He has that look again, the one he gave me when I told him about the two moons, where he’s staring intently, like if he looks away, I might disappear.
“There you are,” he says.
“What,” I say.
“You’re not all don’ts.” He grins and grabs hold of me, lifting and dunking me under the surf again, but this time going with me.
We swim and body surf until we’re prunes. After five years of being solo out here, I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to do this with another human. Thank you, I tell God. This is our place still, I promise. But thanks for sharing it tonight.
By the time we wring ourselves out and he bikes me home, I’m a Popsicle, my jacket heavy with seawater, hands numb on my handlebars as the wind whips past. It’s 10:58 p.m. when we pull up to my curb.
“See?” he says, as I look at my watch for the millionth time tonight.
“Do you want me to get you a towel?” I ask between shivers.
“Nah. Get yourself inside. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay.” I don’t move. “I’m, uh, gonna take my bike in through the side yard.”
He nods. “Good night.”
“Okay.” Why do I keep saying okay? “I mean, good night.” I walk through the gate, resisting the urge to look behind me.
Inside, I press my lips together so my teeth won’t chatter and hurry through the house to the shower. I lock the bathroom door and turn on the water. Fully clothed, I stand under the steaming shower until I’ve rinsed off any evidence of the ocean. As I peel off my jeans and jacket and everything else, I hear knocking.
“Hey, Love,” Dad says through the door.
“Hey, Dad.”
“You have fun with Lydia?”
“Yeah.”
“Full moon tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You biked. Didn’t you see it?”
Actually, I saw two. I’m remembering Jake’s awe. “Two moons,” I hear him say.
“Lovette?”
“Yeah, sorry. No, I saw it. Beautiful.”
“Your mom wants to talk to you tomorrow. Something about the YMCA not having you listed as a member.”
Oh no. I close my eyes and pray, but I know I’m busted. How will I get out of this without lying? “Okay, sounds good.”
He waits at the door, I can feel it, wondering if I’ll explain.
“Night, Dad.” I turn the water off, ball up my clothes, and wrap myself in a towel. Tonight’s the first night I’ve spent alone with a guy. Does that count as a date? I hope not. I apologize to God just in case. I made a promise, and I intend to stick to it. But why didn’t it feel wrong? He even held my hand, and it felt normal. Natural, even. I drop my head to my hands and sit on the toilet seat until the hall light goes dark under the crack of the bathroom door.
Chapter Ten
The following morning, Mom clomps into my room like she’s auditioning for clog dancing. Her AirPods are sticking out of her ears in weird directions, and her Saturday-morning hair looks messier than usual. “Where’ve you been going after work?”
I’m doing homework in bed, so I can’t pretend I’m sleeping. “Mom—”
Her hands drop to her hips. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. The YMCA says you don’t have a membership. Where’ve you been at night?”
I look to the wall at my collage of pictures from Hume Lake Christian Camp. Next to it is a framed poster of Kelly Slater riding a wave in the 2015 Billabong Pro Tahiti World Surf League tour. “I—”
“Who walked you home last night? That wasn’t Lydia.”
I forget how to breathe. “How did you—”
She crosses her arms smugly. “Windows.”
“You were spying?”
“Just trying to figure out why our daughter, whom we thought we knew, hasn’t been where we thought she was for the past eighteen months.”
“Actually, longer,” I admit.
“LONGER!” she repeats, just in case Dad can’t hear from his men’s Rotary meeting across town.
I want to tell the truth. My parents aren’t religious, and the whole lying thing isn’t gonna win any points for how they view the Big Guy. I’m just so afraid that if I tell them I’ve been out in the waves, the one thing I love will be taken from me. They think the Pacific Ocean’s the devil. I suppose if I saw my son attached to that many tubes after almost drowning, I might, too.
I start with the obvious. “The guy you saw was Jake Evans. He goes to my school. Lydia invited him to wash dishes. His dad’s in the military too.” I’m hoping this last part will make him sound better. See? Our dads are men of honor.
