Clash
Page 1
Other books in the Soul Surfer Series:
Soul Surfer Bible
Fiction:
Burned (Book Two)
Storm (Book Three)
Crunch (Book Four)
Nonfiction:
Ask Bethany — FAQs: Surfing, Faith & Friends
Rise Above: A 90-Day Devotional
ZONDERKIDZ
Clash
Copyright © 2007 by Bethany Hamilton
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition August 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-86589-6
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bundschuh, Rick, 1951-
Clash / by Rick Bundschuh ; inspired by Bethany Hamilton.
p. cm. - (Soul surfers series)
Summary: One year after losing an arm in a shark attack, fourteen-year-old Bethany Hamilton is still a champion surfer and serves as an inspiration to others, but her faith is tested when an unpleasant new girl seeks her friendship.
ISBN-13: 978-0-310-71222-0
1. Hamilton, Bethany — Juvenile fiction. [1. Hamilton, Bethany — Fiction. 2. Surfing —Fiction. 3. Christian life — Fiction. 4. Amputees — Fiction. 5. People with disabilities — Fiction. 6. Samoa — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B915126Cla 2007
[Fic]-dc22
2006029322
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All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Zonderkidz is a trademark of Zondervan
Editor: Barbara Scott
Illustrations: Monika Roe
Photography: Noah Hamilton
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07 08 09 10 • 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
For Allegra
Introduction
There is something you need to know — this book is fiction. The story and most of the people in it are made up.
Except for Bethany.
I have known Bethany Hamilton since she was a little kid. I have shot paintballs at her brothers, spent lots of time with her parents, Tom and Cheri, and surfed with them all. My role in their lives has been that of a friend and pastor. I was at the hospital the day Bethany was attacked by the shark and have helped Bethany get her fascinating story told.
So when I tell you a story about Bethany, her friends, or her parents, please understand that I am writing about what I am pretty sure they would really do and say if they found themselves in the situations described in this book.
And I am not really writing fiction when I tell you that Bethany is a smoothie addict or that she has a dog named Ginger or that she is homeschooled so she can train for surf contests. A lot of that stuff is exactly how Bethany is and how she lives her life.
You will probably see that I don’t try to pretend that Bethany is a saint or some kind of perfect human being. I have seen her get in very hot water for camp pranks taken too far, and I know that from time to time she can be as cranky, self-absorbed, or annoying as any of us. The picture I will paint of her is that of a normal young lady, who, although imperfect, tries her best to love and honor God and let him guide her steps.
This is the Bethany that I know.
I will tell you something about Hawaii too. You see, I live there and surf all the same spots as Bethany and know many of the same characters that populate the island. The places, cultural quirks, and names are pretty much exactly what you would find if you came to visit or live here.
Because surfing is a big part of what Bethany does, I will try to explain to those of you who have never experienced the sport what it is like to ride the warm, clear waves of Hawaii. I can do this with some confidence because I was surfing long before Bethany was even born. But please understand that describing surfing to someone who has never surfed is like trying to describe the taste of a mango to someone who has never sunk their teeth into that rich orange fruit. Words can only get you so far.
Finally, these stories are not just about tanned, talented surf kids in an exotic land. They are about situations that people everywhere can relate to. Even here in paradise there are problems, and when you take a good look at them, you find that those same problems are found in Tulsa, Tucson, or Timbuktu!
So, I hope you enjoy this little adventure.
Rick Bundschuh
Kauai, Hawaii
Prologue
“Bethany!” The voice sounded small and far away as the salty ocean breeze blew across her face. Bethany grinned and turned back to enjoy the view. She loved how the morning sun ricocheted off the ocean surface, sending jewels of light across the tops of the waves. From underneath the huge ironwood trees, she had an awesome view of the northern coastline with its soaring jade-colored cliffs and sandy beaches.
She could experience this a million times over and never grow tired of it.
She was a child of the ocean.
We all are, Bethany thought, looking up to see her friends jogging toward her through the warm sand with their boards.
“Let’s go!” she said, running for the water. Then, without another word, she plunged into the Pacific, her red-and-white surfboard floating under her.
Beneath the water, Bethany blew bubbles and opened her eyes. She could see the reef spreading out, with little alleys of sand running between the dark green reef heads. She finally broke the surface and whipped her long, white-blonde hair back while stroking hard and deep in the water with both arms. Her laughter echoed over the water as she chased her friends through the shallow reef and out into deeper water.
This was Bethany’s Hawaii — beautiful sun-drenched islands, the water lapping around her as both hands gripped the nose of her board.
