Clash

by Rick Bundschuh Bethany Hamilton

  She felt like she might just have a future — and a hope.

  Jenna had only been gone a few moments when Bethany and Monica showed up at the smoothie shack.

  “This place is cool,” Monica said, looking around.

  “Hey guys! Ready to be blown away by my ultimate smoothies?” Malia asked as soon as they plunked down on their stools.

  “I brought you another victim, didn’t I?” Bethany shot back. Malia grinned wickedly.

  “Hey, you’ll never guess what I saw earlier,” Bethany went on. “The same car from the shopping center. You know . . . the one where that girl was going off on her mom. And guess what? The girl is still going off today.”

  “She was here,” Malia said.

  “Who?”

  “That girl you heard yelling at her mom.”

  “No way! She didn’t go off on you, did she, for not putting the straw deep enough in the smoothie or something?” Bethany winked at Monica, but Malia frowned.

  “She actually seems kinda nice. What’s really funny is she’s the same girl we met on the beach the other day — the one with the mosquito bites.”

  “Hmm. Maybe she was nice to you,” Bethany said. “But in my book really nice people don’t scream and yell at other people, especially their parents.”

  “Well, that’s easy for you to say. Don’t you remember what Tim said? Maybe she just hasn’t been taught by parents like yours.” Malia looked Bethany in the eye. “My parents aren’t saints, either, remember?”

  “But you didn’t hear the stuff that girl was saying!” Bethany argued, avoiding her friend’s stare. “I just can’t imagine how anyone could treat her mother that way. I mean, I know it happens. I just don’t like it, and I’m not really all fi red up about hanging out with someone like that. Now how about that smoothie?”

  Malia shrugged and pointed to the menu board. “Take your pick,” she said. “Anyhow, I invited her to come to the surf contest on Saturday.”

  “O — kay,” said Bethany slowly, sensing there was more to the story.

  “And . . . well . . . see, I said that maybe we could give her some lessons,” Malia admitted almost apologetically.

  “We?” Bethany said incredulously. “You got a mouse in your pocket?”

  Monica laughed.

  “Come on!” Malia said. “You’re always giving surf lessons to someone . . . even to the kookiest people.”

  “We’re surfing in that contest, Malia!”

  “Yeah, I know, but there’s always a lot of free time after our heats.”

  “Why did you commit me?” Bethany asked fi nally.

  “Because she met you, she heard about you, you were friendly to her,” Malia reminded her with a pleading look.

  “That was before I saw what she was really like,” Bethany replied. “Besides, you don’t need my help, you can teach her yourself. After all, she’s your friend.”

  Malia sensed something odd in the way Bethany said that last line, but she decided to shrug it off. Bethany was not the type to get jealous if other friends came into the picture, but she was very careful about what kind of friends she chose to hang out with herself.

  Monica, who had been listening to the exchange between Malia and Bethany, decided to add her two cents’ worth.

  “Malia, I know that you and Bethany are always picking up strays and dragging them around with you, but you’ve gotta remember that we’ve got to keep the Hanalei Girls Surf Team special!”

  “I’m not saying to make her part of the team or anything,” Malia protested. “I’m just trying to be helpful to a new kid on the island.”

  “Yeah, well, if you start giving some kid surf lessons, the next thing you know she’ll want to hang out with us all the time, and we don’t even know her.”

  “And I’m not sure I want to know her,” tossed in Bethany. “The stray Malia found seems to have fleas.”

  “Just be careful who you invite to hang out with us,” Monica added.

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll just play it by ear,” said Malia, stung by the less than charitable reaction from her friends. “So, what kind of smoothie magic do you want me to mix up for you?”

  “I dunno. They all look so good!” said Monica. “How am I supposed to decide?”

  Jenna’s mom showed up late to pick her up at the beach. Instead of getting mad about it — or bringing up the boyfriend deal — Jenna brushed it off, feeling the new bounce in her step as she made her way over to the car.

