He’d be caught dead before he admitted there wasn’t a twisted, invigorating challenge to being infamous.
Now, though, knowing that James is somewhere on this beach, hearing the whispers and seeing the stares and feeling the odd energy following Sydney around, the reality of it all makes him want to hide his face under the sand. Embarrassingly hot tears suddenly prickle at the back of his eyes behind his aviators, and he hates himself for the way he wants to turn around and tell everyone to just leave him alone. Let him be.
He hates that he woke up when he was fifteen with a dream to be the best surfer in the world, and all he’s managed to do since then is piss off an entire island and create a worldwide reputation for himself as “that dude we wish would just lose.”
He shakes his head and blinks hard before settling his elbows around his knees to watch. He tells himself James needs him to pull it together, even though he doesn’t believe that at all. Somewhere behind him, James is zipping up his wetsuit and walking towards the starting line over to his right, confident and at ease in this world, probably completely unaware Sydney has even purposefully perched himself so close to the waves to be able to see him.
With a huff, Sydney blocks out the sound of everything but the announcers and the sea. His own ridiculous thoughts can wait.
James has a heat to win.
~
“And here for round two of Day One of our Billabong Pipeline Masters, folks, we’ve got our Wild Card heat. The Aussie Shane Hamilton coming fresh off an injury at Bells Beach back in his home surf, and what a wipeout that—”
“Yeah, man, that wipeout bugged out everyone standing on that beach. Stayed under for almost a minute, if I heard right. But, you know what, he’s been looking strong with his paddling during warm ups earlier this morning. Back doesn’t look like it’s giving him too much trouble.”
“He’s here hoping to make a semi-final if you ask me. A little too weak yet to be aiming for anything higher, especially with the power of these waves we got here along the Pipeline. He’s been dropping in late all season—you think he’s gun-shy?”
“Hamilton’s got some radical speed down the pipeline when he drops in early enough, but you’re right, he’s been looking a little cautious all summer. Didn’t even make it out of his first heat back in Hermosa at the ISF, and that was a Wild Card heat, too.”
“I’d sure like to see him make it today, just to give us old and greying hodads some hope. And then we have Peter Fu—what do you say, man, the new Hawaiian wunderkind?”
“Woah, dude, wouldn’t say that quite yet. You can hear the home crowd sure agrees with you, though!”
“Right on.”
“Tell you what, kid’s been looking fierce all summer at the local competitions. Been taking wave after wave and barely slows down to catch his breath. Crazy stamina in him, that’s for sure. But I’m wondering if he’s got the patience to wait it out here at the Banzai, where taking a wrong wave can be a much bigger problem for you than just a little wipeout.”
“That’s true, man. He’s gonna have to sit some out and wait for the clean barrels if he wants high enough technical points to push him up into tomorrow’s Finals heats. And if he doesn’t want to end up straining something in a wipeout—or worse.”
“Ominous words, man. And now, what about Jimmy Campbell?”
“Bit of a surprise, there, I gotta say. I heard he dropped out with an injury, but it looks like he’s back here today to surf!”
“Someone called in for him last minute and got him back on the list is what I heard. And I think we can all agree that the main reason he was let back in was his stunning upset two weeks ago in Hermosa against Danny Moore.”
“He beat Danny Moore on a single wave! A single wave!”
“It was a gorgeous ride, man. Just beautiful. Hugged in close to the face and stayed deep in that barrel, which is exactly what judges love to see here at the Banzai. Not sure what the hell got into Danny Moore, though—that wipeout came out of nowhere. His first one in years?”
“Definitely the first one I’ve ever seen from him in competition.”
“Damn, he sure can’t argue with that record, can he?”
“Was it nerves, do you think? Normally you don’t have to win a whole round on just one wave—
the surf that day was gnarly. Way too flat for surfers at this level to get in a good run.”
