Damselfly (18 page)

“Virgin daiquiris. Enjoy!” She moves along to distribute the rest of her load.

“Old enough to get married on television but not old enough to drink.” Shrike lifts a toast with a sardonic grin.

“If you had real alcohol, you’d be passed out in seconds,” Blue says, leaning into the cushions and sipping his daiquiri.

“At least I wouldn’t be bored to death.”

Al clears his throat. I’d almost forgotten him. “I think we’re going surfing next,” he says and nods toward an open plastic case with seven neon surfboards in the colors of our bodysuits.

“How are we going to do that with paparazzi boats chasing us?” I ask, shaking my head. “I don’t feel like getting chopped up by a propeller.”

Al shrugs. “Something else is happening, otherwise they would be taking us to the resort.”

He has a point. I really wouldn’t mind going back to the resort right now. I’m tired and damp and sick of playing to the camera. I’m sharing a room with Susanna, which is the first truly pleasant thing to happen to me since this show started. We actually stayed up late last night, talking. She told me it reminded her of the sleepovers she had when she was in high school. I was tempted to say it reminded me of playing with the paper cutouts of Hansel and Gretel in my pop-up books, but I kept that to myself.

Our room even has a me-sized bed, supplied by a doll furniture company. It has the softest mattress I’ve ever slept on and sheer white curtains that wrap around the wooden canopy like a cloud. When I woke up this morning, I actually felt happy. So far, Hawaii isn’t treating me too shabby. Well, except for the constant presence of the paparazzi.

When we drove to the helipad for our skydiving extravaganza, we were followed by eleven different cars. As soon as we stopped, they nearly ran over each other to get close enough to snap a picture.

Each of the guys looks tired now. The pace of the last few days has been exhausting. The day after Dr. Christiansen informed me we were leaving for Hawaii, we practiced our aerial formations from morning until night so we would be ready. The next day after was an all-day plane ride. And now today.

Blue sets his empty glass on the table and leans back, closes his eyes.

Row slides closer to me and points to my drink. “Hey, what do you think?”

“Oh.” I take my first sip. “It’s okay.” The sugar rush nearly makes my hair stand on end. “A bit too sweet.”

He gives me a sly grin. “I’ll take it if you don’t want it.”

“Aha! I should have known you had an agenda. You were trying to part me from my sugar water!”

“Yep. So can I have it?”

I hand it to him, and he gulps it down.

“Doesn’t that give you a headache? I get a nasty cold headache whenever I do that.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Nope. I’m perfectly fine. Give me a minute.”

The director squats down and puts his elbows on the tabletop holding our seating area. “Hey everyone! Hope you all had a great flight down. We got some awesome footage. Nice tricks. They looked fantastic.”

None of us says anything.

“Just letting you know we’re going to be turning the mics on now. Curtis is going to give you new mic packs real quick, and then we’ll get started.”

“What’s going on?” Shrike asks.

“Well, you’re in for a real treat,” the director says, his tone dripping with sincerity.

Oh, goodie.

“The local police are blocking off a section of the water for us. You all are going surfing.”

I glance over at Blue. His eyes are wide open now.

A gangly young man with spiked brown hair and a too-tight shirt comes over, and the director claps him on the shoulders. “This is Curtis. He’ll take care of you guys.” He turns to Curtis. “Oh, and when you’re done, make sure they get another round here and maybe some snacks. Whatever they want. See you guys!”

Al slides off his chair and slips onto the seat next to me as Curtis examines Shrike’s microphone pack. “So, surfing!”

“Yep.”

Al’s teeth are bright white inside his chocolate smile. “Can I teach you?”

“Sure.” I really wish he wouldn’t. I don’t want anything to replace the lessons I got from Jack. I’d rather try to get the hang of it on my own, without any help, even if it means making an utter fool of myself. But I can’t tell him that. He’s so clearly excited, and this is his chance to show me what he’s got.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I fake a smile.

“You sighed.”

“I think I’m just tired. But I’m fine.”

“Your turn, Lina!” Curtis beckons me over. Yay, a diversion. He hands me a nearly flat black box the size of my palm. There’s no cord.