  “Good day in spite of the rain?”

  “Way better than I expected!” Jenna said with a wide smile — a smile that she hoped would call a truce between them. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Mom, can I go to a surf contest this Saturday?”

  “Well, if you get your chores done and if you promise not to go out too far — ”

  “Mom! I’m not five years old anymore!” Jenna said, exasperated. She paused and then tiptoed on thin ice. “And I’d really like a new bathing suit.”

  “What’s wrong with your old one?!”

  “Nothing, really. I . . .” Jenna frowned. “They just wear different stuff than we did back in Arizona.” Her mom pursed her lips, staring straight ahead as she drove.

  “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

  “Please, Mom? Please? I’ll even work for it if you want.”

  “Well,” her mom said, glancing over as a small smile formed on her lips, “let’s see how much they are when we get to town.”

  “Okay,” Jenna said eagerly, “but I think you have to buy them at a surf shop, and there’s a surf shop just up the road.”

  As the car pulled onto the highway, Jenna caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror. It was an image she hadn’t seen in awhile. It was a girl smiling.

  five

  Bethany couldn’t help smiling. After a couple days of rain, the sun had crawled out from behind the clouds, the trade winds wound down, and the island returned to the warm, sunny paradise made famous on so many postcards. It was awesome surfing weather.

  Floating on the water, she felt her excitement build as she spotted the large swell coming toward her. While most girls tended to back away from bigger surf, she came alive in it. Bethany waited for the perfect moment and then pitched herself over the face of the wave, using gravity to sweep her down the wave as she simultaneously sprang to her feet.

  Moments later, she shot forward toward shore in an impressive spray of white water that seemed to glint like diamonds in the bright sun. What an awesome day! she thought happily.

  Bethany was so relieved that she didn’t have to work out in the rain again. She was even more relieved when she saw Monica waving at her from her beach cruiser in the parking lot. Bethany had been training like crazy for the contest and was looking forward to taking a little break.

  She also needed someone to talk to. Malia had been working so much they hadn’t had a chance to get together, so Bethany had been left to deal with her thoughts by herself. Not fun.

  After quickly packing her surf gear in the back of her mom’s van, Bethany and Monica were off, pedaling their beach cruisers down the coconut palm-tree-lined road that led to Hanalei Bay Pier. Glimpses of turquoise water flashed past them between the rows of expensive homes.

  “Wouldn’t it be great to live in one of these houses?” Monica said dreamily.

  “Yeah, until a tsunami came,” Bethany answered wryly. “Remember the story of the house built on sand?”

  “Sure, I remember that story, but the guy had a great view while it lasted,” Monica laughed.

  The bikes wheeled down a bumpy little path and then onto the concrete deck of the pier. Along the edge of the pier, old men and women with brown wrinkled faces hidden under large floppy hats fished with cane poles. At the end of the pier was a large roofed pavilion with a stainless steel ladder reaching down into the water. In a former life, the pier had been a hub of shipping activity, but now it served primarily as a tourist attraction and viewpoint for those wan
ting to watch beginners catch the small waves that brushed under its pilings.

  Most island children saw the pier as a launch pad and would jump together in groups, laughing wildly as they cannonballed into the warm ocean only to scramble back up the ladder and do it again.

  Bethany and Monica laid their bikes down at the end of the pier and stared into the water.

  “Look!” Bethany pointed. “Hammerheads!”

  Sure enough, baby hammerhead sharks, about a foot in length, darted in and out of the pilings.

  “That’s nuts!” said Monica.

  “Haven’t you ever seen them before? They’re here a lot,” Bethany said.

  “They’re too small to hurt you, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, right now they’re way more afraid of you than you should be of them. Give them a few years to grow and it will be the other way around.”

  “I wonder where their mommy is?”

  “Sharks don’t make good moms; they give birth and swim off,” Bethany said thoughtfully as she stared down into the water. “The mom is probably a long way away.”

