Cinderella in the Surf (13 page)

"So? It's not going to get ruined. C'mere."
 

He takes my hand and leads me over to the edge of the balcony.

It's late in the afternoon, and the day has turned gray, the storm clouds rolling in over the ocean, the horizon blurry as the mist comes up off the waves.

"I can't remember the last time it rained."

Walker spins me around to face him and pulls my face closer to his. He kisses me once, then twice.
 

Drops are hitting my hair, my clothes, even my eyelashes, but I don't mind even as the rain comes down harder.
 

This is perfect, here, right now, with Walker.
 

There have been so many ups and downs over the last weeks, that it's strange to feel like something is finally stable.

There's something I can count on.

And as I smile at Walker when his lips stop touching mine, I realize that it's kind of wonderful.

***

Something's wrong.

I can feel it the minute Walker leaves and I come back inside. Mom and Dad are sitting in the living room, side-by-side on the love seat, while my brother is in the corner arm chair.

I can't remember the last time we all sat in this room together as a family.

Especially without the TV on.

And it fills my stomach with an icky sense of dread.

"Rachel, you're done."
 

Mom's words -- and her dull tone -- don't do much to make me feel any better.

"What's going on?"

"Have a seat."
 

I do what she says and drop down onto the couch opposite my parents. Dad is looking everywhere but at me, Seth is slumped over in the chair with his arms folded across his chest, and Mom stares at me, hands clasped tensely in her lap. Her face is drawn and tight.
 

I'm really not ready for her to give me the bad news, like Grandma or Grandpa back in Wisconsin are sick in the hospital or maybe worse.
 

"Rachel," Mom says. "There's no easy way to tell you this."

"Does Seth already know?" I interrupt.

She shoots a glance in my brother's direction, then nods. "Yes, he was with us when we, ah, got the news," she says, and this worries me even more.
 

"Dammit, Diane, out with it already," Dad snaps, showing a sign of life for the first time since I walked in the door. He looks at me. "You're freaking her out. I lost my job. That's it. Nobody's dead, nobody's maimed, it's not the big deal your mother is making it out to be. I'll move on, you'll move on, and the family will be fine."
 

Dad slumps back against the couch.
 

"What? Dad, what happened?"

Mom shakes her head. "Layoffs. It was nothing your father did," she insists, and I have a feeling her words aren't meant for me. "Just the luck of the draw, really."
 

"But -- you've worked there for fifteen years," I point out, still not really sure I'm understanding any of this. "They can't just tell you to -- "

"They can," Dad cuts in. "And they did."

"So...what are you going to do?" I ask.

Mom looks at me like she's wondering when I got stupid. "He'll look for another job, of course," she says immediately. "But, Rachel, we have another problem."
 

I want to say that I think we have
a lot
of problems now, but I keep my mouth shut.

"There's just -- there's no good way to tell you this part, either," she begins, and Dad shifts on the couch, looking like he wishes he could beam himself into outer space. "We're not going to be able to send you to college in the fall without some help from you."
 

I shrug. This doesn't sound like anything new. I'd always planned on finding a part-time job on campus to get by, anyway.

"That's fine," I say. "You know I want to do what I can."
 

But Mom shakes her head. "I don't think you understand. Honey, we're not going to be able to pay all of the bills. We need more than whatever you'll make working ten hours a week at a coffeeshop in town."
 

My nose wrinkles, but I wait for her to keep talking.

"Rachel, without the prize from the surfing competition, we can't afford to send you to college at all."
 

***

I'm still running.

My legs are burning, lungs screaming for air, but I keep going. The dry sand damp with late afternoon rain makes every step I take feel heavy and hard, but I'm fighting through it.
 

I have to get away.

I run until I stumble in the sand and hit the ground, cutting my knee against some broken shells.

As soon as Mom told me I'd need to surf in the Invitational if I wanted to go to college in the fall, I'd taken off, sprinting down the beach, running to nowhere.

And now I'm somewhere just past Western, on a beach that's unpopular with tourists, and that suits me just fine.
 

I sit up and tuck my legs underneath me, staring out at the ocean.
 

I'd grabbed my bag before I fled home, so I have my phone on me, and I take it out now, turning it over and over in my hands. Mom's called twice, but that's it. I think about calling Walker and asking him to meet me, to help me figure this out, but I don't bother.

There's nothing he can do.

This is up to me now.

Everything had been going so well, better than it has been since Alex, and it'd all been happening with Walker and without surfing.

I don't
need
surfing to make me happy anymore. Sure, I loved doing it, but now it's stopped being fun, and giving it up feels, well, it feels good.

Maybe I'd planned on hitting the waves with my board again someday, but not today, and not any day that I could see.

Except now it looks like someday might have come a lot sooner than I'd planned.

But the thing is, the idea of climbing back on a surfboard doesn't sit well with me. I'm not ready.

Walker once told me that I can't go back to surfing until it's what I want to do, until I know it's the right choice for me, and that doing it for someone else won't ever make it feel okay.

It made sense when he said it then, and it still makes sense now.

And I don't really think there's much else to it.

I can't get back on that surfboard.
 

Not after Alex, not after Piper, and not after that disastrously embarrassing warm-up competition.

I'm not ready, and I'm not going to do it.
 

There's gotta be another way.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"You seem off," Walker says.

I snap back to reality, and try to focus on what's going on around me.

Walker stares at me with his eyebrows raised, and an amused but somewhat concerned smile on his face.
 

"Welcome back," he says. "Where'd you go?"

I shrug. "Just thinking about some stuff."
 

"Well, then, penny for your thoughts."

