The bedcovers still display the poster for The Endless Summer, although my posters have moved to the basement, along with both of my guitars. The walls are my favorite shade of teal, almost identical to the board Sawyer gave me, which is now propped up against the wall in the corner. Julia’s artwork is displayed not only on the board, but around several rooms of my house. A painting of roses practically interchangeable with the ones on the board hangs beside a few photo frames in the living room on the wall to the left from the entry.
Sawyer hangs on the door frame and glances around the room. “Looks good,” he states. “Are you done? Because we’ve got a few things we need your help with outside.”
“Yeah, I’ve just got one more box and it’s for the bathroom,” I reply, standing and toting said box across the hall. The bathroom is a coral pink, with a white sink, toilet and bathtub, and it’s small enough that it only takes me a few minutes to get my stuff put away. “Done,” I state, picking up the box and throwing it in the trash. He smiles deviously and I raise an eyebrow at him.
I follow him back out, but this time, he leads me past my car to his dad’s car, a silver Chevy that Sawyer doesn’t usually drive. McKayla leans up against the side of the car, waiting for us. “Okay, what’s the one thing you told me you wanted and your new house wouldn’t be complete without?”
“Uh,” I say, unsure. “Your sister’s artwork?”
“Nope,” he rejects.
“A movie theater?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“The original Starry Night painting by Van Gogh?”
“Not even close.”
“I’m lost here, Sawyer,” I give up.
“Alright, open the door, Mac,” Sawyer instructs. She does so and he reaches in for something I can’t see, but I can hear. Something gives a little tiny “yip!” and I gasp as Sawyer straightens up again, holding a little brown, white and black Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in his arms. “Oh my gosh!” I exclaim, my hand automatically clapping over my mouth.
“She’s a little girl, only seven weeks old,” Sawyer informs. “And she doesn’t have name yet.”
“Where did you find her?” I ask, petting her silky fur.
“A friend of mine works at the pet shelter over on the other side of the island and Julia wanted to get a cat,” he explains. “So we were already planning to go that day you told us you were staying. That’s why I called you to ask what kind of dog you’d want. When I saw her, I knew she had to be yours.”
“She’s mine?” I repeat incredulously.
“She’s yours,” he answers, smiling.
“She’s perfect,” I state happily. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” he laughs, handing her to me. “So, any name ideas?”
“Not a clue.” I pet the squirmy little ball of fuzz and she licks my chin, making me laugh.
“What about Jane?” Mac suggests. “After one of your favorite authors, Jane Austen, and one of your favorite characters, Jane Thompson, from Three Hours Too Soon.”
“Jane,” I echo. “I like it.”
“Jane it is, then,” Sawyer agrees.
“Thank you,” I repeat to Sawyer, planting a small kiss on his cheek.
“You’re welcome,” he answers. I set Jane down on the grass and hold tightly to her leash as she excitedly sniffs the dirt. She looks back at me with her big brown eyes and starts running around my feet.
It turns out that Sawyer got everything she’d need already, so he starts carrying in her crate and some toys, while McKayla and I take her around the back to the yard, which, thankfully, is already fenced in. “Jane!” I call, getting down in the dirt to play with her. “Come here, Jane!” She looks at me for second, then runs up to my lap as I pat the ground.
“She’s all settled,” Sawyer announces a minute later, appearing from inside. “Her kennel is in the basement.”
“Perfect,” I say. I ruffle Jane’s floppy ears and scratch her head. “I need to get moving on dinner.”
“Fajitas!” Sawyer exclaims in a somewhat Mexican accent. I laugh. “To the kitchen!”
Sawyer and Mac take turns helping with dinner and playing with Jane, which sort of qualifies as helping with dinner, because it’s not exactly easy to cook fajitas with an energetic puppy prancing around your heels. Around 5:30, the doorbell rings and Jane races to greet Grammy. “Aw!” she exclaims, seeing the surprise addition to the household.
