Cinderella in the Surf (2 page)

Walker's face keeps floating in front of my eyes, just as close to me as he was inside Johnny's, and it's like my brain refuses to stop thinking about him even though the rest of me is pretty sure meeting him isn't even a big deal.

But maybe it isn't all that weird. I mean, why wouldn't I be thinking about the random guy who decked me in the face, then told me I look lonely?
 

What's that all about, anyway?
 

I'd been so sure I was finally getting better at hiding it.
 

The sun still hasn't managed to find its way out from behind the clouds. It's unusual weather for this time of year in normally sunny, warm Southern California, but I don't mind.
 

The gray sky makes everything around me feel a little bit less bright, a little bit less alive.
 

A little bit more like me.

But the weather doesn't keep the vacationing families from enjoying the beach on one of the few precious days away from their real lives. Kids run back and forth between towels and the water, most lugging colorful buckets too heavy for their tiny hands, as sand castles pop up all over the beach.

I sigh because I remember when I loved the sand the same way, too, with a childlike happiness every time I got close to the water.

And that was just a month ago.

It's funny, I think as I look around at these smiling faces, how one person's escape is someone else's prison.

Our bungalow isn't far up the beach, and I can see it from where I am now. I try to keep my eyes down, avoiding the smiles and shouts and happy faces, as I hurry home, no longer in the mood to wander lazily up the shore.

But this doesn't feel right, either, because I grew up out here, on the water and on my surfboard, and dilly-dallying my way home along the sand has always been my favorite thing about living on the beach.

Or one of them, anyway.

Now it only hurts.

I can't seem to shake the habit, though, because as I get closer to our house, my eyes drift out over the water.

And that's when my stomach gets tight, my eyes grow wide, and I feel heaves start to rise up inside me. My palms prickle with thousands of tiny beads of sweat.
 

It can't be.

But I see it, it's here, right in front of me.
 

I grab my stomach as if that will somehow make it stop thrashing around, and I hope my knees will stop wobbling and keep me upright.
 

The flash of orange in the surf, it's there, I know it's there, Alex's board.
 

I watch it tumble through the rough surf that had been peaceful seconds before. There were no storms here last night. The day is gray, but the wind is soft, and somehow it feels as though the surf is suddenly angry about something only it can see.

It changes so quickly, without any warning at all, just like it did that day one month ago.

The orange board flails around in the waves like a fish that's fallen out of its bowl, and I know what's coming next.

I press my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the screams before I hear them, and I run, ignoring the knocking in my knees because I have to get out of here. I can't watch this again.

I see it every time I close my eyes.
 

I fly up the steps to the first floor of our bungalow that's protected from the unpredictable ocean by stilts. It isn't until the front door shuts tightly behind me that I allow myself to suck in a breath.
 

I sink down to the ground, my back pressed against the wooden shelter the door offers, a sturdiness I don't have left in me anymore, and bury my head in my knees.

It's been a month now.
 

Shouldn't this stop already?

Shouldn't I be okay?
 

Isn't this ever going to end?
 

CHAPTER THREE

I walk into town the next morning to get away from my real life for a little while. Mom asked if I could pick up some fresh fruits and veggies from the farmers market, and it sounds like a decent enough way to escape the ocean for a few hours.

I've been looking for a lot of those lately.
 

For a minute, I thought about going back down by the beach where Walker is painting Johnny's Pizzeria to see if I could figure him out some, but I decide it's probably best just to totally stay away from the sand today.

Maybe it'll help.

So instead, I'm wandering through the rows and rows of stalls, all covered by big white tents keeping the food from spoiling under the warming late morning sun. I've already got several pounds of apples, oranges and broccoli crowns in my bag, but I know Mom's going to want me to come home with more than this.

"Rachel! Hey!"
 

I look up and see Anna White waving to me from behind the table in her tent where she's selling the baby blankets she's always knitting. I don't think I've ever seen Anna without her needles and yarn in hand. Even now, she's clacking away on something new and soft pink.

I wave back to be polite, but don't stop to talk. It's hard to miss the disappointed look on her face when I keep moving, and it's been awhile since I've seen her, but I know where any conversation I have today will inevitably lead, because it's where they always go, and I'm not ready for it, so I won't stop.

I push on, weaving my way in and out among the tables, trying to get to the rest of the veggies.
 

"Rachel!" James Palm from down the street gets up from his chair and walks over to me. "How's it goin'?"
 

Maybe, I think, coming here today is a mistake after all.

"Hey, James," I say. "How are you?"
 

I don't slow my pace as I answer him.
 

"Delightful!" the older man, closer to my parents than to me in age, chirps. "I trust you're doing better."
 

"Just great, James," I call out as I move away, and then I'm past him and out of his striking range.
 

I let out a sigh and think it's about time to head home and tell Mom I can go to the grocery store or something for the rest of the food she wants.
 

This is already getting too hard.
 

"There she is! Aloha! Rachel West, Miss Surfin' Queen herself. Finally gracing us all with her presence."
 

I force the smile onto my face as Ahe beams at me. He's selling coconuts and bottled oils, and I've never been able to figure out where he gets them. He's been a family friend since forever, but even his jolly, infectious smile and big booming laugh don't do much to lift what feels like my permanently-fallen spirits.
 

Plus, I really don't want to talk about surfing right now. Or ever.

But Ahe's always been good to me and to my family, and it's a lot harder to walk away from him than it is Anna and James.

"Hi, Ahe," I say, trying to inject some life into my voice as I wander over by his booth. He's standing under the canopy by his giant calculator and wooden cash box, a big straw hat on his head, his cherubic face smiling all the way up to his eyes.