Mom’s face changes. Her smile says, I know what you’re going through. Uh-oh. I’m not sure she does.
“I dated a guy for two months once before I got the nerve to tell my parents,” she confesses.
Wait, what?
I start to protest, but she waves me off and sits down on the corner of my bed. Oh dang. This feels like the last five minutes of a family TV show, when the slow music starts and it always ends in a hug.
“Gary Ratchford,” she continues.
“Oh yeah?” I say, because what else do I say? My nose crinkles, and my lips scrunch as if I’ve smelled a beached-whale carcass. I don’t want to think of Mom with anyone but Dad.
She doesn’t notice. “These are confusing times, you know, being a teenager, hormones, and I’m sure you have questions.”
“I don’t, really.”
“And ever since you’ve been doing that whole church thing, I . . .”
That’s what Mom calls my love for Jesus. “That whole church thing.”
Kelly brought me with her to a church camp called Hume Lake the summer before sixth grade. It was a blast, and it was the first time I had heard about Jesus in a way that made sense: how it wasn’t about us working our way up to Him but about Him coming down to us. That clicked for me. Also, there was this friendship-with-God thing, like I could talk to Him about anything, seriously anything, and I loved it. When I came back from Hume Lake, I started going to her youth group. It was like a dose of summer camp once a week. Turns out it was perfect timing. One year and three months later, my brother Matt was hit by his own surfboard in a freak accident. For the next year, my parents would be MIA as they spent every day in the hospital and then the rehab facility with him. They’d check in with texts, and I’d visit him sometimes, but a lot of nights when I’d get home, there’d be a note on the fridge about what food to heat up for dinner and a reminder to turn the lights off before bed.
I spent a lot of time at Kelly’s house or with other church families, and I’d go on every weekend youth-group trip. I joined a midweek Bible study. Even though I was going to junior-high group, Pastor Brett heard what happened and said I could also come to high-school youth group. In the loneliest year of my life, when I should’ve felt like an orphan, God filled my life with more family than I could imagine. People wonder why I’m so in love with Jesus, but if they saw the way He filled every void and answered every question, they’d totally get it.
I sit up in my bed. “Mom, it’s not a ‘church thing.’ I love Jesus.”
“Of course you do. But I don’t know the pressures they might put on you there at that church thing, and I want you to know, that if you’re thinking about sex, then we can talk.”
Whoa. “What?”
“And the lengths you went to cover it up! Coming home every night with your hair wet? I just know that if you’ve been keeping a boyfriend a secret—there may be other things.” She pauses, tilts her head, and shifts to look at me. The bed bounces, and I wish it would bounce me out the window, because she adds, “So he picks you up after work—and then you shower at his house to make it look like you’ve been swimming?”
“No, I use the beach showers. Mom—”
“Oh, that makes s
ense. It’s right by your work. And here, your father was afraid you’d gone back in the ocean.”
“Really?” I swallow.
“He said you smelled like seawater the other night. I told him don’t worry—we’re all on the same page.” She gets a twinkle in her eye. “I shoulda known it was a boy.” She smiles like she’s in on a big secret. “Mum’s the word. I’ll tell your father you’ve been practicing swim at a friend’s house.” She winks at me, and I feel knots in my belly. She’s covering for me. And for something that isn’t even true!
There are so many things I want to say. “Mom, I’ve been swimming in the ocean.” “Mom, I feel closest to Jesus when I’m out on the water.” “Mom, I miss surfing.” “Mom, I know you almost lost Matt, but you won’t lose me.”
But I don’t. Right now, I can keep swimming every night because Mom thinks I’ve been out with a boy and she’s actually okay with it.
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Mom, I haven’t had sexual intercourse, but when I plan on it, I’ll be sure to talk to you, okay?” This won’t be until the night before my wedding, but she doesn’t need details.
