Beyond the Break

by Heather Buchta

“I had to. I wanted you to know. I didn’t want to wait two hours.”

  “Okay, well, wait. I’ll be there.”

  “Hey, Lovey?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I smile. “It’s no big deal. I mean, as long as you say it again in two hours.”

  “No, I mean . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll see you in two. Text me when you’re back at home.”

  He hangs up. My body feels like Jell-O. I thought he was calling to tell me he was feeling conflicted about the prayer room, and I was ready to tell him that it was as much my fault as his. “It’s okay. So we messed up,” I planned to say. “We don’t have to repeat it.” But instead he floors me with . . .

  I sit down on the curb to catch my breath.

  I think I love him too.

  When I regain the strength in my legs, I walk back to my house and into the usual Sunday morning scene. Dad and Mom sipping coffee at the kitchen table—Dad with his newspaper keeping the printing presses in business, and Mom on her iPad looking at Pinterest for home-design ideas.

  “Hey, honey,” Mom says, “you’re home early. How was the church slumber party?”

  “I think you should let Matt go.” I say it before my knees give out and I take it all back. “To study. I think you should let Matt go to the study-abroad program.”

  Mom’s finger lifts from scrolling. Dad peers up at me from the business section. I crack my knuckles.

  “He did the right thing by telling you. He’s not just over eighteen. He’ll be twenty-one in two weeks. You don’t have to sign any papers anymore—he could’ve just gone and called you when he got there. But he didn’t. Not because he was scared but because he loves you. Isn’t that worth considering? He didn’t have to. But he chose to do the right thing.” It takes me a second to force the next two words out. “Unlike me.”

  Dad folds his newspaper in half. Mom turns her iPad facedown.

  “I was told I couldn’t surf again. That I wasn’t allowed to go in the water even.”

  “We made those rules so that—”

  “I’ve been swimming in the ocean four to five times a week for four years now.” I say it in one breath, and they look confused, like they’re hearing a foreign language. “And surfing for the past five months.”

  “No.” Mom’s shaking her head, disagreeing with the truth.

  “And there’s a surf competition tomorrow. I signed up. I’d love to have you come watch.” I look from one to the other. They’re mute. “Look, I didn’t choose the right thing. I get it. But Matt did. Don’t make him regret it. Let him go. That’s his dream. Surfing’s mine, and I’ve made my dream happen without you. So don’t make him suffer for including you in his decision.”

  “Enough,” Mom says and stands. She presses her temples and closes her eyes tight.

  “You’re grounded.” Dad finally speaks.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your phone.” He holds out a hand. I reach in my back pocket, and I feel it vibrate. A text comes through from Jake.

  Home in 30

  “Can I answer this?”

  “Your phone!” he bellows, and I hand it over like it’s on fire.

  He squeezes my cell, a grenade with the pin removed. “Passcode?”

  “One four five three,” I answer. He checks it in front of me to make sure I’m not lying.

  With a low voice, he says, “You will not leave this house today. For the next month, I will drive and pick you up from school. You will put in your two weeks’ notice for your job. And you will not compete in any surf competition tomorrow or any other day. Do I make myself clear?”

  My voice feels strained, like I’m suddenly a falsetto. “Yes,” I squeak.

  My body tenses, and my nostrils flare. I did the right thing. I was honest. So what just happened? Everything I’ve worked for this whole year. If I’m a no-show, Cecilia will think she’s won. Trevor Walker will gloat that I couldn’t show my face. But it’s more than that. It’s all the hours of training. The hours running and skating, working out on the sand. The paddling, the hundreds of waves, the constant refining, the techniques, tricks, style. The talks with my friends about strategy. Was it all for nothing?

  My father’s deadly calm. “Your mother and I need to talk. Go to your room.”

  For the first time, I look my father in the eye and say the word that sums up all of my emotion.

  “No.”