“What do I do with it? I ask.

He taps a pocket on my thigh. “It goes in there.”

“Oh. Where’s the mic?”

“That’s it. Brand-new technology. It picks up sound and filters out any noise. The battery’s in there, too. You’re all set.”

“And now it’s my turn,” says Susanna, armed with her makeup kit. “Over here, Miss Lina.”

I follow her through the crush of panicked assistants putting together lenses and lighting sets, down a few steps and into a cabin bedroom. The bed takes up almost the entire room. Unfortunately, Tina the Terrible is also waiting for me, but she’s looking a bit green. I guess the gentle bobbing of the yacht doesn’t agree with her.

“What happened to your face?” Susanna asks as she attacks me a powder puff.

“I got hit by a drop of water, and I meeeellllted. MELLLLLTED.” I do my best Wicked Witch of the West impression of sinking into a puddle on the bedspread. “Anyway, I’m going to be in the water, so I don’t think makeup will matter.”

“It will matter to Dr. Christiansen.”

“Pfffft.”

“You know there’s going to be pictures beforehand. And lots of footage of you and the Toms gazing off at the ocean.”

“I’ve already had my picture taken too many times today.”

“I bet.” She holds up her magnifying glass and carefully lines my eyes with white.

Tina begins working my hair into loose curls. When they’re done, I’ve been transformed into a genuine surfer girl.

“I could get used to this,” I say as I admire myself in the mirror. “But I need a coconut bra.”

Tina gives me a weak smile and then races from the room, slamming the door on her way out.

“She’s already thrown up twice,” Susanna says. “I feel bad for her.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nice and quiet now.”

“Lina!” But her tanned shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“Are they really going to make me surf in this bodysuit?”

“As far as I know. I haven’t heard anything different.” She pokes the giant logo on my side. “It would be hard to fit that on a swimsuit. No one would be able to read it.”

“And it’s all about the money.”

She purses her lips but says nothing. Curtis pokes his head through the door. “You’re up, Lina. Time to shine!”

“Another hour, another million photos,” I grumble.

***

I’m not sure what I pictured when the director told us the police were reserving a section of water for us, but I certainly didn’t imagine there would be dozens of boats and two helicopters waiting for us. All of this fuss over a little bit of surfing.

We’re right off Waimea Bay, prime surfing waters. Today the waves are reaching heights of six feet, which means the front of the wave is actually closer to twelve feet. Why they don’t say the waves are twelve feet is beyond me. Apparently it’s some old Hawaiian measuring system, but it makes no sense.

Perry has rejoined us, although he’s looking a little drunk and squinty-eyed. Shrike keeps putting one hand on his friend’s shoulder to return him to a fully upright position.

After posing with our surfboards for an obscene number of photos on the railing of the yacht, we’re now finally getting ready to jump in.

Al jostles me gently with his shoulder. “Ready, Lina?”

“Yep.”

“Follow me. I’ll show you the best tricks.”

“Right. After you.”

The other guys see what’s going on and take off without us, whooping and zooming through the air. They’re right at home out here. Al checks to make sure I’m still waiting on him, and I nod. All ready. Let’s go.

We fly over the cresting waves, and Al stops and hovers.

“We’ll wait for a good one.”

Blue suddenly stops and dives, sliding his board under his feet right before he reaches the face of the wave. He keeps using his wings to propel himself down the towering wall of water. The spray tickles my toes as the wave passes beneath us.

“Is that the trick?!” I shout to Al.

“No, that is not it. All right, let’s take that one.”

“What?”

But he’s already jetting toward the tippy top of the next wave, so I fly hard to catch up. The wave is still building its height; the top edge is reaching, reaching for the sky and has yet to crest. Al flies in perfect pace with it and beckons to me even though I’m right there with him.

“Lie down on your stomach. Like this!” He presses his board to his chest and dives over the edge.

“Oh my gosh.”

I follow his instructions and “sled” over the teetering ledge of water. I’m one wrong move from free-falling down the vertical face. I scream, half out of fear and half out of pure glee. My teeth chatter as the board skitters across the rapidly changing water. I know when the wave crests because I pick up speed, and now I’m squealing uncontrollably. I turn my head and see a mass of roiling foam coming my way, so I get my wings going and skip out in front of the wave.