“Grammy, meet Jane,” I introduce. “Sawyer got her for me.”
“She is adorable!” Grammy gushes, scratching Jane’s ears.
“Where’s Papaw?” I inquire curiously.
“He had to run an errand before he could come,” she replies with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Before I can question her further, the doorbell rings again and the Hensleys enter.
“Hey little one!” Julia cries, dropping to her knees to pet Jane. “She’s gotten so big! What’d you decide to name her?”
“Jane,” I reply.
“Cute,” she compliments, nodding.
“Oh, Andrea,” Melissa sighs. “Your house is so cute! It’s very you.”
“Thanks. I like it,” I reply. I wink at her and she smiles.
“These pictures are good. Who took them?” Daniel inquires, gesturing to the photos hanging on the living room wall.
“Most of them, my friend Amy took. The polaroids are mine, though.” I cross to the wall and glance around, looking for a photo of Amy. “That’s Amy,” I point out, indicating her image in a snapshot of the two of us.
“Cool,” he comments. The doorbell rings yet again and this time, it’s Papaw, carrying a familiar bright pink suitcase under one arm. I say familiar, because that same suitcase has sat in my bedroom in New York for countless sleepovers and weekends together. Behind him trails the very girl I have just shown Daniel.
“Amy!” I cry, dashing to hug her. “What are you doing here?!”
“I couldn’t wait until winter break,” she says. “So I just decided to come!”
“You are crazy,” I laugh. “Everybody, this is Amy, my friend from New York. Amy, that’s Sawyer,” I introduce, pointing each person out. “This is McKayla. You two have met before. You’ve also met my Grammy and Papaw. Then, this is Sawyer’s sister, Julia, his mom Melissa, his dad Eric, and his older brother Daniel.” I give her a wink as I introduce Daniel, who seems to have gone mute since Amy walked in the door. Amy’s mouth falls open ever so slightly.
“Oh, sorry,” Daniel says, shaking his head a bit and holding out his hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Amy replies. Jane starts running around their feet and barking, breaking their trance. “Aw! Who’s this one?”
“That is Jane, my puppy Sawyer got me,” I inform. “Who’s ready to eat?”
“Let’s go!” replies Sawyer. We all gather in a circle and join hands to pray. Papaw says grace.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for Annie and here new home here. We pray your blessing on her home and her relationships, and the same for the rest of us here. We thank you for this food and for the hands that prepared it. In Jesus name we pray, amen.”
As we unlink our hands, I can’t help but notice that Daniel is a little hesitant to let go of Amy’s hand. “They look friendly,” Sawyer comments softly to me. I follow him through the line and dish up my fajitas.
“Well, meeting like normal people probably helps a relationship. You know, as opposed to getting kicked in the eye,” I reply.
He dramatically mimes stabbing himself in the heart, sticking his tongue out to fake his death. “That hurt.”
“You know I’m kidding,” I say, kissing his cheek and taking a seat next to him on the couch.
“I really never thought I would see you do that,” Amy comments.
“Ditto,” Mac agrees.
“What can I say?” I reply. “I found my exception.”
“Exception to what?” D
aniel inquires.
“The exception to my promise that I’d never fall in love,” I explain. “I swore I’d never fall in love, because it didn’t exist. He showed me it does, and I made an exception and fell in love with him.”
“That is the cutest thing ever,” Amy states. Jane barks, reminding us that she is actually the cutest thing ever, and noses my fingers. I pet her small body and continue eating and chatting with the others.
Later, Amy gets settled in the guest room and everyone but she and McKayla go home. I pop the disc for Pride and Prejudice in the player and camp out on the couch. Jane curls up on my lap and falls asleep almost immediately. “You never stop watching this movie, do you?” Mac says.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young woman in possession of a love of literature can never have enough Pride and Prejudice,” I retort.
“Good point,” she laughs, collapsing onto the other side of the couch.
“So, Amy, was I right or was I right?” I question.
