Pulled Under

“I bet they can’t sign you.”

“Well, no, they couldn’t, but since I don’t surf in contests, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s just not my thing,” I say. “I like to keep my surfing between me and the ocean. No spectators, no judges.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow but lets the topic slide.

So far the day seems to be going great. I still don’t have any idea if he’s into me or if he’s just looking for a friend, but I feel more comfortable with Ben than I’ve ever felt with a guy. He laughs at my jokes, and when I try to explain why I think tourists are like waves and Surf City is evil, he doesn’t look at me like I’m a lunatic or something. But now it’s time for the big test.

Now we’re going to Surf Sisters.

Surf City is owned by an evil, faceless corporation,” he says as we walk along Ocean Ave. “But you said there’s actually a pair of sisters who owns Surf Sisters, right?”

“Mickey and Mo. They’re the best.”

“Mickey and Mo sound more like surf brothers than sisters.”

“That’s because the guys they used to beat in all the surf contests thirty years ago were too embarrassed to say they were getting waxed by Michelle and Maureen.”

“So, unlike you, they were willing to compete in contests?”

I give him a look, and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject back, “their dad was a legendary lifeguard and surfer.”

“Steady Eddie,” he says.

“That’s right, Steady Eddie. Lifeguarding doesn’t pay much, so he started up Steady Eddie’s Surf School to give lessons to people staying at the hotels along the boardwalk. Mickey and Mo’s mother wasn’t in the picture, so they were always part of the deal. They were the first girls in this area to make names for themselves as surfers, and they were determined to make sure it was easier for the next generation.”

“Which is why they opened the shop, right?”

“It just seemed like the logical next step. They turned their house into a shop, and when Steady Eddie passed away, they kept the surf school going to honor his memory. It’s part business, part civic duty, part family memorial.”

“So the shop was actually the house where they grew up,” he says. “Okay, I see why that beats some corporate megastore.”

“I was hoping you would.”

Sophie and Nicole are both working today, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behavior when we arrive. Sophie’s on register while Nicole’s walking around making sure all the customers are finding what they’re looking for. Both seem to be keeping an eye on the door as we enter.

Even though they saw Ben when he first came to the shop and again when he was with the campers, they’ve never officially met him, so I take care of the introductions.

“Ben, meet Sophie and Nicole,” I say. “Guys, this is Ben.”

They exchange hellos, and when I see Sophie about to talk, I panic for a millisecond that she might revert to her normal self and say something outlandish just to see how he reacts. But she keeps her promise to behave.

“What brings you to the shop today, Ben?” she asks.

“I want to get some new shoes and socks to wear on the beach,” he says. “Maybe knee-high socks and something in a boot. Is there such a thing as a beach boot?”

The girls both laugh, and suddenly any potential awkwardness is gone.

“Actually,” he continues, “I’m getting some hard-core beach tutoring from Izzy, and I think that means I need some wardrobe adjustments.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” asks Nicole.

“I’m guessing I need some new trunks.”

They both look at each other in total confusion.

“Board shorts,” I say, translating. “They speak a different version of English in Wisconsin.”

They laugh some more, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t say ‘trunks’ either?” asks Ben. “It’s like ‘pop’ all over again.”

Because the shop is a converted house, it has a homey feel that’s very different from Surf City. The staff even picked up Mickey and Mo’s habit of referring to the different rooms by what they once were. That’s why surfboards are in the garage, women’s swimwear is in the family room, and accessories are in the kitchen, where the counter and shelf space are perfect for displaying everything from sunblock and sunglasses to key chains and waterproof wallets.

“We’re going to the dining room,” I tell the girls.

“We’re eating again?” Ben asks.

“No,” I tell him. “The dining room is where we put everything that’s on sale.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Despite its obvious glamour and prestige, the Parks and Recreation Department doesn’t pay particularly well.”

“Don’t worry,” says Sophie. “We’ve all got employee discounts.”

“Yeah,” adds Nicole. “We’ll take care of you.”

I smile because this makes me think that he’s passed his first test with them. This is confirmed about fifteen minutes later when Ben carries an armful of clothing into a fitting room and Sophie and Nicole rush over to me like football players about to tackle a quarterback.

“We approve,” Sophie says with a firm whisper.

“Definitely,” adds Nicole. “By the way, you look really cute today.”

“Thank you.”

“You owe me so bad,” Sophie adds. “Not only am I the one who made you eat with him, but I’m also the one who swapped shifts with you for the rest of the summer. Don’t forget about that.”

“I already paid you back. Don’t forget who bought your ticket at the movie.”

“I think this is worth more than a movie. This deserves—”

She’s interrupted when Ben comes out of the fitting room wearing a pair of navy blue board shorts. They look great, but we’re all a little distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless and—surprise, surprise—his muscles and abs come fully loaded. (Thank you, cross-country.) The three of us are literally speechless, a reaction that he mistakes for disapproval.

“They don’t look good?” he asks, pointing at the shorts.

“No,” I say with a cough. “They look . . . great.”

“Yeah,” Sophie adds. “Nice trunks.”

The mention of trunks makes him smile, unleashing the dimples again. “I know, I know. I promise I’ll get the hang of it all.”

He is totally oblivious to his current overall hotness factor, which only makes him that much more appealing. He goes back into the fitting room, and the others turn to me and we’re speechless again.

“She’s right,” Nicole finally says. “That’s worth way more than a movie.”

It takes everything we’ve got not to bust out laughing. I can honestly say I have never felt the way I feel at this particular moment. I know it sounds pathetic, but it’s making me a bit dizzy. I’m having trouble processing the whole thing.

By the time we’re done, he’s picked up another pair of board shorts, two Surf Sisters T-shirts, and a pair of inexpensive but comfortable flip-flops.

“Give us some catwalk action,” Sophie says. “Let’s see how it plays.”

Ben goes along with this and walks back and forth in front of the register, accenting it with some goofy fashion poses. When he’s done, he turns to the three of us and asks, “So what do you think?”

“I’d believe he was an islander,” says Nicole.

“It won’t be official until he loses the tan line from his socks,” adds Sophie. “But he’s definitely getting there.”

“I can hardly believe it,” I say.

He takes it to mean that I can’t believe how well he’s got the look down. And while that’s true, it also means that I can’t believe this is happening to me. The cynic in me is waiting for the bubble to burst.

After we leave the shop, we head down to the beach and walk barefoot along the waterline. I point out some shells and a shark’s tooth, but for the moment the lessons are over. I just want to enjoy . . . this.

Whatever “this” is.

It is the most romantic moment in my life, which is a bit of a problem because for all I know I’m just his shopping buddy. I mean, he really seems to like me and we’ve spent the day together, but I don’t know how to know for sure. It would be great if he held my hand as we walk along the beach, but his hands are full because he’s carrying two Surf Sisters shopping bags.