“Pleasure to meet you,” I tell them.
“Don’t you just love her accent?” says a girl named Bree. “Do you say good day too?”
I sort of roll my eyes, then give it to her correctly. “G’day, mates.” This seems to amuse them, and I wonder if they’re always this easy to please or if they’re simply blotto.
“You’re a surfer?” asks a sandy-haired guy. I think his name is Clayton, and I have to admit he’s cute.
“I haven’t been for quite a while,” I confess. “But I thought I’d give it a shot today. Reckon I can’t make too much of a fool of myself.” I nod down to my tankini, which is solidly in place and probably has far more fabric than what all the other girls are wearing put together. “At least I should be able to keep my top on out there.”
This makes them laugh and makes me feel a bit more at ease.
“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” asks Vanessa.
“Still in the Jeep.”
“Well, bring it down here and join us,” she commands. “We’re trying to get up a volleyball team for later on, and we want you on our side.”
So I plop my board down and trudge back to the Jeep to retrieve the rest of my beach things. I feel a bit self-conscious as I pass by Felicia again, afraid she might announce how her little sister also has the rest of the Tommy stuff that I’m sporting today. But thankfully she seems fairly occupied with Wyatt and another guy, and I make it past them without any new jabs.
“What are you drinking, Hannah?” Bryce asks as I drop my stuff in the sand, then sit in the chair they’ve pulled up next to Vanessa. “I was just about to go back for another round.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . .” I say. “Just a lemony sort of soda, I think.”
He nods and takes off. Then I lean over to Vanessa and sniff her drink. “What is that?” I whisper.
“Just a wine cooler,” she admits. “You won’t tell the parental units, will you?”
I shake my head no and look longingly out to the waves. “Has anyone gone surfing yet?” I ask, probably too eagerly.
“Not yet. We usually just sort of hang out and chill for a while. Then it gets livelier, and before long you’ve got surfing and volleyball and it’s pretty fun.”
“You mean after you’ve all had a few drinks.”
“It’s not just about drinking, Hannah.” She scowls and lowers her voice. “You’re not going to act like the goody-goody missionary girl, now are you?”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m just curious as to how it all works.”
“Here you go, ladies.” Bryce hands us both a drink, then sits down again, popping open a fresh beer for himself and taking a long swig.
Vanessa pours the remains of her old drink into the new one, then drops the empty cup in the sand. I take a sip of what I assume is lemon squash with ice, then stop. “What’s in this?” I ask Bryce.
“Didn’t you say a lemony drink?”
I nod and then sniff my drink. “Is it alcohol?”
He laughs. “Sorry, Hannah. I figured you meant like a lemon drop or something, but the bar selection’s kind of limited. That’s a club soda with a shot of lemon schnapps in it.”
“Is that alcohol?” I ask again.
“The schnapps is alcohol. You want me to get you something else?”
I consider this, then take another experimental drink. “No,” I tell him. “I’ll give this a try.”
“Good for you,” says Vanessa with obvious relief.
Even so, I don’t think it tastes very good, and after a few sips, I give up on it and go off in search of a soda myself. I dig through an Esky until I unearth something called Mellow Yellow and decide to give it a shot. It’s not bad, actually, and it doesn’t seem to have any alcohol, or if it does it must be minimal. Then I go back to my chair and sit and listen to the others yabbering, mostly about Bryce’s recent trip to Europe. But I finish my soda and feel so antsy that I’m sure I can’t sit here by the waves for one minute longer. And although there don’t seem to be any other surfers out there, I get the feeling we’re missing some pretty good wave action.
“I’m going to give it a go,” I announce to no one in particular as I get up and pick up my board.
“Good for you,” says Bryce.
I turn and look at him. “You a surfer?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’m not really the athletic type.”
“He’s more the academic type,” offers Vanessa with a smile. “Bryce came really close to being valedictorian for his class this year.”