“You were right,” she admits, unable to suppress a grin.
“I’m lost,” Mac interrupts. “What are we talking about?”
“I told Amy she would like Daniel,” I fill her in.
“Ohhhh,” she replies understandingly.
“I can’t believe you live here,” Amy says, looking around.
“I don’t either, yet,” I reply, doing the same.
“Well, you’ve got plenty of time to adjust,” Mac laughs. As we watch the movie, I think about what I said to McKayla a few weeks ago about being wrong about Sawyer and love.
So, maybe I was wrong. Most people hate admitting they were wrong. In my case, though, being wrong means that I don’t have to look to stories and music to distract me from life and feel like someone who is loved. It means I am loved, not just by Sawyer, but by my mother and father and all of my friends and family. It means I’ve recognized what was already there for the most part and have accepted what wasn’t there. My life is, in fact, a hundred times better than any girl just getting swept off her feet by a handsome stranger. You think getting swept off your feet is crazy? Try getting kicked in the face. It’s much more interesting. All I know is my life is finally good enough to me.
I’m glad I was wrong.
Twenty-one
“Andrea! How’s your knee?”
“Miss Maverick! How have you prepared for your first ASP competition?”
“How do you respond to making it to the semi-finals?”
“Is it true you’re dating Sawyer Hensley?”
“I can answer that last one,” Sawyer comments off to the side to me. I giggle as he presses his lips to mine.
“Alright lovebirds,” McKayla interrupts and we pull apart. “You’re not here to kiss. You’re here to surf!”
“Heck yeah we are!” Sawyer exclaims, charging for our roped off area. The rest of us follow, “us” being McKayla, Grammy, Papaw, Melissa, Julia, Daniel, Eric and Amy, who is here as part of her Christmas break and a few days after. Oh, and Jane, who is currently entangling Amy’s legs in her leash and yipping at all the excitement around her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 28th Annual Pro Curl!” a commentator announces over the sound system. I tune out the rest of his announcements as I pull on my rash guard (White, number 47) and wax my board. Yep. I’m really at the Pro Curl. And I’m really competing.
Actually, Sawyer and I both made the cut. McKayla decided not to, even though she’s good enough to at least make the competition, because she’s not eighteen yet and she’s planning on going to college next fall and giving up competitive surfing, so she doesn’t want to start a pro career now. My qualifying heat was two days ago and his was the day before that. Yesterday was quarter finals and today is semi finals and, if we make it, finals.
This competition is a little different from the ones earlier this summer in that: 1. Everyone is over eighteen. Some years, seventeen year olds make the cut through an evaluation by the Association of Surfing Professionals, but it’s extremely rare. 2. The divisions are by gender only, instead of gender and age. If you’re good enough to be here, it doesn’t matter how old you are. 3. It’s the major leagues. We’re criticized much more ruthlessly, which makes it harder to get a good score, and I’m up against surfers like Carissa Moore, Stephanie Gilmore and Tyler Wright. Carissa is the defending champion of four ASP competitions, and Stephanie and Tyler are each defending champs of one ASP competition. Long story short, I’m a little jittery.
“Hey,” Sawyer snaps me out of my thoughts, crossing from behind his board to sit down beside me. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t be nervous,” he commands. “You placed seventh yesterday. You were fifteenth in the Oahu Junior before you stole the top spot. That’s eight places lower than you are right now. You’re psyching yourself out.”
“How can you tell I’m nervous?” I inquire, amazed he can tell all this without me saying anything.
“You were extremely concentrated for simply waxing your board,” he explains. “When you’re nervous, you either smack talk and get really defensive, or you get really intense about everything.” He weaves his fingers tightly with mine. “You’re going to be fantastic. Don’t just sit here and worry. Enjoy it! You’re at the Pro Curl!” I laugh, and he playfully shoves my shoulder. I shove him back a little harder and then he knocks me over, jumping up and dashing away from me. I chase after him, not caring that we probably look really childish right now compared to everyone who’s getting their game faces on. He runs around behind me and picks me up, swinging me around.
