by Cruise, Anna
I reached for the pen and scrawled my name on both 'zines, said a quick goodbye and hopped in to the passenger seat of Gina's car.
“How did I do?” I asked as she pulled out of the hotel parking lot and on to PCH.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Well, you didn't punch them or try to sleep with either of them, so I'd say alright.”
I laughed. “I'll take that as a positive.”
She didn't look at me and didn't respond but I saw the answering smile spread across her face. She reached out and turned the volume down on the car stereo. An Offspring song, a song I liked, the kind of song I didn't think she would listen to. But what did I know about the dark-haired chick sitting next to me in the car? The only thing I knew was that she'd been hired to fix me. Not her choice in music.
I turned my attention back to the road. “You know, I could have walked here.”
We were already turning into the parking lot of the park. The beach was already full of people. A battered yellow school bus was parked in the lot, filled with middle-school aged kids. The driver stood at the base of the steps, motioning for the kids to get off. Another adult, probably a teacher, exited first, hauling an armful of boogie boards.
She pulled into a reserved parking space and cut the engine. “I know.”
I got out of the car. “Could have saved you the trip. And the tenth of a gallon of gas you just used.”
She reached around to the backseat and grabbed her briefcase. “You don't go anywhere without me, remember?”
I remembered. She'd made that crystal clear before she'd left me in the hotel lobby yesterday. I'd been given firm instructions. Surf the finals. Smile on the podium, regardless of whether I won or lost. And only give an interview with Mark or Bruce in attendance. I'd listened.
I opened the passenger door and stepped out on the pavement. The air was already warm, not a cloud in the sky. A light onshore breeze, smallish waves with clean breaks. Not my gig for surfing—I'd have scoped it for about thirty seconds before turning around and scouting a new location. But for gremmies fresh in the water? We'd be good.
Gina fell into step next to me. She wore a pair of khaki shorts that hid too much of her legs and a red polo that somehow matched the exact shade of her lips. Her hair was down, loose, and the breeze picked up locks of it, tossing and teasing it. She had a file in her hand and she flipped it open as we walked toward the beach.
There was a small perimeter roped off and around this, a group of reporters had already gathered. I recognized a few: people from the local news stations and some reporters from magazines and newspapers. Thankfully, Lindsay from ESPN was not there. I was sure she would have had some choice words for me.
“Clinic starts at eleven,” Gina said. “We'll go until twelve-thirty or so. Break for lunch. You'll give interviews at that time. With me,” she added. “We'll have you get back out in the water at one-thirty, spend a couple more hours in the water with the kids. We should be wrapped up by four o'clock.”
“That's five hours.”
She nodded. “Yes. I'm aware.”
I didn't want to spend five hours teaching kids how to surf and schmoozing the press. I just wanted to get the hell out of Huntington and head back down the coast to my place, the place I called home for now.
I glanced back at the bus. At least twenty kids had filed off the bus and were standing in the parking lot, looking completely uneasy and out of place. They were inner city kids, mostly Latinos and blacks, and I wondered if any of them had ever gone swimming in the ocean, much less tried out a surfboard.
“Is anyone helping?” I asked Gina.
She'd slipped out of her shoes—a pair of black, heeled sandals—so she could navigate the sand. Her pink toenails disappeared as her feet sank into the sand.
“Helping?”
I nodded my head in the direction of the bus. “That's a lot of kids.”
“You saying you need help?” she asked. “You can't handle it?”
“I never said that.”
She smiled. “Relax. You're taking them out in groups of four. We have three adults who'll be out in the water with you. Helping. Making sure the kids don't drown out there.”
I froze and Gina's eyes widened.
She covered her hand with her mouth. “Oh shit.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. That was an awful thing to say. I'm sorry.”
Before I could stop them, the images came flooding back. I stood there on the sand, my eyes closed, and let them come. Not because I wanted them but because I knew I didn't have a choice. Scanning the waves at Mavericks, looking for Jay. Not seeing him. Unease settling in the pit of my stomach, morphing into full-blown panic when his wave closed out on him and he didn't reappear. Paddling toward where I'd last seen him, my arms limp and heavy with exhaustion, diving under the waves over and over, searching. Treading water, the salty ocean water indistinguishable from the tears stinging my eyes. Hearing the shouts from the cliffs, seeing the fingers pointing, my heart threatening to hammer out of my chest as I headed in the direction they pointed.
“Kellen.”
I opened my eyes. Gina stood so close to me I could touch her. Her face was tilted upward and her eyes were flooded with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked.
No. I was a fucking mess. I started to respond, to shake my head and tell her no, I couldn't do this, when she reached out and touched my cheek. Her fingers were soft, cool, and she caressed my skin lightly, as soft as a feather. I reached up and gripped her hand. I didn't push her away but held on tight, fighting to get myself under control.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to be so...so insensitive.”
I took a deep breath and stepped back and her hand fell away. “It's fine,” I said. It wasn't but I had to pretend. Just like I had been for the last six months.
Gina frowned. “It was a shitty thing to say. And I'm sorry.”
