wrote it six years ago, and I had no intention of letting this challenge defeat me.

  “It’s important,” I answered.

  “Then maybe you should use that.” He opened his eyes and looked at me again. “You have this in you, Ashley. Focus on your determination, but don’t let it stress you out. Stay loose out there. You are so close.”

  I pondered that.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay?” he echoed.

  “Yeah. If you say I’ve got what it takes, then I figure you ought to know. So I’m going to do it.”

  “Right now?” he prodded.

  “Yes. Right now.” I stood then pulled him to his feet too.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and I followed him into the water once more, determined. I hadn’t failed at one thing on that list yet, and it would take more than the Pacific to get in my way.

  I watched the waves roll toward me, letting a couple of good ones go in favor of waiting for the perfect one. And then I saw it. It moved at the right speed and height. “I’ll take that one,” I told Matt.

  “Good call,” he said. He turned his surfboard in sync with mine, offering encouragement the whole time. “You’ve got this, Ash. You’ve got the form down, you’ve got the right wave coming in, and you’re in control. Just take it easy and feel for the pocket.”

  I paddled, picking up speed with the wave but refusing to let anxiety force me up before it was time. I felt the acceleration and braced myself, and suddenly there it was: a split second where I felt my board being pushed and pulled simultaneously. I jumped up, settled into soft knees and a slight lean forward, and then relaxed. I could sense the motion of the ocean telling me which way it was going next and then . . . I was surfing. I had the wave, and I knew it. It felt incredible—fast and smooth and huge. I rode it with single-minded focus, loving the knife-point balance that divided exhilaration from frustration, success from failure.

  The wave petered out as it drove toward the beach, and I heard Matt slightly behind me. “Oh yeah, Ash! You did it, you did it!” he was yelling.

  Laughing, I jumped from my board and whooped with joy. Arms in the air, I hooted in delight at finally doing it, finally riding a wave all the way in, and danced in the wavelets around my ankles. Suddenly, Matt was there, tossing his board aside and grabbing me to whirl me around, laughing with me. He set me down after a dizzying spin, and I squeezed his shoulders to steady myself, then realized what I was doing and stepped back, self-conscious.

  “You did it,” he said, grinning.

  “I did it,” I nodded. “Thank you.” Feeling that the occasion called for something more, I held up my hand for an awkward high five. Instead of slapping it, Matt reached over and pulled me into another hug.

  I grinned and tightened the hug, savoring the moment a little longer. I mean, I was standing in the Pacific with Matt Gibson’s arms wrapped around me, him smelling like sea salt and fresh air. It wasn’t the kind of thing you cut short. I might have stood there indefinitely except that an extra-pushy wave chose that moment to break against Matt hard enough that some of its spray caught me full in the face, and I broke away from him again, sputtering and laughing, wiggly with surf triumph.

  “I did it!” I hollered and accompanied the reminder with a stomp in the water that sent droplets splashing toward my coach.

  “I know!” he said, splashing back.

  He watched as I cranked my leg back to return a splatter salvo and held up his hands.

  “Wait, you’re just going to cruise on automatic after one wave?” he asked.

  I halted my splash kick. “No. Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “No reason,” he said, lowering his arms. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to avoid your next ride with a water fight.”

  “No way!” I said. “Let’s go again!” And with a grin, I snatched my surfboard out of the water where it bobbed on my ankle tether and waded right back in toward the deep. “Last one out buys Jamba,” I hollered over my shoulder.

  I heard Matt’s laugh and kicked up my speed, paddling out for the next wave, hearing him right behind me.

  The next hour passed in a blur of laughter, waves, two more wipeouts, and three more successes. I was three rides closer to saying that I really could surf and that I liked it. Rea
lly liked it. I maybe even understood Matt’s explanation of being totally focused and completely relaxed in the same moment, and it felt . . . like freedom. For once I was glad that I had a whole summer to keep it up instead of dreading all things surf-related. Getting it right felt pretty good.

  When at last exhaustion anchored me to the sand, I watched Matt take another wave in. He looked so sure on his board, his adjustments so fluid as he followed the motion of the swell. It was strange to think of guys as graceful, but there was no other way to describe the way he moved on his surfboard. Power and grace. It was intoxicating to watch. In the shallows, he paused for a moment, looking. He spotted me and a slow smile crept over his face. I felt an echoing smile turning up the corner of my mouth.

  I knew I should worry that it took so little from him to make me giddy as a school girl, but right at that second, I didn’t care. I had the beach every day and a good-looking guy to hang out with all summer, and I didn’t need anything else out of life for the next three months except a steady stream of tips at the restaurant. What more could I want?

  Chapter 12

  My feet and shoulders ached in protest as I hefted my last tray for the afternoon. I’m sure that given a little time, surfing all morning and busing food trays all day would come easier, but right now, my muscles screamed from overuse. I had one last table to serve and clear out before I could soak my aching body in a bath and wash the smell of grilled onions from my hair. Then I could replace the fifty thousand food orders cluttering up my brain with nothing more taxing than outfit choices for my date with Matt tonight.

  I managed to place the right steak in front of the right tourist, then scuttled back to the kitchen to finish off my side work, filling empty bottles of ketchup and topping off salt and pepper shakers. It took me a second to realize that the gentle shaking I felt was coming from my cell phone vibrating in my pocket and not my exhausted fingers. Fumbling it out, I smiled when I saw a text from Matt come in. I read it and my stomach sank. Something came up. Have to cancel. So sorry. Rain check? Please?