Bethany glanced down at the watch around her left wrist. It was especially designed for girl surfers — it was waterproof, dainty yet rugged, and included a tide function. She caught the time — 8:07 a.m. — and then let her arm slide off into the water while continuing to hold the nose of the board with her right hand.
Suddenly, something gray and large loomed up, startling the breath out of her. She thrashed and twisted away from it.
Then the bright sky turned dark. The water, the green hills, her friends, and even her surfboard dissolved into deep gray and then black . . .
Bethany gasped and lurched up in bed.
Blinking rapidly in the dark room, she could
feel her heart pounding in her chest. Just a dream, she reminded herself as she listened to the soft breathing of her friend Malia coming from the futon on the floor.
Just a dream . . . Despite knowing that, Bethany reached over and felt for her left arm. The place where it should have been was hollow and empty, and she felt a momentary stab of grief over her loss.
Not just a dream — a nightmare! It was a nightmare that had replayed what had actually happened to her just a year ago when she’d been attacked by a shark — a horrible day that had cost Bethany her arm and almost took her life.
At least the nightmares didn’t come as often anymore. Not like they used to.
Bethany felt the beat of her heart slowly return to normal as the memory of the horrible attack faded. In the darkness of her room, the lanky teenager stretched out under the sheets and let the comfort and safety of her own bed, in the house she had lived in all her life, with a family who loved her, erase the nightmare.
I’m still alive, she thought. Still breathing. Still laughing. Still surfing. Everyone told her it was a miracle . . . and she knew that. Deep down she also sensed there was a reason behind the miracle — even if she didn’t know what the reason was . . . yet.
With a sigh, she sank back into her soft pillow and let sleep envelop her once again.
By morning she would have no recollection of the nightmare that once again had startled her out of a deep sleep. Nor would she remember waking at all that night.
She was a child of the ocean — but she was also a child of God. And as with all of his children, he came and comforted her. The comfort came in the form of love from her family and friends. They helped her deal with the bad dreams and soothed her with words that washed over her like a gentle ocean tide.
A couple of miles away, another girl lay awake in her bed, eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling and wondered if anyone would ever understand how lonely she was — or how rotten she felt inside.
Out of nowhere came a high-pitched buzz.
The noise, centered in her left ear, sounded as if a dentist had mistakenly gone to work on her eardrum. Only it wasn’t a dentist.
It was a mosquito.
The thirteen-year-old gave an angry swat at her ear, and the sound disappeared. She sat straight up in bed.
The black, star-speckled sky peeked in from between Jenna’s bedroom curtains as she fanned herself with her hand. It was so hot — a sticky, humid hot that was nothing like the dry heat of her home in Arizona.
Jenna squirmed to get comfortable in this new bed, in this new home, thousands of miles and a whole ocean away from everything and everyone she had ever known.
The glowing face of the clock on the bedside table read 2:02 a.m. It was still too early for the ever-present roosters to start their song.
Then the itching started — on her feet, between her fingers, on her legs, arms, and face. The mosquito buzzing in her ear had only been one of an army of bloodsucking intruders that had somehow found their way into Jenna’s house and honed in on her sleeping form by sensing the carbon dioxide from her exhaled breath. In the blackness, Jenna muttered words of exasperation as she scratched wildly at the itching bites.
Here she was in paradise — Kauai, the crown jewel of the Hawaiian Islands — or so she was told. She preferred to think of it as jail. She had been dragged halfway around the world because her mother “needed a change” (which was code for “I met a man”) and then plunked down in this mosquito-infested cell of a room.
Why am I even here? she wondered, even though she knew there was no one to give her an answer.
She missed Arizona. She missed the vast stretches of desert that were the entranceway to her home, the snow-crested mountains, the thick forests that smelled richly of pine. Most of all, she missed her horse, Patchwork.
Well, not her horse, exactly. Jenna owned a share of the horse, a share that her mother had bought for Jenna’s eleventh birthday. On Saturdays after she had finished with her chores, Jenna would ride her bike the two miles to the stables. The rest of the afternoon would be spent caring for Patchwork and riding through the woods on the sturdy mare. Jenna had probably stomped in protest and shed more tears over the horse than she did over anything else when they left Arizona.
As silly as it seemed, she even missed her old bed, her dresser, the well-worn but comfortable sofa, and the nicked kitchen table where she had dyed Easter eggs, frosted Christmas cookies with friends, and completed her homework.
They were all gone, sold in a massive garage sale because her mother said they weren’t worth the expense of shipping them all the way to Hawaii.