“It's fine,” I repeated. I breathed in deeply one more time, letting the ocean air work its magic on me. It still had that effect of calming me down, of soothing me, despite the mix of memories it held for me. “Let's get started.”
She started to say something, then stopped. She adjusted her sunglasses, her pointer finger wiping below one of the lenses before she glanced down at the file she was holding and continued walking.
We made our way to the roped-off area and Gina introduced me to a few people. I tried to pay attention but I'd checked out. Made my mind a complete blank. I nodded and shook hands, paying no attention to names or the people they were attached to. It didn't matter who these guys were; I'd never see them again after the clinic, anyway.
“And this is Barry,” Gina said. “He's the director of Bridging the Gap.”
My face must have registered a blank expression because Gina widened her eyes and added, “You know, the organization we're working with today.”
I forced a smile on to my face and shook his hand. Barry was a middle-aged Hispanic guy with thick black hair and a slew of gold chains around his neck. He wore a white polo with the organization's logo on the front in tiny red letters, a pair of black shorts and loafers I was sure were full of sand. There should have been a rule about wearing shoes on the beach.
“This is a good thing you're doing, man,” Barry said, his voice accented heavily. “These boys, they don't know nothin' about surfing.”
I nodded. The kids were descending on to the beach, towels looped around their necks, sporting gold necklaces similar to Barry's. A couple of them wore board shorts but most were dressed in cut-off jeans, their boxers hanging out, their torsos lean and thin. They eyed me, a mixture of curiosity and indifference. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to; it was how most of my competitors looked at me, too.
“They won't know nothing by the time I'm done,” I told him.
Barry grinned, exposing a gold-capped front tooth. “They may give you shit out there in the water. They don't mean no harm. These boys...they're not used to people wanting to help th
em. You dig?”
I nodded. “I can take it.”
Gina motioned to a few other people, guys she'd already introduced me to whose names I had forgotten. They approached cautiously, like I was some uncaged wild animal. I offered a smile and they smiled back nervously. They looked like college kids. Blond, like me, but clean-cut, like they spent their time at school instead of on the beach.
“They'll be out in the water with you,” she said. She pointed to the left. “We have boards over there. The boys have already been instructed not to touch them unless given permission by you.”
I turned my attention back to the water. The break was still small, steady 2-3 foot waves rolling in softly. The wind was gentle enough that there was no chop. I scanned the break, looking for rip currents. None to see but it was low tide, which meant there was a greater likelihood one would materialize.
“These guys swim?” I asked.
Barry nodded. “They've done swim lessons at the Boys & Girls club. Not much ocean action.”
“Alright,” I said. I studied the group of boys and was grateful that they were all dark-haired and dark-skinned. I wouldn't see Jay's blond hair or hazel eyes in any of them while we were out on the water. “Let's do this.”
ELEVEN
“You did a good job.”
I finished toweling off my hair and said nothing.
Gina smiled from her spot on the beach. After talking with a few reporters and spectators, she'd settled down on the sand, her shoes and briefcase next to her. I hadn't paid much attention to her while I'd been out in the water. I'd been too focused on the kids bobbing up and down in the waves next to me, their indifference morphing into enthusiasm after their first taste of getting on the board.
We'd started slowly. Giving each kid a chance to straddle the board, to lay down on it and ride a wave into shore. After realizing no one would ever get a chance to try to stand if we continued on with just one board in the water, I'd body surfed in and grabbed two more boards, tucking them under my arms and hauling them back out past the break. My helpers, the college-kids, had balked at first but I'd shown them how to hold the board and how to help the kids up into a prone position. After our lunch break—lukewarm pizza from a local joint and bottles of even warmer Gatorade—I'd switched tactics. Instead of having a group out in the water, I'd taken them out, one at a time, for an individualized surf session. More than half got to a standing position after their first try and were able to successfully stay upright for a few seconds before slipping off and into the water.
“And you didn't have to stay,” she said.
I rubbed the towel against my hair and across my face. Sand dug into my skin and the salt water stung my eyes. But it felt good. Normal. What I was used to. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at her watch. “It's almost five-thirty. We were supposed to end at four.”
“Yeah, well, they weren't done.”
None of the kids had wanted to leave when four o'clock rolled around. Barry had looked at me, his eyebrows raised, and I'd just shrugged.
“You cool with staying?” he'd asked.
I'd nodded and the kids erupted into cheers. And we'd stayed.
“Still,” she said, smiling. “You didn't have to stay.”
I sank on to the sand next to her. “I know.”
The beach was mostly deserted. The reporters and spectators had left soon after lunch. They'd gotten their fill of watching me out in the water, coaching and coaxing the kids up on to the boards. When they realized they weren't going to see me do much of anything except stand in waist-deep water and propel surfboards toward shore, they'd quickly lost interest.
And I'd relaxed. With the reporters and the cameras gone, I'd loosened up a little. The breaks were small, the rip currents nonexistent and I somehow managed to not even think about Jay. All I thought about were these punks on the water, punks like me who, despite their reservations and their cool exteriors, were just as thrilled to catch their first wave at twelve as I'd been when I was eight.
“I spoke to the reps from the papers and Surfer magazine. The local NBC affiliate was going to run the story tonight. The early news.” She looked at her watch again. “I'm pretty sure we already missed it.”
