Cinderella in the Surf (20 page)

Like the tune-up competition a couple weeks ago, the Invitational is a few minutes away from our house, and I'm standing at the registration table with seven minutes to spare.

Phew.

And of course, it's Anna White and her knitting needles sitting behind the booth once again.

"Now I don't need you to tell me your name, sugar," she says with a laugh when I reach the front of the short line. "Rachel West, back again. I can't say I'm not surprised to see ya here."

"Hi, Anna."
 

I keep it short as I sign the papers and the standard release forms and all that jazz. The whole time, I can barely keep my eyes off the ocean, checking the swells and, okay, scanning the crowd for that stupid head of blonde hair.

Piper doesn't know I'm surfing, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way until I'm standing on the podium with the top prize in my hands.

"Good luck," Anna says, handing over my competition shirt and tag. "You know we're all pullin' for you, sunshine."

"I know," I say, even though my mind can't help but wander back to seeing Alex's mom in the grocery store. I'm pretty sure there are
some
locals who can't wait to see me fail. But I push it out of my head. There's always time to feel guilty later. "I'll try to make you proud."

The first heat for both guys and girls is already over and the second is about to get underway when I scope out a good spot on the beach to check out the swells.

It's what Alex and I would always do when we had some time before competitions: scout the surf, scout the competition, try to figure out if the rights are breaking more powerfully than the lefts.

There's a pit in my stomach now, but it doesn't feel like what I'm doing is wrong.

It's just weird.

Different, but like I still belong.

The surfers progress through the second heat, and it's obvious the better waves are a little farther away from the shore than they usually are, and I'm hoping that doesn't change by the time I'm up.
 

I've got it all figured out, but I know better than anyone else that even the strongest, most fool-proof plans are never guaranteed.

And then, finally, the loudspeaker blares all the numbers of the competitors who are supposed to report to the staging area to prepare to hit the waves.

I'm 710.

I have no idea why my number is so ridiculous since there are only 27 surfers registered in the women's division, but that's what they gave me.

I cross my fingers as I hurry to the platform that I won't see Piper standing there, waiting to surf against me in my heat. I hope she's already gone in one of the two rounds before me -- and gotten knocked out.
 

It's easy to lose in the Invitational. The judges aren't messing around. The first round consists of three different heats with nine surfers, and out of all of them, only the top score gets to advance.

Yeah. It's
hard
.
 

We've got thirty minutes to impress the judges. Thirty minutes to ride as many waves as we can to collect as many scores as we can, and it's the average of all those totals that make up your overall rating.

If you're lucky enough to advance, you get to do it all over again: another three heats, but this time just three people in each one, and
those
people get to go in the final round: three surfers, thirty minutes, one champion.

Me.
 

"Your number is on backward."
 

A man in a white Invitational T-shirt and headset barely looks at me as he hustles by when I reach the staging area. I glance down at the laminated paper pinned to my wetsuit.

Sure enough, the number is facing my belly.
 

A promising start.

Eight other girls are all double-checking then triple-checking to make sure their ponytails are slicked back, their wetsuits are in place and they're ready to go.

My stomach does a somersault when a blonde head runs by me, and it doesn't calm down again until she turns around and I can see it's definitely not Piper.

Actually, I don't see her at all.

"Alright, ladies." Headset Guy claps his hand against his clipboard. "We're under five minutes from the start of your heat. I trust you all understand the rules." He scans the group. "Speak up now if you don't."
 

No one does.

"Alright, then. Great. Let's head down to the shoreline."
 

It's quiet as the nine of us march solemnly toward the water. My heart's beating faster with every step I take. This is it.
 

"You'll hear the horn go off when your thirty minutes begin and that's when you can hit the water," he tells us. "Good luck."
 

It won't be long now until I'm reunited with the waves.

And my nausea's getting worse.

The horn blares.

And then I'm in the water.

It pools around my ankles, chilly and cool, curious and friendly, but not so frigid that I don't feel welcome.

It's sort of inviting.

"You got this," I murmur to myself.

I go deeper and deeper into the ocean with each step, and finally, the water comes up to my waist. This isn't such a big deal. I've been out this far since Alex's death. I've come this far already.
 

It's what I have to do next that makes me feel like I'm about to hurl.

I glance around. The other girls are spread out along the water all heading out to the lineup. There's some room between us all but not as much as I'd like for my first ride.
 

I lay the board flat on the water's surface, and I'm pretty sure I'm just staring at it for a few seconds like it's something I've never seen before.
 

It kind of reminds me of the first time I ever rode.

Fear, excitement, nerves, wonder, horror, happiness, sadness -- they all come flooding into me at once.
 

I look back over my shoulder toward the crowd standing on the shore. No one even knows I'm here. My last chance to turn around. I don't have to do this.

No one will know if I back down.

Live
.

Except for me.

I fling myself onto the board and start paddling toward the horizon before I can talk myself out of it anymore than I already have.

I have some wiggle room on either side of me and I'm planning on waiting for the right wave -- I would rather get a few high scores than a bunch of lower ones -- but it's like my brain shuts off all of a sudden and my instincts take over.

Because just like that, sure I haven't even thought about it, I'm turning around to face the shore as the wall of water behind me climbs higher and higher until it lifts me and my board and propels us across the ocean.

I freeze.

And then it all comes back. I remember how it feels to ride it out, to time my moves with what the wave is begging me to do.

It feels so natural that I'm not thinking about tricks and turns and the judges' table.
 

I'm just here, enjoying the journey, however long or short it may be, and in this moment, it's enough for me.