I nod. “Good on ya.” Then I turn and trudge out to the water’s edge. It’s not as warm as I expected. But I remind myself that it’s not New Guinea either. And in a way, it’s refreshing and seems fairly clean, and it doesn’t take long to get used to it. I wade out, stopping when it gets about waist deep, and then flop down onto the board and start paddling out. Just relax, I tell myself. Maybe no one is looking.
But I hear squeals of laughter, and I naturally assume they’re directed at me as I flop around, falling time and again from my board. After what feels like about an hour and a gallon of ingested sea water, I am ready to give up. But then I see an enticing wave, and for some reason, I think maybe this is the one. So I paddle back out, get the board in position, and the next thing I know I am riding! And then I am squatting. And now I am standing, and I’m feeling what has to be about the coolest feeling in the whole wide world. And I look toward the beach and wonder if anyone — please someone! — is watching. But I can’t tell, and I know I need to stay focused on my balance and this amazing ride. And so I do. And to my extreme pleasure, I ride it all the way until the wave just fades away and I am in the shallow water again.
“Killer ride!” yells a voice from the beach. I push wet hair from my eyes and look up to see Wyatt approaching me with his own board.
I wave and yell thanks. “It’s just getting good,” I say when he’s closer to me.
“I saw you out here taking a beating,” he says as we both push our boards out into the deeper water.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’m pretty rusty. But that last ride gives me hope.” Now I get onto my board, somewhat awkwardly, I’m sure. And the next thing I know he is on his, but he does it in one smooth motion, as if this is something he can do in his sleep.
“Hey, it’s way cool you’re willing to try,” he says as we both paddle out. “Most girls wouldn’t want to get messed up out here.”
I kind of laugh. “Well, I guess I’m not like most girls.”
He turns and smiles at me, and I swear I think I’m melting. I mean, that smile is absolutely killer. Those white teeth, all lined up perfectly straight, shining out of his sun-baked face. And those sparkling eyes, the same color as the ocean. Well, I’m not even sure that I’ll be able to focus on my surfing anymore today.
We paddle for a while, and I’m relieved that he’s not talking. It gives me a chance to gather myself, to just relax and remember the simple steps to a good ride. I really don’t want to make an idiot of myself out here in front of him.
“That looks like our ride,” he says, suddenly taking off. And now I am paddling furiously, just trying to keep up. But he gets there first and gets into position, and I’m still trying to turn around, trying to get myself to a place where I can start my ride. But it’s too late. I am sideways, and I flip over and roll like a sausage while my dream boy zips gracefully past. The story of my life.
But at least my suit stays in place. And when it’s all said and done, he seems appropriately sympathetic as well as encouraging. “Sorry about that,” he tells me. “I didn’t give you much notice. But, man, that was awesome! Did you see the curl on that thing?”
I’m wiping what I hope isn’t a big trail of green snot from my nose and trying to regain some sense of dignity as I push wet strands of hair from my eyes. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Well, maybe you should take a break. You’ve been out here a while.”
“Nope. I
don’t think so. I think I need to get back out there and try harder.”
Now we’re both paddling out there again, but he’s giving me this little pep talk this time. “Maybe that’s your problem. Maybe you’re trying too hard. Maybe you just need to loosen up some. Go with the flow, you know?”
“I know you’re right,” I admit. “I keep telling myself to just relax. That’s how I got that last good ride.”
“So do it again,” he says. “And remember to breathe.”
Then we see another wave rising, and following his lead, I paddle not so furiously this time but with a calm kind of intensity that seems to move me even faster. I can tell I’m keeping up with him. Either that or he is going slow to stay back with me. And then we are there, and he gives me the nod and starts turning around. Reminding myself to loosen up, I follow suit. I remember to breathe, and the next thing I know I am riding again! I make it into a squat and then manage to stand upright. And it’s even better than the first ride. It’s awesome! Totally awesome! as Vanessa would say. And I can’t wait to do it again.