“Okay.”
She was quiet for a moment. She stared out at the water, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I'll talk to Mark and Gavin tonight. Give them a full report.”
“Okay.”
She hesitated. “And we should talk about your next appearance.”
“Okay.”
“Jesus,” she said with such force that I turned to look at her. She'd shifted so that she was facing me. She'd pulled her hair back at some point and a low ponytail hung down her back. Her cheeks were flushed but not from embarrassment. She'd gotten sunburned.
“What?”
“Do you have anything else to say besides okay? Anything with more than two syllables?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You just said six words. Single word responses.” She rolled her eyes. “I don't know. Tell me how it was out there. Tell me how stupid it was. Argue with me about your next appearance.”
“You want me to argue with you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I really don't.”
I stared at her. She was confusing the hell out of me.
“I just want you to snap out of it,” she said.
“Out of what?”
“Out of your funk.” She sighed again and plunged her hand into the sand, scooping up a handful of grains. “Out of the funk I caused.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She spread her fingers and the sand trickled out, the evening sun reflecting off it, the grains shimmering like crystals. The polish on her fingernails didn't match the polish on her toes. It was red like her shirt. Like her lips.
“My comment,” she said. “About...about Jay.”
“You didn't say anything about Jay,” I reminded her.
“I know, I know,” she said. She reached for another handful. “But it was there. That stupid comment.”
“I'm fine,” I said. “Shook me for a minute. But I got over it.”
“I know you did,” she said, her voice soft. “I saw you out there. Working with those kids. It was like nothing else in the world existed. Just you and them and the water.”
“Pretty much.”
She'd nailed it. It was the reason I could still surf, the reason I could still bring myself to get back into the water every day. It wasn't a choice for me. The ocean was an extension of myself, the only place where I could find solace and peace. And even though I'd lost my best friend to it, I couldn't let it go, couldn't turn my back on it. I couldn't exist without it.
“Anyway,” she said, brushing her hands on her shorts. “I just wanted to apologize. And to tell you that you did a good job out there.”
“You've apologized enough,” I said. “And it was fine. Easier than I thought. So just chill out.”
We were quiet for a minute. I gazed out at the water, at the white clouds hanging above the ocean, trying to stamp out the sun as it dipped toward the horizon. Seagulls squawked overhead, their cries shrill, and a shorebird flitted close to the water line, pecking at something invisible along the sand.
“Why'd you say you don't like kids?”
I glanced at her. She'd pushed her sunglasses on to her head and I noticed that her nose was sunburnt, too. “Because I don't.”
“You seemed to like those kids just fine,” she said.
“Those kids were cool.”
“So you don't like uncool kids?”
“Right.”
“And you make that judgment how?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
I started to say something, then just laughed. I knew I couldn't win. “Whatever.”
She smiled. “You're better with kids than you think. I'll try to schedule a couple more things like this over the course of the month.”
“Alr
ight,” I said, leaning back in the sand. I was tired. Relaxed. This surprised me. I always felt like a tightly wound coil, ready to burst. The only thing that soothed me was the water. And when I wasn't in the ocean? Drinking. I was doing neither of those things. “So what's next?”
The smile faded. “Tomorrow night. Probably going to be a little tougher.”
“Why's that?”
“Because you're going to be surrounded by girls,” she said. “And you won't be hooking up with a single one of them.”
For some reason, her comment got to me. “You know, it takes two to tango,” I said. “It's not just me putting the moves on every single chick I see.”
And it wasn't. I couldn't remember the last time I'd hit on a girl. Part of me knew it was because I didn't have to. More often than not, there was a line of them ready to go, mine for the choosing. But I'd never had the desire to. Not recently, anyway. Every hook-up I'd had over the last six months, I'd been coaxed into. And before that? There hadn't been many. Jay had seen to that. He'd always harped on me about focus, about paying attention to what was important.
“Wow, congrats on using a saying my great-grandfather might relate to,” Gina said. “No one 'tangos' anymore. But yes, I do know what you mean. So let me rephrase. You won't be hitting on a single woman in the room. If they make advances toward you, you will decline. Politely. No matter how hot they are or what they offer you.”
“What does this have to do with me getting in a fight?” I asked, confused.
“Nothing,” she said, glancing at me. “It has to do with your rep as a womanizer. As someone who doesn't exactly treat women with respect.”
“Well, that's just bullshit,” I said, irritated. “I've never done anything like that.”
Gina held up a hand. “Never said you did. And I'm not saying the rep is accurate. I'm just telling you what it is. The perception is that you treat girls like crap. We need to fix that.”
I didn't say anything. I didn't treat girls like crap. If I did, I would have led on Ch with empty promises and snuck in one last fuck before leaving the hotel room. If I did, I would have forgotten about going back to Mercy's hotel room and pulled her into the bathroom to let her blow me there. I didn't do that shit. Other guys did. Not me. I might have had a rep for sleeping around but at least I was honest about what I was doing. The chicks usually weren't—not even with themselves—but I was. I didn't womanize and I didn't disrespect them. They disrespected themselves.