“Do kids still call it that? Intercourse? Huh. I thought it was, like, banging or hitting it or—”
“Mom!”
“What! Okay, fine. Intercourse it is. You sure you haven’t?” She tries to look inside of me with her searchlight eyes. I sit in awkward silence until she embraces me like we’re reuniting after years apart. I feel her tears as our cheeks press together. “I can’t believe how old you’re getting,” she sniffles. “Where has time gone?” Now I’m twelve and in a maxi pad commercial, but I endure it because the ocean’s worth it. It’s always worth it. A single thought comes to me, and I don’t know if it’s God or my guilt, but either way, I hear Him asking:
“Do you love the ocean more than Me?”
Chapter Eleven
Every Monday morning, I leave ninety minutes early and my parents never notice, but when I wake up this morning, I’m afraid everything will be different and they’ll have a guard posted at my door. I peek into the hallway, but everything’s the same. Mom’s out to her office already, and Dad’s happy that I’m getting a head start on my education. Well, as long as I make my bed first.
Like every Monday, I bike five miles past my school to El Porto Beach to watch the other high-school surf teams. By 7:00 a.m., I’m tucked into my hoodie on the wet sand and doing my Bible study while the girls practice their rail-to-rail turns. A worship song plays in my earbuds as I watch the girls popping up, carving, and soaring against a backdrop of pink morning sky:
I see Your face in every sunrise.
The colors of the morning are inside Your eyes.
The world awakens in the light of the day.
I look up to the sky and say, “You’re beautiful.”
I watch a girl catch a left, angling down the wave as it chases her from behind. She traverses the face as she rides down the line. So clean. I could be this good by now, but who knows if I can still get to my feet? At the bottom, almost where the water’s flat, she turns her shoulders and buries her rail, setting up for a graceful arcing turn. Her speed shoots her back up the face, and she whips her board back 180 degrees, catching a little air. I actually clap in response and shout, “Yes!” She offers a friendly wave when she hears me, rides in on her stomach, and trots over.
“Hey,” she says, “I’ve seen you out here a few times. You go to Redondo?”
“Nah, Maritime Academy. We don’t have a team.”
She clucks her tongue. “Bummer. I’m Alix. With an I. Not an E.”
“Hi, Alix with an I,” I say. “Lovette. You cut back at seriously the perfect time.”
“Thanks. Got lucky on that one. Sounds like you know a good wave. You doing any of the opens?”
I shake my head. “No way I’d be ready.”
“What about the All Wave Junior Open? It’s a five-series local competition hosted by different local shops and bars. The third one was a few weeks ago, but the next one’s not till February. Watermans is hosting. You should sign up.”
“Yeah, maybe.” That’s a definite no.
“Cool, maybe we’ll compete!”
And like that, she jogs off.
Disappointment slouches my shoulders forward. I feel heartbroken, and then those words come up again: “Do you love the ocean more than Me?”
Do I love the created thing more than the creator? “No, of course not,” I say out loud, kinda angry that the thought keeps popping up. I open my Bible-study journal to an empty page, one verse across the top: “You shall have no other gods before me.”
“Really?” I say to the sky. He knows I love Him more than anything. He knows. To prove it, I leave the ocean right then, thirty minutes earlier than usual.
* * *
School’s back to normal—uneventful like most weeks. Well, except for Jake. Is it okay to be attracted to someone even though I know we won’t date? My heart boxes my ribcage every time I see him in the hallway, so I U-turn whenever I see him coming my way. I don’t think he notices, and luckily, he’s no different than before our Friday-night swim. Still friendly, still hanging out with me and my friends. This week it feels like he’s been part of our group forever—a party of six from the beginning—and we’ve always had these seat assignments at lunch.
* * *
The following week, the steady “uneventfulness” has a mini hiccup. I go to bed like normal on Tuesday, but I’m woken by a bird chirping. I sit up in a panic. How am I gonna get a bird out of my room? Then I remember that’s the sound of Kelly’s texts.