  And I run out the front door.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I show up at Jake’s aunt’s apartment and slap an open hand a couple of times against his door. Though my lungs burn from running the four miles from my house to the apartment, all the months of training in the sand have paid off. As soon as I hear the bolt unlock, I push hard against the door, and he stumbles back a step as I enter the living room. I fall onto his couch and drop my head into my crossed arms, curling my body down against my knees, and cry like a levee has broken. My shoulders shake, my face is drenched. I don’t look up as I feel Jake sink into the couch next to me. Without a word, he rubs my back as I cry.

  “So Niles talked to you?”

  I peer up at him. “About?”

  His face is blank. “Nothing. What’s wrong?”

  “My parents.”

  “They found out about surfing,” he guesses.

  “I told them.”

  His hand stops on my back mid-rub. “Really.”

  “Really.” I clear my throat of tears and snot. I’m a gross mess, and I lift up the bottom front of my shirt, already drenched with my sweat, and blow my nose in it. “I did it for my brother. I used to think it would be great to be him, the center of attention, but he’s almost twenty-one and still on a leash.” I reach for my shirt again to wipe my face, but he stops me. Hands me a Kleenex. “Thanks.” I blow my nose, and some of it drips onto my hands. I don’t even care. “I didn’t think they’d be so extreme. I mean, I knew they hated it, but what’s done is done. I’ve trained for this every day for months. My gosh, the waves are one- to two-foot breakers! My dad went all military and took away EVERYTHING.”

  “They called.”

  “How did they—”

  “From your phone. Looking for you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them I’d call if you came. I thought you left because you were upset at what you heard. But you haven’t talked to Niles?”

  “What? Niles?”

  “I was on the phone with him when I got it. That’s the only reason he knows.” He gets up, retreats to his room. I follow, my curiosity and worry piqued. When he sees me in the doorway, he sits on the edge of his bed, holds out a fat envelope to me. I see the University of Hawaii seal on the back.

  His voice is flat. “I got in.”

  I think I’m going to be sick. No, no, no. I take the envelope, pull the letter out. Congratulations, we are pleased to offer you enrollment for Fall ’20 at the—

  I drop the letter. It’s real. “So what does this mean?”

  “It means my mom is doing everything she can to get me in-state tuition.”

  “Okay.” I try to process that Jake’s leaving in five months. Five months is still five months. I look down and see the corner of a suitcase. A full suitcase.

  He looks at the suitcase and then at me. His eyes are glassy.

  “When?” My question is quiet. Lifeless.

  “If I finish out the school year there, it’ll be half the year.” He speaks slowly, each word causing him pain. “If I do more than a semester out here, it gets dicey. Their new semester starts Tuesday.”

  That’s two days from now. “But—”

  “Don’t worry, I told her no, that my girlfriend had a surf competition.” He rubs his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. “She b
ought me a plane ticket for tomorrow morning at six fifteen. Before she talked to me. I told her I was going to push it back, pay the difference myself. But—”

  “But now I’m not competing.” I sit down on the bed next to him.

  “It’s a lot of money. Pushing it back one day.” He kisses my shoulder, then rests his chin on it, caresses my arm with his hand. “If I were spending it just with you, I’d sacrifice all my paychecks. But somehow I don’t think your dad’s gonna let me see you tomorrow. Not after you went AWOL.”

  I close my eyes. Let myself feel his breath on my neck, his chin with its stubble on my shoulder. “Then I won’t go back.”

  He lifts his head, eyes me warily.

  “I won’t. I’ll stay here. He’ll never know. We’ll surf tomorrow—the heck with the contest—we’ll make our own with the LED boards and light up the ocean in the day.”

  He smiles, but only one side of his mouth lifts. “I had to return the boards,” he says. “They weren’t mine. Just on loan.” Our matching blue boards are gone? It’s as if a piece of us, part of the fabric that built us into what we are, just ripped. My throat tightens. “Fine. We’ll tour the South Bay tomorrow, have the date of our lives, eat every cookie at Beckers, taste every flavor ice cream at the Creamery. Have milkadamias at Two Guns until we’re flying from the caffeine, and stay up all night in each other’s arms.”