More than enough.

I'm on top of the ocean, maybe even on top of the world. A flock of seagulls flies by overhead, cawing happily searching for fish.
 

It's a simple ride, exactly what I had Walker do the first day I got him up on his board, but it's the most satisfying wave I've ever caught.

And now I get to do it all over again.

As I paddle back out, I watch some of the girls intensely catching and riding waves with a lot more gusto than I just had.

Yikes.
 

If I'm going to do this for real, I'm going to need to get it together, and
now
.

Alex would be laughing at me if he saw this, and for some reason, that idea makes me smile.

"Yeah, I'll show you," I mutter to his memory as I wait for the next wave.

I don't have to wait long.

The swell lifts my board and I push myself to my feet. I forget about staying upright and
go for it
, putting it all out here.
 

It's the perfect wave, nearly hollow as the white cap rises up and begins to curl over. My board slices its way through the water. The sea sprays my ankles as I make a 360-degree turn, and even though my feet wobble just a little, I stay standing.
 

Like I'm floating on the air, and it's just me, Alex and the wave.

I promise myself I'll never lose this feeling again.

One more twist through the wave and it begins to lose its power and trickle toward the shoreline and I let myself tumble off the board into the sea.

Phew
.

I'm thinking there should still be time for me to ride one more wave and add to my score, so I paddle out with all my remaining strength to make it in time.

And as the last wave carries me back to shore, I can't help but smile.

I'm hopelessly out of shape. My feet hurt, my arms ache from the weight of the board, and all I want to do is collapse onto the sand.

But honestly?

I feel great.
 

***

The bullhorn blares and the nine of us drag our tired, sore bodies out of the surf.

I toss the board to the side and grab a chair near the staging area, waiting for the judges to release the scores.

The crowd around the platform has thinned out, probably since the first and second heats both had their first-round champions already crowned and the losers weren't about to stick around to watch someone else win the competition they thought belonged to them.

"Nice ride."
 

I spin around in my chair.

Piper Monaghan.

She's standing about five feet behind me, arms crossed over her hot pink wetsuit, a smirk clouding her face.

I nod tensely. "Thanks."

Piper drops her arms to her side and sashays over to me. "I hope you advance," she says, and I hate that I can't detect the sarcasm that I
know
is lurking in her voice.

"I will."
 

She nods and tucks some of her loose hair behind one of her ears. "Good. Because I already won my heat." The smile on her face drips with smug satisfaction. "And I'm really looking forward to taking you down."
 

My face manages to keep calm, but on the inside, I'm already imagining what she'd look like with a thousand jellyfish stings.

"You couldn't keep me out of the competition," I say smoothly. "So what makes you think you can keep me from winning it?"
 

Piper's smile flickers, and she opens her mouth to respond, but the bullhorn sounds and the previous round's scores all disappear from the digital billboard in front of us.

Our names appear in red first, with a space next to them for all of our scores.

Too bad.

I really want to know what ridiculous retort Piper has up her sleeve this time.

"Here we go." She grins at me, clearly recovered from my jab. "By the way, I'm in the first heat next round."
 

I suck in some air.

What if I don't make it?

The thought crosses my mind for the first time since getting out of the water.
 

It's gonna suck, but it's gonna suck one hundred times harder with Piper standing right next to me.
 

Breathe
.

Alex's voice fills my head, and I take in a deep breath.

It's out of my hands now.

I've done all I can.

Three scores go up before mine, all under an eight.

And then we're at me.

The judges seem to take an extra long time getting their stuff together and posting my score, but suddenly -- here they are.
 

Rachel West:
7.1 8.5 8.6 8.8 9.2 = 8.44

"Eeeek!"
 

The squeal escapes my mouth before I can stop it, but omigod! It's been so long since I've seen my name next to any surfing scores, but to see it next to
these
surfing scores is more than I'm expecting.

And a lot more fun than I'm expecting, too.

"Huh," Piper mutters next to me. "Not bad."
 

My smile widens. I'm pretty sure that means I scored higher than she did, even with my crappy first I-can't-believe-I'm-really-doing-this wave.

Even better.
 

But I'm not free yet.
 

My eyes immediately dart back to the board. Five more girls are getting their scores, and there's no guarantee I've done better than all of them.

The odds are probably against it.

The next four scores are all lower than mine, but not by much. One girl gets an 8.38, and her cries aren't quiet.
 

So, it's down to me and the last surfer, someone named Katrina Churph. I've never heard of her until now.

I scan the crowd, and finally spot who I think has to be her -- a tiny redhead dressed in a blue wetsuit hunched in one corner of the staging area with two people holding her hands and squeezing their eyes shut.

Katrina Churph: 9.0 8.9 8.1 7.8 7.6 = 8.28

All the air rushes out of me, and I suddenly feel as weightless as I do when I'm riding the waves.

"Holy crap!"
 

I turn to Piper and have to fight the urge to reach out and hug her just because she's the closest person to me. Ew.
 

"Piper Monaghan, Andrea Levy, Robin Morris! Please report to the front of the staging area for the beginning of the first heat in the second round."
 

"That'd be me! Catch ya later, Rachel."

Piper bounces over toward the guy with the headset, and I watch her go, but I'm hardly paying any attention.

I've done it
.

And for right now, it's enough for me.
 

***

The second round goes even better for me than the first. I easily beat the two girls I'm matched up against with a score of 8.66.

Of course, Piper Monaghan's managed to win her heat, too.

Which sets up the inevitable.