You awake
I write back, I am now
I lie back down and try to calm my breathing.
Her next text chirps: JAKE HAS A GF!!!
Had, I start to write, but before I hit send, she interrupts with another chirp.
I can’t believe he led me on
This worries me.
I turn the volume down and write, He led you on?
A softer chirp: HE WENT TO POETRY NIGHT
Oh right. That was tonight.
How was it
Horrible. My future husband has a gf
Future husband? I stare at her text.
She writes, Hello?
I finally type, What did you say?
Stuff. I can’t believe he would dump me like that.
Dump? Whoa. Brakes, Kelly. You know you weren’t dating, right?
The text bubbles are repeating. She’s writing a lot about them not dating. Oh dear. Finally it comes through.
We could’ve been! Eventually! And then when was he planning on telling me he had a gf?
Oh, Kelly. So many texts. So many birds, I think sleepily.
I decide not to fight her on Jake’s girlfriend/ex-girlfriend status and instead send her a hug emoji before silencing my phone. Maybe I’m the one who’s wrong.
If Jake didn’t tell Kelly he was broken up, does this mean he got back with Hannah? He told me they talked “every day.” Maybe they were in the process of working things out. I know I shouldn’t care, but I flop away from my phone like I’m turning my back on the possibility.
I see Kelly’s final text in the morning when I wake up. Maybe pastor brett should talk w him
* * *
The rest of the week, Kelly’s quiet at our lunch table. Her eyes, usually ogling at Jake, are glancing around at everything and everyone else. Every time he opens his mouth, no matter what he’s saying, I can sense her looking at me, wanting me to return the look so she can lift her eyebrows to communicate, Can you believe he would say that?
At youth group, she pulls me into the front row to avoid Jake, and I do my best to be a good friend. Pastor Brett’s sermon is fifteen minutes long, but I only remember one part, like he saw a highlight reel of my life last weekend while planning his
talk. He says, “I know that when people hear things like God saying He’s jealous, they think He’s some drunk guy at a bar talkin’ ’bout His woman, being like, ‘Don’t touch my property, yo.’ But it’s not like that. God’s jealous because God knows He’s the best thing for you, and He loves you too much to let you chase after things that are nothing but counterfeits in comparison. The world’s makin’ it rain with counterfeit hundred-dollar bills. Who wants a crisp hundy if it’s fake? The world’s hundies are yesterday’s undies.” Everyone groans at his bad pun. “Yeah, that’s how God feels, too. So it’s a good jealousy. Not a human jealousy. What’s God jealous for in your life? Who’s stealing His number one spot?”
I think of the ocean. I think of Jake. I’m not letting either take your number one spot, I silently say to Jesus, double-pinkie swear, and to prove it, I don’t look back once at Jake to say hi or “sorry my best friend’s being weird.” But I also volunteer to close the group in prayer, and I secretly hope Jake notices. “See? I’m not ‘just a lot of don’ts,’” I want to say as I finish praying. But instead, I settle for “Amen.”
* * *
I still go to work as usual, but I’ve stayed out of the ocean for two weeks, and I’m miserable. I don’t want to chance Mom seeing my wet hair and assuming I’m having sex with some guy she thinks I’ve been dating for a year and a half. I can’t bear the guilt of that lie. And plus, ew, so embarrassing.
By Thursday night, even my coworker Kim notices. “What’s up with you?” she asks while slicing tomatoes.
“Not much.” I pretend I don’t know what she means and immediately feel guilty. “No, that’s a lie. Just, you know, stuff.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” she says, but lets me be.
* * *
On Friday, Jake’s waiting at the curb in front of my house when I pedal up after school. I look around nervously. No cars in the driveway. Thank goodness. The bird chirping in my room on Tuesday night has found a way into my heart and is flapping to break out.
Beyond the Break Page 5