"I'm not sure they're worth that much."

"Try me. We can negotiate later."

I breathe out a sigh, and glance down at the Volcano burger sitting untouched on the blue plate in front of me. We're back at Hilo's after Walker insisted he needs at least one helping of the onion-and-apple-hamburger goodness every week.

I wave my hand in the air. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. It's not that interesting, anyway."
 

Walker stares at me. "Do you think I'd ask if I wasn't interested?"

"Maybe, yeah," I say after a second because I'm not sure how else to respond. But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're stupid. "To be polite."
 

He snorts. "Rachel, if you think I do anything out of politeness, you don't know me at all."

"It's all just family stuff," I finally admit, glancing down at my nails. "Not a big deal."

"Okay, okay, I'm done prying," Walker says, holding up his hands. He picks up the half burger that's left on his plate. "Don't wanna ruin the Volcano experience."

"My dad lost his job," I blurt out, surprising myself and, I'm pretty sure, Walker.
 

He pauses with his hands halfway to his mouth, and I watch his eyes flick to the burger for a second or two before he puts it back down on the plate without taking a bite.

"That blows. He freaking out?"

I shake my head. "Not really. He's been a lot quieter than usual, which might actually be scarier, now that I think about it. I'm not really sure. Mom's kind of been trying to keep it from coming up after she told us."

"Well, that sucks a lot, Rach. Sorry." He looks back down at his burger, then over at mine. "You should eat."

"It gets better," I say, ignoring him. "The plan was always for them to pay for things for me for college. I got some tuition handled by scholarships and grants and staying in-state and stuff, but they were gonna help with the rest and housing and food and all that. And then I was going to get a job for everything else, fun stuff I wanted to do if I didn't have an allowance money left over." I take a breath. "I know that might sound spoiled maybe, but that's how we worked it out. Except now they're telling me they can't pay for any of it."
 

Walker raises his eyebrows. "Not anything?"

I shake my head. "They can't. And it's not like I can get mad about it, either. It's not my dad's fault. He didn't ask to get fired, you know?"

"Yeah."

"But there's something else."
 

"How can there be more?"

"Thing is, I have an option." I sigh and look down at my lap. "I just -- I don't know what to do about it." And I'm not so sure I want to tell Walker what it is, either; I already know he's going to tell me I don't have a choice. I have to surf.
 

"So we'll figure it out," he says.

"It's surfing. Surfing. In the Invitational. If I win, we'll have the money and nothing changes."
 

"Except everything you feel about getting back on your board," he says, and I nod, trying to force the threatening tears back into my eyes.
 

"You get it," I say, and he reaches out across the table and grabs my hand.
 

"Hey," he says quietly. "Don't let those tears out, Rach. It's okay. We'll make something work, I promise."
 

I wipe away the tears with my free hand and shake my head. "It's not your problem."
 

He shrugs. "I like to think that you're my problem. That means whatever you're dealing with, I'm dealing with, too. But if that's not okay, let me know."
 

I stare at him, and his gaze doesn't waver from mine, and I know he means what he says, but it's so unexpected, so unlike anything I've ever heard before from someone who wasn't Alex, that I'm not sure how to respond.

"It's okay," I finally manage to squeak out, and he smiles, and I smile, and it's not long before I feel the heat from the blush spreading across my cheeks.

"Good," he says, giving my hand an extra squeeze before he lets go. "When is the competition?"

I swallow hard. This is something I've been trying not to think about too much. "Next week. Nine days to be exact. Not much time."

"But enough to get it right," he says.
 

How does he sound so optimistic about this? I don't get it. To me, it feels like my insides are being ripped out, torn in two different, but equal, directions, while he sounds like he's got it all figured out.

"So what should I do?"

"Eat your burger."

"What?"

Walker nods, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Take a breath. And eat your Volcano before I do because I'm pretty sure I just heard it say my name."

"About the competition," I say, frowning. "What should I do about the competition?"

"You said it yourself," he replies with a shrug. "You have nine days to make a decision. We'll get there."

"Easy for you to be calm when it's not your future on the line."

"Rach, that's not what I'm saying. Relax. All I'm telling you is that you don't have to make a choice right this second. You have time."

"I don't know."

"I promise," he says. "Look, you're gonna have to figure out if you're even comfortable getting back in the water at all. How can you surf for money if you can't get in the water? How about tomorrow you try to teach me how to surf and if that works, we can decide what you should do next?"

"Oh," I say, thinking it over. "I don't know. Do I have to actually surf?"

"Can you teach me how without getting on a board?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then let's do it."

I gnaw at my bottom lip and consider this as he polishes off the rest of his burger and pulls a toothpick out of the pocket of his shorts. He stares at me, then lets out a low, soft laugh.

"Rachel, stop thinking so hard," he says. "You look like you're going to explode. We'll get in the water tomorrow and see what happens. You're never gonna find a time you think is perfect to do it so why not now?"

I try to come up with a reason why Walker isn't making any sense, but I've got nothing, and I know he'll come up with a better reason to dismiss all the excuses that flutter across my mind.

"Okay," I finally say. "You win this round. But I'm not getting on a surfboard."

He smiles and leans back against the booth, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Can't wait."
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"For the millionth time, I'm fine," I say as Walker and I finish waxing down the surfboard he's borrowing from my brother. "As long as you keep your promise and don't make me get on this, I'm fine."
 

"And for the millionth time, I don't want you to get on the board unless you want to," he shoots back.

I get to my feet and toss the wax back into my bag, which I leave with the towels we spread out across the sand.
 

"You ready for this?" I raise my eyebrows, giving him one last chance to change his mind.