  “I hope so,” Monica said, glancing back at Bethany.

  “I hope so too.”

  “And all those guys,” Monica said, pointing to the surfers in the water, “really hope so.”

  “Did you know that sharks eat other sharks?”

  “No. Why would they do that?”

  “Cannibals,” Bethany said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “They’ll even eat their own family and friends.”

  “Sharks have friends?”

  “Uh, no, I guess not.” Bethany laughed. “But if they did, they would eat them.”

  The girls stared silently at the small sharks for a while, and as they did, Bethany felt troubled thoughts swirl through her mind again. She looked up at her friend.

  “Monica, I think we have to be careful that we don’t make our hui so tight that we hurt other people.”

  “What do you mean?” Monica said in surprise. “You aren’t saying that we should just let any poser or wannabe hang out with us?”

  “I don’t know exactly what I’m saying,” Bethany answered. She suddenly felt an uncomfortable feeling — kind of like a nudge. She sighed and went on. “I mean, I really value having close friendships with all my friends in the Hanalei Girls Surf Team, but I think we have to be really careful. Maybe we should be more open to people that God would want us to invite in.”

  “What if God wanted us to invite everyone into our crew?” Monica asked, narrowing her eyes a little.

  “I don’t know if he would ask that, but if he did, I don’t think we would have much choice.”

  “Are you trying to include that friend of Malia’s into our group? The girl doesn’t even surf! I would rather invite Brooke from the south side.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. I just think that even though we’ve gotta keep our friendship tight, we gotta still be willing to be friendly and make friends with other people.”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Monica.

  “I dunno. I can’t explain it, but it’s like I keep getting this feeling the past two days that I can’t get rid of — like God’s trying to talk — but I haven’t been listening.”

  Bethany frowned, suddenly feeling confused and more than a little embarrassed under Monica’s sharp stare. “Or something like that . . .”

  The bike ride home was a scenic one but a quiet one too, as the girls bounced along unpaved roads under huge canopies of bright green trees, both lost in their thoughts.

  At the entrance to a golf course they parted company, and Bethany started the short pedal to her home while Monica had the longer trek to the condominiums she lived in up the road.

  Bethany still felt troubled, but she decided for the time being to force their conversation to the back of her mind. She had Saturday’s contest to think about, after all . . . and what was more important than that?

  six

  Early Saturday morning the promoters were already setting up the judging tents, and vendors were staking out their sections of the beach and parking lot where they would be selling food, beverages, and souvenirs to the crowd.

  Soon a long procession of cars, with surfboards stacked on their roofs, made their way to the Pine Trees parking lot. The water quickly filled with contestants getting in practice runs, while the beach sprouted umbrellas and sand chairs like multicolored mushrooms. Cars pulled up and dropped off spectators and contestants alike, who were prepared for the day with ice chests, beach chairs, and surf gear.

  A few miles away, the Hamilton household was on full alert.

  In the garage, Bethany’s dad, Tom, was selecting the right surfboards from a quiver of water vehicles. Having a backup board was essential in the event of changing surf conditions or board breakage.

  Noah checked and rechecked his camera gear and unplugged oversized camcorder batteries from their charger and stuffed them into a backpack. His role, with help from Tim, would be to take pictures and video of Bethany’s surfing. The images from this contest would go to sponsors and on his sister’s website, and they would provide Bethany with footage to polish her style.

  Tim hauled ice chests to the car that his mom had filled with every conceivable goodie. Hawaiians follow a “my ice chest, your ice chest” tradition, meaning whatever you bring to the beach is fair game for all your friends and acquaintances. Bethany’s mom had packed accordingly.

  Meanwhile, Bethany debated about what to wear from a number of bathing suits that had been donated to her by a sponsor. At the last minute she decided on a red, white, and blue combination and ran into the bathroom to change as her dad hollered from the van to hurry up.