Jenna squirmed, sweating and itching in the small rented house filled with bloodthirsty mosquitoes, croaking geckos, and giant cockroaches. It was jail all right. Soon she would be forced to start school with total strangers, whose everyday use of pidgin English was mumbo-jumbo to her, and where she, with her freckles, white skin, and red hair, would stand out like a sore thumb.
It didn’t matter that this place was a land of endless summer weather. It didn’t matter that you could pick coconuts off the ground or ripe mangos and avocados off the trees. It didn’t matter that the rain was warm, the sunsets incredible, or the ocean enticing. She didn’t belong here. This was not her home.
She was only here because her mother “needed a change.”
Jenna buried her face in her pillow and wept loudly, consumed by an overpowering wave of loneliness and frustration, wishing with all of her heart that someone would comfort her.
one
Dawn crept over the jagged green mountains, and the sunlight slid into the bedroom window of fourteen- year-old Bethany Hamilton.
Bethany groaned, pulling the sheets up over her head as the light bounced off the polished surface of the trophies and mementos that lined her walls.
Her room, like her spirit, reflected the ocean.
Small bottles of shells, collected season after season, sat on the shelf. The size and beauty of them showed progress from a toddler, scooping up tiny treasures from the sand, to a young girl with mask and snorkel, snatching up larger, rarer specimens from their home on the reef, and finally, to a world traveler, bringing home exotic shells from beaches all around the world.
Her CDs, stacked willy-nilly on the shelf and spilling onto the floor, had titles that showed a taste for not only surf-saturated sounds but also for Christian rock.
On a hook near the door hung a selection of bathing suits, each different in color and style but all bearing the logo of Rip Curl, the surf clothing manufacturer that long ago had spotted the girl’s talent and made sure that she had plenty of their product to wear as she surfed.
“Come on, Bethany,” a voice, still full of sleep, mumbled from near the floor. “I hear the surf calling us.”
“We stayed up way too late last night,” Bethany’s muffled voice protested from under the sheets.
“There wasn’t any school to get up for this morning.”
“I never have to get up for school in the morning,” Bethany said.
There was a short pause, and then the voice on the floor replied, “That’s because you’re a home-school geek!”
Bethany dropped the sheets and grinned. “Malia, you’re just jealous because you have to climb on that sweaty ol’ schoolbus that I drive by on my way to surf every morning.”
Suddenly, the room exploded with a flurry of flying pillows as the two girls batted at one another and squealed in mock pain and laughter.
In the midst of the battle, the door burst open and Ginger, Bethany’s Shar-Pei dog, flew into the fray, barking and jumping up and down. Both girls laughed even harder.
Breathing hard, the pillow fight soon calmed down. Moments later, Bethany’s mom, Cheri, popped her head around the corner.
“It’s about time you sleepyheads woke up. I’ve had breakfast ready for a while now — thought you two would be on dawn patrol.”
“Malia made me stay up and watch Master and Commander agai
n. She’s in love with one of the lieutenants.”
“I’m sure she had to force you,” said Cheri Hamilton with a twinkle in her eye. “Malia, how was the futon?”
“Awesome! But Mrs. Hamilton — did you know Bethany snores?”
“I do not!” protested Bethany.
“You do too!” Malia grinned.
With that, the pillow war started up again.
“Come on, girls, breakfast is waiting. If you don’t hurry, Tim will eat it all,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “And don’t forget to turn off the fans. Our electric bills are high enough as it is.”
“Sure, Mom,” Bethany said in between swats with a pillow.
Within a few minutes, the girls emerged from the bedroom, giggling: Bethany, tall and lanky with a snarled tangle of sun-bleached hair, and Malia, small and thin-boned, with thick black hair and oval-shaped eyes that gave hint to an Asian background. Two normal girls. The only thing that would attract the attention of a stranger would be the empty left sleeve of Bethany’s T-shirt.
It was still strange how in one moment in time — one blink of an eye — her life had changed forever. The fourteen-foot shark that attacked her had quickly severed her left arm, taking a massive bite out of her board before he swam off, leaving her to die. But God had other plans for Bethany.
Bleeding severely from the traumatic wound, a quarter-mile offshore and forty-five minutes from the nearest hospital, Bethany had been blessed by the quick work and calm heads of the Blanchard family — Alana, Byron, and their dad Holt — who “just happened” to be there at the moment she needed someone to save her life.
Soon after that came the media firestorm, and Bethany’s close scrape with death was splashed over every television station and newspaper. But it was her remarkable spirit, coupled with a genuine faith in God, that kept her in the media spotlight, not as a tragic story but as a model of determination and courage.
Within a month of the attack, Bethany overcame her fears and surfed again. Not only did she relearn the art of surfing, but she went on to win contests.