We ride about a dozen more waves. I take a couple of tumbles and finally realize that I am getting tired.
“You need a rest,” Wyatt tells me. “Let’s go back in.”
And I am so happy that he said “let’s” that I offer no resistance as we wade out of the water and drop our boards out of reach of the surf.
“You were great out there,” he tells me. “A real surfer girl!”
“Thanks,” I say, laughing. “But you’re way better. Man, you just make it look so easy.”
“That’s because it is easy.”
“Maybe for you.” I sigh. “I still have to work at it.”
“It’s not work,” he says. “Remember. It’s about loosening up, relaxing, and going with the flow. As soon as you get rigid, you wipe out.”
I nod. “Yeah, and remember to breathe.”
“Right.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” I say as I start to head back to Vanessa.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “I guess that sounds good.”
So he leads me up to the deck where food of all kinds is spread out, and he hands me a large paper plate. “Go for it,” he says.
I start loading my plate. I don’t even know what some of these rolled-up things are, but I’m so hungry that I don’t really care.
“Way to go,” he says when I finally realize that my plate is full and stop. “I like seeing a girl who’s not afraid to eat.”
I shrug. “Not when I’m feeling this peckish.”
“There’s an empty table down there,” he says, pointing off to the right. And so we go and sit all by ourselves, just pigging out until both our plates are empty.
“I’m going back for more,” he says. “How about you?”
I laugh. “No thanks, I’m stuffed. If I eat another bite, I’ll sink straight to the bottom of the ocean next go ‘round.”
“You want anything else to drink? A beer or something?”
Now I consider this. I can see that Wyatt’s drinking beer, and it’s tempting to try and be like him, but I know that I hate the taste. “I’m not much into beer,” I admit.
“A wine cooler then?” he offers. “Lots of girls seem to like those.”
“I reckon I can give it a go,” I say.
He smiles, then says, “Good on ya!”
I laugh. “Hey, where’d you hear that?”
“I’ve been around a bit myself,” he says in his best Aussie imitation. “Haven’t been Down Under just yet, but a few of my surfing mates come from there.”
“Well, good on ya!” I toss back at him.
To my surprise, this wine cooler thing’s not half-bad. Not as tasty as a lemon squash, but not bad either. Still, I want to be careful and not drink too much. Especially since I plan to surf some more later. I’m not sure, but I think surfing under the influence might be dangerous.
Wyatt and I are in the midst of an interesting conversation about surfing when Felicia suddenly appears. It seems she’s been in the house — doing what? Perhaps touching up her already perfect nails? I try not to look at mine. I know Lan’s manicure is long gone, and they’re chipped and full of sand.
“Wyatt,” she says in a tone that suggests ownership. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I need some help inside.”
He nods and stands, then tells me good-bye and vanishes into the beach house with her. To do what? I decide not to let my mind even go there. Who cares what they’re doing? Maybe she does just need some help. I clear off our table, toss the remains into the trash, then head back over to where Vanessa and her friends are just starting up a volleyball game.
“You ready to play?” she asks.
“Mind if I scrub up a bit, then take a little rest?” I say. “I just ate a bunch of food, and I’m afraid if I leap around too much I’ll chunder for sure.”
“That’s so cute,” says Bree.
Cute? Well, whatever. So I take my bag and head up to the beach house. Is this some kind of excuse? Am I expecting to discover Wyatt and Felicia in there somewhere? Doing something? I’m not sure, and I tell myself that I don’t even care. Then a helpful girl shows me to a bathroom where I am able to rinse off some of the sand and crud and pick the seaweed from my hair. Then I change into my dry bikini (which looks a bit more like what the other girls are wearing) and go back outside, where I lay out my Tommy towel and flop down. And despite all the noise and activity around me, I actually fall asleep. I wake up when I feel someone tapping me on the shoulder.
“You ready to play volleyball now?” asks Vanessa. “We need some serious help over here.”