  I’m crying again; my heart hurts, physically aches like I miss him already, even though he’s right here. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him while I cry, and our tears exchange cheeks and drip down our chins. My shirt’s cold against me. With one tug, I pull it off. I’m in my sports bra, but I feel closer to him this way, his hands on my bare skin. I tug at his shirt and he reaches over his back and pulls it over his head. He lowers me onto the bed, and we are lying where he dreams every night, kissing and holding each other’s bodies for dear life. I’m afraid the second I let go, he’ll already be on a plane.

  Before this school year, I couldn’t have imagined walking through high school with a boyfriend. It seemed wrong. Five months later, I can’t fathom what a day will be like without his fingers linking with mine through the school hallways. Maybe Lydia’s right. Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of things than I need to. As we kiss, I feel the same reaction from him that he had in the prayer room, and he moves off me. “Sorry,” he says.

  “I’m okay with it.” He checks to see if I mean it, looks into my eyes. I roll on top of him to prove it. His breathing’s getting throatier, and I’m not sure when it started, but there’s a slow rhythm to how our bodies are moving against each other. It’s like what I see of couples on the dance floor of the Venue sometimes, only our version is horizontal. It feels incredibly good. I want more. I move my lips to his ear. “Be with me tonight,” I say, and a sound comes from him, like a growl.

  “Are you sure?” he says.

  “I think so,” I whisper. I reach for his jeans’ button. But he stops me. I try again, but he grips my wrist. “What?”

  He moves me off of him and rolls to the side of the bed. He sits up. His back muscles are flexed, and I can see his elevated breathing, his rib cage expanding, his chest filling and releasing. He rakes a hand through his hair. He mumbles, “I can’t believe I actually stopped.”

  I wrap an arm around him from behind. “Then come back.”

  He removes my arm and looks at me. “There’s nothing more that I want to do. Please know that.”

  The words feel like rejection is coming.

  “Hold on,” he says. “I need a minute.” He gets up and disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone on the bed. What did I do wrong? He returns with two bottles of water, hands me one, and takes a long drink of the other. He sits back down on the edge of the bed. “I remembered you from when I was younger—how fearless you were—that’s what first drew me to you when I moved back. You helped me forget how crappy things were.” He sips his water, puts the cap back on. “I’d been through it, my dad and all. But when you told me about your brother—I was like, hold up. You—you’d been through it too. Only I saw how much you believed God, not just believed in Him. And I dunno, I was like, that’s what strong is. And it made me think maybe I could, too. Maybe I didn’t have to be so pissed at Him for everything.” He takes my hand in his. “Whenever you talk about God, what you love is who He is. When you talk about Him, it’s like He’s real, not just something you do on Sundays. He’s not just a bunch of don’ts. Kelly’s about the don’ts. You’re about the dos. God’s not a drag to you. He’s exciting. The ocean’s exciting. Doing new things is exciting. But it’s because you include Him in everything. You like working with God, like He’s your teammate. But this”—he motions behind us at the bed—“if you’re not sure He’s with you on this one—and believe me, thanks to Bible One-Oh-One that you recited to me while we surfed—I don’t think He is. So maybe He has something else in mind.”

  I turn my water bottle end over end. “Like what?”

  “I dunno! I wish I had the answers. I just know that I don’t know.”

  I look down at my sports bra. I feel naked right now, even though I’ve spent hours around Jake in a bikini. I take a pillow and hug it to cover me. He tugs on it affectionately, but I don’t let go. “Two years ago,” he continues, “I didn’t know anything but Hannah. A year ago, I didn’t know that I’d move to California. Five months ago, I didn’t know that I’d move back.” He hands me one of his hoodies to put on, and I push my arms and head through it. It’s the smallest one he has, but it hangs on me like curtains. When I pull the hood off my head, he cups my face with his hands, kisses me gently. “All I can see right now is you. You make me make sense.” His eyes glisten again. “But I’m leaving tomorrow. And I don’t know. I don’t know what God’s gonna do five years from now, a month from now, tomorrow. I don’t want to assume I’ve got Him figured out.” He holds me tighter. Won’t let me look away as he says, “Because one day, if I’m not the man standing beside you at that altar, I want to be able to shake his hand and look him in the eye and not feel like I stole anything from him.”