"Where you been? Haven't seen you around much."
 

I shrug. "It's tough, you know."
 

It doesn't take long for the topic of Alex to crop up into the conversation, just like I knew it wouldn't. It never does.
 

"You been back in the water yet?"

I only shake my head.

"You gotta get in there, girl," he tells me, his native Hawaiian accent creeping into his voice. "You're not gonna be Surfin' Queen for long if you keep this up."
 

Now I do manage a smile, a real one. "Please," I say. "Like that'll ever happen. No one out here can surf the way I did."
 

But he doesn't look nearly as comfy about it as I feel. "You ain't heard?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Heard what?"

He turns so he isn't facing me straight-on anymore and instead stands to my right. "Come over here and stand next to me," he says. "Just do it," he adds, when I give him an odd look, so I do.

"Now," he says. "Look over there. By James and all his clocks." I try to follow the path he's laying out for me. "You see that big hat? The weird-lookin' one? With the pink glitter and stripes and stuff?"

"Yeah. Tourists wear ugly hats around here all the time. That's not news."
 

"You see who's wearing that?" he goes on, and I look again and notice strands of short blonde hair peeking out and resting against the girl's back.

"Yeah."

"That's Piper Monaghan."
 

"Okay."
 

Ahe turns to focus his attention on me again. "That don't mean anything to you?"

I shrug. "No, not really. Should it?"

He shakes his head. "You're even more sure o'yourself than I thought. You don't know Piper Monaghan?"

"How many times do I have to say I don't know the name?"

"Okay, okay, okay." He holds up his hands, palms facing me like he's surrendering to the police. "I hear you."
 

I wait a second for him to go on. "So? Who is she?"
 

"You know how you're the best surfer for miles around here?"

"Allegedly," I reply, and I frown when he doesn't even crack a smile.

"Piper Monaghan, she's the one they say's the best surfer they got in Australia."
 

The confident smile on my face flickers but doesn't vanish. "She's what?"
 

I know I've heard him right, but I'm not sure what Ahe's getting at.

"Yeah," he says. "She's real good, Rachel."
 

"What's she doing here? Vacation? Should I say hi or something? Have I met her before?"

Ahe shifts his weight, and puts his hands behind his back. "I, uh -- "

"Spit it out," I say, not liking the way he's fidgeting around like this. It's not like him. "I'm not playing, Ahe."

"Rachel," he says, finally meeting my eyes. "You know that competition is coming up. The big one."
 

"The big...one..." I say, my voice trailing off as I think about what he's saying. "You mean..."
 

"Yeah," he says, nodding gravely. "You ain't the only surf queen around here anymore."
 

"She hasn't won anything," I say, sticking my chin out. This girl -- this Piper Monaghan -- isn't about to rattle me just because she's supposed to be some foreign big shot. And why should she? I'm not scared. I never have been.

"She's won a lot," Ahe replies, and I feel something flicker in me. Annoyance, definitely, because what the heck is up with him right now, anyway? He's supposed to be rooting for me. He doesn't even know her.
 

"Just not here," he goes on. "Not this competition. Not yet."
 

"Who's side are you on?" I snap, frustration bubbling over.
 

"Well, I don't know," he tells me, and my cheeks sting as if he's slapped me straight across the face. "You even have a side to be on anymore?"

I swallow hard and open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. There's a good reason for it, too.

I don't have one.
 

I haven't been in the water since that day, not really, and definitely not with my board. The competition Alex and I were so excited for, the one Ahe's talking about now, the one I've never surfed in, is only six weeks away.
 

I'm a good enough surfer that I can still compete even if I don't train every day, but obviously it's better if I do.

If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to do what Alex and I planned and surf in the International Invitational, then I need to get back in the ocean -- now.
 

Today.
 

With my board.

But the bile's already rising from the pit of my stomach and pushing its way up my throat and into the back of my mouth.

"Don't think so hard," Ahe tells me, and I figure the struggle in my brain must be written all over my face. Or maybe Ahe just knows me well enough. "You love the ocean. You can't let Alex dying out there keep you away from it forever."

It's another punch to the gut that I don't see coming. They've been happening a lot lately, ever since I lost him.

But I know I'll never get used to hearing Alex and death in the same sentence, together, side by side, like they somehow belong.
 

They're not supposed to mean the same thing.
 

But I can't pretend that's not how it is now.

"I--I can't. I can't."
 

Ahe shakes his head, and when I finally look up at him, I don't see anything in his eyes, not pity, not sadness, not encouragement or anything else.
 

"When you gonna go on from this, Rachel?"

"Alex is dead. Dead. That isn't something I'm just gonna get over, one, two, three like that," I say, snapping my fingers to make my point.

There's a bitterness in my voice that I've gotten used to hearing a lot over the last month or so. I expect it now. I don't like it, either, but I can't do much to fix it.
 

It's just a part of me now, as much as surfing used to be.
 

"You're not hearin' me, hoaloha," he says, and I blink twice at the nickname I haven't heard come out of his mouth in a long time. Not since I was a little girl. "Alex is gone. He ain't comin' back, no matter how much you want it. Ain't no star out there gonna grant you that wish. I'm not saying you gotta forget him, but you gotta keep goin' and goin', even without him at your side."

I lean up against the edge of the table lined neatly with Ahe's oils and coconuts, not because I'm tired but because I'm losing faith that I can hold myself for up much longer.

"I don't know how."
 

"You better learn quick."
 

I shake my head. "This is just about the surfing competition," I say. "You just want me in the Invitational. I don't need surfing."