“I’d agree with you, but Campbell’s also been making a name for himself on the SoCal qualifying circuit the last few years—dude came out of absolute nowhere and started competing, from what I heard. Not sure what to make of his chances today. He may have beat Danny Moore, but I think it may be hitting it on the head to say that was a fluke.”
“Yeah, man, hate to say it but I think Jimmy’s just here today to show his face and get a little recognition. He only just made pro back at Hermosa the other week—these types of powerful waves we got here aren’t at all what he’s used to surfing.”
“With Danny Moore apparently not competing, though, who knows what the hell will happen?”
“I hear that, man. I hear that. I don’t know what to think about that news—didn’t think he was injured? Word is he’s here today to watch, and some of you folks in the crowd have probably seen him milling about. And I think you know what I mean when I say this, that I’m not really sure why he’s here if he isn’t surfing.”
“You’re preaching some truth there, dude. We’ll have to ask him tomorrow what his ‘famous’ predictions are for the Finals. I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say. . . But now, folks, we got the Wild Card heat lining up at the starting line, and some bomb fresh swells coming in off our beautiful Northshore coast . . .”
~
Sydney’s never felt this nervous before a surfing competition in his life, and he isn’t even the one goddamn surfing.
He finally lets himself look over at James waiting on the start line next to Fu and Hamilton and feels his heart leap up into his throat. James Campbell is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s standing tall holding Sydney’s board (the extra one no one’s seen before—nobody will ever know), and wearing Sydney’s old wetsuit (just barely too big for him—nobody will ever suspect), and looking for all the world like he’s about to fight like hell.
The look on his face steals the breath from Sydney’s lungs. Watching James stand there calmly in the sun, scanning the waves as if he isn’t about to surf for the first time since nearly drowning, Sydney can’t bear to stay sitting and just watch. He leaps to his feet and jogs a ways down the sand, just past the crowd. A grandmotherly type who has no idea who the hell he is asks if he’s alright, and the surfer sitting three feet from her asks which bathroom he’s heading to so he knows which one to avoid.
Sydney stalks right past them. He plants his feet apart in the empty patch of sand and crosses his arms over his chest, willing himself to look bored. As cool and icy and as ‘Danny Moore’ as humanly possible.
Inside, he wants to faint. He watches James slowly, casually turning his head left to right, scrunching his eyes, and Sydney realizes with a jolt of shock that James is searching for him. Him!
He curses himself for ever leaving his spot closer to the starting line and the water. Now James will think he left him, that he heard the idiotic nonsense the announcers were spewing out and decided that they were right, and that Jimmy Campbell really is just here as a consolation prize for knocking Danny Moore on his ass in front of everybody in Los Angeles, and he could never in a million years survive this round without mildly embarrassing himself—or much worse.
Then James turns his head in just the right direction, and his eyes lock on Sydney standing alone and aloof in his aviators, a statue at the edge of the chaos, and even from this far away Sydney can see every bit of tension leave his body. Impossibly, James’ bad shoulder relaxes beneath within the tight wetsuit clinging to his skin.
Sydney’s insides turn to lava. He nods his head once just enough for James to see, as
casually as he can, and he sees James do the same. An emotion hits Sydney so strongly in the chest he nearly buckles over at the sheer force of it.
James Campbell is going to fucking win this round.
~
“And Peter Fu takes a wicked hit on that last wave! Wild!”
“That barrel sure slammed down onto him. It was really a bad choice to go in on that one.”
“He’s been making easy points so far, trying to go for style holds and grabs on smaller foamy waves, but man, hits like that are really slowing him down.”
“Shane Hamilton looks like he’s considering this next swell, he’s paddling forward to meet the crest, woop, looking back over his shoulder like he can’t decide how tall this wave will be—”
“And oh! Jimmy Campbell drops in right before he can make his decision! Campbell’s flying down this wave, look at him go. He’s in deep now, crowd’s holding their breath to see if he’ll make it out of that barrel—”
“Just look at the spray coming out of that pipeline! Right on!”