So I hop to my feet and walk over to join their team. Vanessa kind of laughs, then points to my cheek. “You’ve got a towel imprint on your face.”
“Great,” I tell her. “Thanks for letting me in on that bit of news. Any dried up drool on my chin?” She shakes her head, and then I glance past the net to see that our opponents are none other than Wyatt and Felicia and another couple. I force a sleepy smile to my face, and the games begin.
Now, I’ve always been fair at sports and fairer than most at volleyball, but I gotta admit these Yanks (well, some of them) are pretty decent. Vanessa is actually holding her own. And despite Bryce’s earlier disclaimer about not being athletic, he isn’t halfbad either. And the other guy on our team, Andrew Simmons (an African American dude with a crazy sense of humor), is absolutely fantastic. Between him and me, we are keeping our team alive. Because on the other side of the net, it is all Wyatt. Oh, sure, Clayton isn’t exactly chopped liver, but those two girls — Felicia and Bree — are absolutely useless. No, they are worse than that; they are actually in the way and probably the only reason our team is winning.
Finally the match comes to an end — and our team wins!
“You saved us, Hannah,” says Bryce as he slaps my palm.
“Didn’t I tell you she was good?” brags my cousin.
“Not only a surfer but a volleyball player too,” says Wyatt as he comes around to our side and pats me on the back.
“Speak for yourself,” I tell him.
He smiles. “You ready to tackle the waves again?”
“As soon as I get something to drink,” I say. And as I walk over to the drink area, I hear Felicia talking to him in this little-girl voice, asking why he wants to go out again.
“Because it’s fun,” he tells her. “You should try it sometime.”
“Yeah, right,” she replies in a flat tone.
And for a brief moment, I think that maybe I am winning.
thirteen
Wyatt and I and several others surf into the late afternoon. To my relief, I seem to be holding my own out here. And despite my initial delight of being the only girl among all these blokes, I am kind of happy to see a girl coming out to join us. She seems to be the same girl who showed me to the bathroom earlier — one of the few girls who’s been g
enuinely pleasant to me.
“Hey, Jess!” yells Wyatt from where he’s straddling his board as we all wait for the next good wave.
“Who’s that?” I ask, since I’m only a few feet away from him.
“Jessie,” he tells me. “Felicia’s younger sister.”
I nod, remembering Felicia’s comment about how her little sister wore Tommy too. Somehow I’d gotten the impression that her little sister was about eight years old. “How old is she?” I ask Wyatt.
“Just a year younger than Felicia. Their parents call them Irish twins. Jessie’s going to be a junior.”
“Looks like you guys have been getting some good waves,” says Jessie as she paddles up and joins us. Then Wyatt introduces us.
“Oh, yeah,” says Jessie. “You’re the girl with the cool accent that I met in the house. Nice to meet you, Hannah.”
“You too. But I had no idea you were Felicia’s sister,” I admit.
She chuckles. “Yeah, most people can hardly believe we’re related.” Then she makes a face at Wyatt. “Felicia got the looks, and I got the brains.”
I frown as I look at her short-cropped, sun-bleached hair, bright eyes, and clear complexion. “Seems to me you both got the looks,” I say. Of course, I can’t say as much for the brains, since I think Felicia is a bit of a nong.
“Hey, I like you already,” she says as she paddles up and situates her board right next to mine. “Cool suit, by the way.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, your sister told me that you used to like Tommy too.” Then I immediately regret my words. I don’t want Jessie to think I’m knocking her sister.
But she just laughs. “Yeah, Felice thinks I have absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever. But I think it’s all a matter of perspective. I mean, just because she’s dumb enough to pay hundreds of dollars for a single item of clothing that she’ll wear maybe once and that will be completely out of style by next week . . . well, it doesn’t mean I have to do the same. And she’s wrong. I didn’t used to like Tommy. I still like Tommy. And after seeing your suit, I like Tommy even more.”
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