  “Stole?”

  I pull his hands away from my face, and he lets them drop, but he interrupts my anger with, “Stop. You know me. I’m not talking about your virginity or your purity, like it’s a game, or some other bullshit. I’m talking about an amazing moment which was maybe”—he closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose—“maybe meant for you to share with him rather than me. You know how hard that is to admit? That forever might be some other guy? That whatever guy you pick is gonna be so damn incredible that you’ll want to have every memory with him?” He licks his lips, and his eyebrows crease, like he’s already jealous of this imaginary husband. “We’re not there yet. We just have right now.” He finally looks at me, gently reaching his hands around my waist, so I lift my puffy eyes to meet his. “So I want you to be able to look back on this moment, and be thankful that we made the right decision. Because if I were that man, and I want to be—God, I want to be—then I’d want every single boyfriend of yours leading up to our day to be able to shake my hand and say the same. And it’s you, dammit, who’s made me realize that.”

  It’s probably the greatest thing a guy has said or will ever say to me. I want to hold it close, tuck it in my pocket where I can always feel it against my hip every second of the day. I want to post it on a billboard, write it in a song, shout it through the barrel of every wave. But another very different thought creeps up and finds a way to my lips. “So Hannah gets something from you that I won’t?”

  This time, it’s Jake who pulls away. “That’s not fair.”

  He’s right, it was a crummy thing to say. But I’m angry with my parents and lost that he’s leaving and embarrassed that he rejected me and so in love with him in this moment, and everything all together makes my head a jumbled mess. I hear my next words like they’re coming from another person. “S
o how do I know you won’t be weaker in the future with some other girl?”

  “I might,” he answers truthfully. “I can’t make any promises. Only one tonight.”

  “Right. Okay, well, thank you.” I don’t mean to sound stiff, but my words are cardboard.

  He tilts his head, unsure of my response. His phone buzzes. The caller ID says: Mannequin. My lip quivers.

  “My parents,” I say. “I should go.”

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  “No. I have time. I’ll walk. Figure I’ll be locked in once I get there. It’s almost a full moon. Might stay out until then.”

  “Two moons,” he says and reaches for me. I let my arms hang. I don’t hug him back. He kisses me, and I refuse it, press my lips together hard, new tears starting. I blink them away.

  “You sure you don’t want a ride? It’s five hours till sunset.”

  “Text them I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five hours.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Even though we broke up, I should be happy. He did the right thing. Isn’t that what matters? The Christian phrase keeps looping through my mind: “Guard your heart.” “Rejoice!” Kelly would say. “He guarded your heart.” I offered Jake the chance to be closer to me than anyone, and he refused. He denied me so that he could make sure God protected me. Now that I’m alone away from the moment, I’m embarrassed by it all. I was willing to deny God for it, but Jake wouldn’t let me, and now everything feels like a loss. Jake’s gone. Surfing’s gone.

  I walk to the Redondo Pier, but I no longer see the kiosks along the boardwalk or even the restaurant above the ocean, Old Tony’s. I see all the spots we rode our skateboards, the rails and curbs he made me try to jump. “How’s it feel?” I hear him ask me the first time we rode.

  “Exceptionally amazing.”

  “Exceptionally?” I can still hear him laughing. “Who says that?”

  I remember how I shoved him playfully. “Lots of people.”

  I head north toward Hermosa and, on the way, stop at a familiar house. The brick on one wall, the navy-blue wood and framed white windows. “This one,” I hear him say, and I see him pointing at it. “Your house-lottery game. I’d pick this one.”