“And Jimmy Campbell’s out! He’s out! Looks like he’s stalling trying to stay tight in that tube ride as long as possible, just gouging into the wave with his hand, crouched nice and low, what a beaut—”
“And a gorgeous nose grab at the end there as he flips forward into the whitewater to end his ride.”
“That’s gonna be the biggest point wave we’ve seen so far, and he knows it. He’s pumping his fist as he surfaces and the crowd’s loving it. Heat’s only 7 minutes old but these surfers have been attacking everything that comes at them. I don’t think a single wave’s gone by without somebody trying it—these dudes are showing they deserve to be here for a reason!”
“Oh . . . Hamilton’s not happy about missing that one. That was a bangin’ wave, clear and open in the tube.”
“Looks like Campbell definitely knows what his strengths are. If he’d tried to pump on that face he would’ve zoomed out too quick onto the shoulder and missed the slow barrel behind him.”
“You might have been wrong about Campbell, man. He’s already powering towards his next wave and didn’t even stop for a break after his last ride. And I hope he forgives me saying he’s on the older end of dudes here. Looks like he’s out here to make more than just an appearance . . .”
~
Sydney’s heart pounds like a siren in his chest. His weak legs tremble in the sand. Watching James conquer that wave was unlike anything he’s ever experienced in his life. He feels breathless and awestruck. He wants to laugh and turn to the entire beach full of people sneaking stares and glances his direction and yell, “He kissed me this morning! That man kissed me!”
The ridiculousness of it all fills him, bursting in his lungs. There’s a tingling at the base of his spine—one that started the moment James popped up on that last wave and dropped in, wet hair flying in the wind, calves bulging and clinging to his board. When his back was broad and strong as he crouched low and practically flew into that pipeline, and the crowd around Sydney back on the shore gasped and held their breath in anticipation.
And at the same time, can still feel the memory of the muscles on James’ back beneath his own fingertips. The taste of those chapped, salty lips on his tongue. It’s an absolute miracle he’s managed to stay completely still, face betraying nothing. He should be nominated for some sort of award.
It suddenly occurs to him that this must be what his momma felt like on the inside when she would stand up in church and raise her hands up to the ceiling. When she would shout, swaying and clinging at her cross necklace like she’d fall apart without it, like her skin just couldn’t contain the wild joy bubbling up inside of her. The need to swing her body and bellow with her lungs, no matter how much his father shushed her or begged her to sit back down.
Maybe James Campbell is his new Jesus Christ. The thought makes him wish his momma were here beside him with a sudden pulse of longing, watching his first and only friend in the world surf across the sea she’s never seen.
He startles from his thoughts when the announcers start yelling. Shuts the lid back down and locks it tight.
James needs him now. Somehow.
~
“—that monstrous snap off the top of that wave!”
“Shane Hamilton just proved that he’s still in this heat—only a surfer with his experience could read that wave like that. That was beautiful.”
“He knew exactly when to execute that turn at the end to create the most spray. He may have missed the tube ride on that one, but that was a powerful ride straight up the face of that wave at the end. One of the tallest waves we’ve seen so far in this set, and he owned every inch of it.”
“Fu’s shaking his head at himself. I think he realizes he’s in trouble unless he starts choosing quality over quantity. Twenty-one minutes in and he’s gotta be aching.”
“I gotta go back on what I said this morning, man. Fu’s got real potential for some great trick wave competitions, but . . . well, he’s no Danny Moore.”
“Nobody’s a Danny Moore, man. Dude’s in a class of his own, in more ways than one.”
“Ha! I dig it. Well now, Campbell out there is sure trying to remind us of why he deserved to be the one to knock Moore out of Hermosa. Just look at him paddling to meet this wave coming in . . .”
“His left arm’s looking a little stiff—definitely paddling harder with the right. You think he strained it?”
“Hard to tell, man. He’s got two solid waves up there already, a 7.2 and his first huge ride with an 8.0. I think Hamilton’s last ride is gonna put him just ahead, though.”