“Lina! Come up here!” It’s Row, and he’s waving at me from above. His strawberry blond hair is on fire with sunlight. Two black camera drones zoom behind him—the first reminder I’m being filmed since Al and I rode our wave together. I’d completely forgotten I was miked until now, and it bothers me that I’m getting used to this.

I barely escape the pummeling wave as I fly to join Row. He’s hovering with his board tucked under his arm.

“Want to try some double-boarding?”

“How does that work?”

“You ride with me, of course. In front.” He flashes me his signature smile. “My noble steed is here, at the ready.”

“Do I have to ride side-saddle?”

“Only if it pleases her ladyship.”

“No thanks. What do I do with my board if I’m riding yours?”

“Blue!” Row waves him over.

“What’s up?”

“Can you hold Lina’s board for a minute? We’re going to do some double-boarding.”

“Absolutely.” Blue barely even looks at me as he takes my board. He’s ignoring me, and that’s annoying. I’m not sure if he’s offended that I pretended to be into him or if he’s wishing it was real. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.
Not everything is about you
, I remind myself.

Row holds his hand out to me, and I take it. We fly hand-in-hand to the spot where the waves are cresting.

“All right, this is how it works. We’re actually going to start in the water and surf this the old-fashioned way.”

“And what’s the old-fashioned way?”

“We both lie on the board—same as you did with Al’s technique—in the water, and we wait for the wave to pick us up. I’ll stand first and then I’ll help you and we’ll be surfing!”

“What if I can’t get up? It’ll be hard to get my balance with my wings if you’re right behind me.”

“That’s why it’s the old-fashioned way,” he says with a sly grin. “Just try not to flap me right off the board.”

Right. So basically we’re going to be surfing like regular people. The way Jack taught me. But this time I have to do it with Row.

“Let’s get set up down there,” Row continues, pointing at a trough between the swells. “We’ll have to be quick.”

Once Row positions the board in the water, I climb up on my stomach, and he follows suit. He’s basically on top of me, and I squirm under his weight.

“Sorry, I’m kind of heavy. I’ll be off you in a sec.” He presses his hands into the board right near my shoulders and pushes himself slightly away from me. I’m surprised at how muscular his forearms are. He’s rolled his bodysuit sleeves to the elbow, and he’s all lean muscle. That’s when it occurs to me how
close
he is, and shivers run over my whole body.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“Nope, just dandy.”

“Sorry, I thought I saw you shiver.” I feel him twist around to check out the next wave, and then he starts pushing us forward with his wings. “This is a good one, but we need some more speed.”

At first, I don’t feel the same surge I did with the other waves—we’re going only a little faster—and then I notice we’re going up the wall of water backward.

“Lean forward!”

“I’m leaning!”

We shoot forward like a cannonball on the water, and Row stands in one fluid move. This is it. I know how to do this. I did it dozens of times with Jack. I slide onto my knees, and Row’s hands are suddenly under my armpits, guiding me. I wish he wouldn’t help me. I wish he would let me succeed or fail on my own, but I guess that’s not his style.

Right after Jack demonstrated how to get up on my board, he went off on his own for fifteen minutes to let me work it out on my own. When he returned, I was still flailing like a drunken spider, but I was standing.

Look at me! Look at me!
I screamed at Jack right before I tumbled off into the wave. When I came back up, sputtering but happy, he only winked at me and pointed at the incoming waves.

Together?
he asked with a grin.

Definitely.

He never showed off. He didn’t congratulate himself for being such an amazing teacher that I got up in less than five tries. As far as he was concerned, we were on a level playing field. Teammates on surfboards, conquering the waves!

I loved it.

Now, here with Row gently pulling me by my arms, I’m more of a helpless doll than a fearless Amazon. Not a very sexy feeling.

Not that I’m trying to feel sexy right now. No, definitely not. Not with Row.

I lose my balance and fall into his chest. More annoying shivers and that quickening feeling deep in my stomach.

Stop it, Lina! This is Row!