“Andrea! Come here!” Grammy calls, holding my iPad. Sawyer sets me down and my stomach aches from laughing. I run over towards her and wave at my dad on the screen from over Grammy’s shoulder.
“Hey! There’s my surfer girl!” he exclaims.
“Hey Dad!” I greet. “Are you at the office?”
“Yes, I am. And you know what’s playing in the lounges right now?” he chides.
“What?”
“A certain surf competition that you might be watching too,” he replies. “Check it out!” He turns the camera around and shows me a cluster of employees gathered in the break lounge of the top floor of his office building, watching the Pro Curl coverage.
“Sweet!” I laugh.
“Good luck kiddo!” he wishes. “When you’re on, we’ll be cheering for you!”
“Thanks Daddy!” I respond. “I love you!”
“I love you too! Call me when it’s over!” He hits the “end call” button and almost immediately, they call my heat for semi-finals.
“Remember what we’ve been working on,” Papaw coaches. “Don’t go for the lien alley-oop unless you really need to or you really feel comfortable. Slob airs, stalefish in combos and alley-oops mostly, and make sure to keep your style clean.” I nod.
As soon as I found out I was staying, Papaw and I really upped our game with training and I started working out to build up my legs again after my knee surgery. For about four months now, I’ve been perfecting my hardest moves and practicing the Lien alley-oop, an extremely tough and high-scoring aerial during which a surfer gets four or five feet off the wave and performs a 360° rotation alley-oop while holding her heel-side rail with her left hand. For an alley-oop, a surfer turns and launches off the lip of the wave with the board pointing slightly back and then rotate around to point forward while in the air, landing right on the top of the lip.
The heat begins and three other surfers and I paddle out. I clear my mind of all thoughts of Carissa Moore and all the other pro surfers I’m up against and pretend I’m still just battling it out with Sally Emerson and McKayla. A few waves roll by and I get ready to make the drop on the next one, a monstrous hill of water that’s going to break perfectly. Just as it starts to foam a little bit at the top, I pop up and make a clean bottom turn to get me in good position for a 360° carve, followed up by
a layback. The wave curls over perfectly for an nice little barrel ride, then I kick out.
As I sit up on my board back in the lineup, I hear the commotion on the shore. I ignore them, and get ready for my next wave that comes about a minute later. This one is big enough that I build up some speed and pull an alley-oop, landing back on the perfect spot of the lip and swerving back up to the top for a vertical backhand snap. With a few more carves, I kick out.
I pull out eight more good waves and the horn sounds. As I paddle in, they announce the standings of the heat, but I can’t hear. Sawyer, however, heard and runs towards me as I trudge through the shallow waves onto shore. “What?” I call to him, dropping my board and taking off my leash.
He picks me up and swings me around. Setting me down, he grasps my shoulders and shakes me back and forth excitedly. “You won your heat!” he exclaims. “You’re first in your heat!” My mouth drops open as I grasp his arms and Mac comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
“I’m what?” I ask incredulously.
“You’re first in your heat and fourth over all,” Sawyer informs. “What did I tell you! You’re almost guaranteed a spot in finals!”
“Almost guaranteed,” I repeat. “Not guaranteed.”
“You are only below Carissa, Steph and Tyler,” he counters.
“Yeah, and they could guarantee I don’t place,” I argue.
“Enjoy it. You are fourth at the Pro Curl.”
I lay back and relax until the heats are over. Sawyer ends semi-finals in fourth and only one person, a girl named Lacey Meinel scores higher than me, so I finish the round in fifth. Right from there, I start run back towards the water and wait for signal to begin the race. “Annie!” Sawyer calls, jogging towards me. “Remember: You’ve got this. You’re every bit as good as they are. You just have to show it.” He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Good luck. I love you.”
The Only Exception Page 14