“Do we think Fu’s out?”
“He may have the most rides in, folks, but they’ve all been under 7. Let’s see if Fu can advance before our home crowd here. Just listen to the cheers!”
~
Sydney holds his breath as James goes in for another wave, tracking his sun-bleached hair bobbing among the distant swells.
It’s a monster—rushing in under James’ board and soaring him straight up into the air. Sydney can tell James’ shoulder is hurting him. He wants to kick himself; of course it’s hurting him. He hasn’t surfed in four fucking days besides the warmup time this morning. Hasn’t even been at work to keep up basic conditioning.
Sydney should have helped him stretch it, or given him a Tylenol, or brought him some ice, or scrapped this entire idea, or something. And instead that morning he’d just told him to win and kissed him on the forehead and basically said ‘good fucking luck.’
Stupid. Naive. He wants to dive out into the water and hand James his own arm to use. “Here, paddle with this! Don’t mind the blood, I just ripped it off for you!”
Sydney shakes his head at his own idiotic thoughts and watches breathlessly with clenched fists as James drops in on the wave, soaring down the face. Instantly Sydney can tell it was the wrong decision. The barrel is already breaking, too heavy to hold a proper pipe, and James isn’t pumping fast enough to get out ahead of it. He doesn’t have the speed . . .
Sydney watches in horror as the top of the tube crashes down onto James with a booming roar, causing the announcers to wince and the crowd to gasp as his board flies up rider-less into the foaming air. It’s the worst wipeout yet of the entire set. Sydney’s toes grip furiously at the sand as he counts the seconds in his head and waits for James to surface. He doesn’t blink.
One, two, three, Goddammit James, four, five, no, God no . . .
~
“Folks we’re all keeping an eye out here for Jimmy Campbell to surface. Hamilton and Fu have turned back on their boards from out past the breaking line and seem to be looking for him, too. With only four minutes left in this neck-and-neck set, you gotta commend them for putting on a pause to make sure he’s alright. I would, too if I was—”
“There he is! We see his head coming up now, ladies and gents. Right there at two o’clock. He’s reaching for his board and climbing back up, it seems.”
“And it looks like he’s waving off the lifeguard—how is that possible?”
“What the—and folks what do you know, Jimmy Campbell after the worst wipeout we’ve seen yet today is paddling his ass off, back out to the breaking line.”
“I can’t believe it! He just nodded at Fu and Hamilton and then took off like a rocket. I haven’t seen him paddle so fast yet this round.”
“Well he’s got to if he wants to try and make some insane comeback—clock’s reading only two minutes left. How is he even breathing!”
“And Fu and Hamilton don’t even know what just hit ‘em. I think they were waiting for a rescue to happen—definitely not this!”
“This is bangin’, man. Jimmy Campbell’s turned his board around and he’s paddling like hell to catch this last wave of the set, and boy is it a beauty.”
“He drops in . . . and oh boy, look at that tube! He’s deep inside. Deep. Look at the spray flying outta this thing. Will he make it o—”
“He’s out! Jimmy Campbell is out, and look at that huge cutback to the cheers of the crowd, throwing up some spray and looking up to the sky. And oh! There’s a shout as he sinks down into the whitewater to end his ride.”
“What a powerful comeback on that last wave. If that’s not at least a 9 I don’t know what is.”
“And it’s a 9.4! The highest wave we’ve seen so far today goes to Angelino Jimmy Campbell, and he has officially moved on to Day Two of the Masters.”
“Listen to the crowd! This feels like the biggest underdog story of the entire competition, and we’ve only seen two rounds of surfing so far—still have hours to go!”
“And let’s also give some love to Peter Fu and Shane Hamilton—no weak rides today on that tough surf, that’s for sure. They each surfed their asses off in this Wild Card round, but Jimmy Campbell came back from that wipeout to somehow surf the best barrel we’ve seen today. What a show, folks, and it’s only the beginning!”
The Sea Ain't Mine Alone Page 21