  Nothing like rushing me when I’m nervous, she thought as she scrambled out of the house and into the van.

  Soon the Hamilton crew, surrounded by surfboards, ice chests, camera gear, and beach chairs, clattered across the small single-car bridge that marked the entrance to the Hanalei valley.

  Bethany heard her dad breathe a heavy sigh of relief as they finally escaped the mass exodus of traffic by pulling into the driveway of a family friend.

  “Cheri, which one is our firstborn? Because I think we should give him to the McCoys for letting us park here.”

  “It’s a small price for a good parking space,” her mom grinned.

  “The least we could do,” Bethany added, trying to sound innocent — until she winked at Noah and everyone laughed.

  Before the family exited the car, Dad held up his hand. “Hey! Before everything gets going, let’s pray.” Bethany lowered her head with the rest of her family.

  “Lord,” their dad prayed, “we give this whole event to you. If your name will be glorified by Bethany doing well in the contest, we ask for your help for her, and if your name will be honored better by her losing, we will be happy with that as well. We ask for safety for all those taking part today. In the name of your son, Jesus, amen!”

  “Amen,” echoed all the voices in the van.

  The family quickly loaded their arms with gear and began their slow migration to the beach. Bethany, a single surfboard under her arm, looked over at her brother Tim, who struggled under the burden of several surfboards and an ice chest.

  “Hey, Tim, there are times when having only one arm really pays off!”

  Tim only grunted in return.

  Once the family had established a spot on the sand, Bethany walked over to the registration table, signed in, and picked up her complimentary T-shirt. She would be surfing a bit later in the day in a heat with a friend and a couple of girls from the south side of the island.

  Malia, along with a number of other girls, drifted on to the beach, and soon the Hamilton location became an encampment for all the Hanalei Girls Surf Team.

  “Hurry, Mom!” Jenna shouted to the closed bathroom door. “I don’t want to be late!”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” said the muffled voice of her mom. “You ought to be happy that I’m getting
up early to drop you off at the beach before I go to work.”

  Jenna caught sight of her image in the hall mirror and frowned slightly.

  Like most people her age, she was not entirely pleased with what she observed. She really liked her new neon blue and green swimsuit. But she wished her hair wasn’t so red and her skin didn’t look so . . . white. Her critique of her body would have continued right down to her toes, but the bathroom door opened and her mom came out and said, “Okay, let’s go!”

  Following the surfboard-laden cars across the Hanalei Bridge, Jenna’s mom found Pine Tree Beach easily. Jenna quickly exited the car and waved goodbye to her mother.

  The beach was alive with activity and color. Bright pennants, with the names of sponsoring companies emblazoned upon them, drifted high above the tents in the gentle breeze as tanned men and women, surfboards under their arms, swarmed over the beach.

  Suddenly, an air horn sounded, and four men wearing colored Lycra jerseys and holding surfboards bounded toward the water. The surf meet was on.

  Jenna stood wide-eyed, taking it all in.

  Bethany glanced up briefly at the sound of the air horn and then bent over to finish stretching her hamstrings. She and her friends had hiked farther down the crescent bay to a location out of the contest area in order to tune up and practice for their upcoming heats.

  Doing stretching exercises on the hard sand was the first step, and the girls, although young and limber, took this part of the routine seriously. Even a slight injury could mean the difference between winning and losing in a contest with aggressive and talented competitors.

  A small rectangle of wax was passed around, and the girls scraped it over the top of their surfboards in order to create an uneven surface so they wouldn’t slip off.

  Leashes were fastened. Those who planted their right foot in the back of their stance put their leash on that foot. Those who favored their left foot or “goofy foot,” as Bethany did, hooked the leash on that one.

  The rolling whitewater grabbed at the knees of the girls as they waded into deeper water. Unlike many places in Hawaii, the Pine Trees area had a smooth sandy bottom completely free of reef or rocks.