Pulled Under

“I love him.”

They raise their eyebrows at this a

“It’s not a crush. I don’t just like him. I am in love with him. And I know that I have no experience and don’t know what I’m talking about. But I also know what I know. I love him and I can’t even tell him.”

“Why not?” asks Nicole.

“He broke up with his last girlfriend because she was in love with him and he didn’t feel the same way in return. He said he didn’t think it was fair to her. I can’t take that chance. It’s bad enough that I’m going to lose him at the end of the month.”

It’s amazing how relieved I am to have that off my chest. I can’t tell Ben, but I can tell the two of them. Saying it out loud makes it seem real and not just something floating around in my mind.

“If you really feel that way, then I think you should tell him,” Sophie says. “You should at least give him the chance to say it back to you. But that’s for you to decide, not us. That’s well beyond the powers of whoever controls the register.”

“Does that mean you’re ruling in my favor?” I ask.

“You’re guilty of shutting out your best friends. There’s no doubt about that. But I’m going to let you off with a warning and a reminder that we’re your biggest fans. All we ever want to do is make things better.”

“Okay, I know that. I won’t forget.” I’m relieved to have shared my secret and relieved that she’s not going to make me do something stupid. “I also appreciate the fact that you resisted your recent trend of overstepping your bounds when you’re on the register.”

“I’m not done yet,” she says.

I shake my head and turn to Nicole. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“This court also finds you guilty of another crime, and I’m afraid it’s one that ca

“And what is that?” I ask.

“Failure to dance to ‘The Rockafeller Skank.’”

This makes me laugh for the first time all week. “Please tell me it’s another warning.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she says. “We are going to stay here until we see . . . the Albatross. And don’t just go through the motions. We want to see it performed with the passion and pageantry it deserves.”

The Albatross is a goofy, over-the-top dance we came up with one night when we were doing inventory. It involves strutting around while holding your arms fully extended like wings. It’s exactly the type of thing that you do when you’re being silly with your friends, yet under no circumstance would you do anywhere else.

Sophie presses play and the music starts blaring again.

They just stand there with their arms crossed, looking at me expectantly.

“No way,” I say. “You can stare at me all you want,” I continue. “Because I am not going to do this.”

They turn the music up even louder.

That’s it. I can fight it no longer.

At first I just tease it a little and bounce my knees, then I bust out a big smile and the arms extend as I start the strut. They clap and holler, and pretty soon the three of us are grooving. It’s fun and a great emotional release. I get so into it that I even close my eyes, which is dangerous when performing the Albatross.

We’re startled out of our little moment when the music shuts off abruptly. We look to the counter and see Mo standing by the sound system. I’d totally forgotten that she was working in the garage.

“Sorry to interrupt your party,” she says, clearly enjoying the moment, “but I need you guys to come out to the garage.”

We follow her outside and are surprised to see that Mickey is there too. Today was her day off, which means she must have come in through the back door while we were busy.

“What’s up?” asks Sophie.

“The King of the Beach is coming up,” says Mickey, “and we thought we should have a team meeting.”

Even though there can be as many as eight competitors on a team, so far the Surf Sisters squad is just the five of us. None of the other girls at the shop really surf much, and despite my attempts to secretly recruit during my practice sessions at the pier, so far I have struck out.

“That’s a good idea,” I say. “You want to go over practice schedules?”

“Actually, we thought we might start off by giving you guys some M&M’s.”

“None for me,” answers Nicole. “I try to eat just a few, but then I start craving more, and before you know it I’ve polished off an entire family-sized bag. It’s not pretty.”

The sisters share a look and chuckle.

“We’re not talking about the candy,” says Mickey.

It takes a moment, but I’m the first one to figure it out. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” I say as I begin to tremble with excitement. “Do you mean . . . ?”

Mo looks at me and nods. “We figure it’s the least we can do. We may not have the best team at the contest, but you can bet we’re going to have the best-looking boards.”

Now I notice that there are three gift-wrapped surfboards lined up against the back wall. They’re giving us hand-shaped, custom made Mickey and Mo—M & M—surfboards. (This is me hyperventilating.)

“Those M&Ms?” Sophie says, pointing at them and practically crying. “You mean those M&M’s?”

The sisters laugh even more, tickled by our excitement. “Consider them your bonus for years of hard work and dedication.”

Nicole’s the last one to catch on, but when she does, her reaction may be best of all. She doesn’t say a word. She just squeals as she runs over to them, her long arms flailing in excitement.

“We wanted you to have them for the contest,” Mickey says. “But we figured you’d need some time to break them in.”

“Go ahead,” says Mo. “Open them up.”

We tackle the wrapping paper like human paper shredders and unveil three gorgeous and gleaming surfboards. Each one has an original design and color scheme. Sophie’s is cosmic seventies psychedelic, perfect for her retro tastes, while Nicole’s has a pattern that looks like a stylized sea turtle’s shell, no doubt because she’s our most ardent environmentalist. They’re both beautiful, but mine . . . mine is the prettiest of them all.

“I absolutely love it,” I say. “It’s breathtaking.”

My board has a swirl of colors that radiate from the center like the fingers of a hurricane. The colors look like little tiles in a mosaic and alternate between shades of green, blue, and brown. The phrase “The Eye of the Storm” is written in the center.

“I’m particularly pleased with how that one turned out,” says Mickey. “I took a couple of pictures for our portfolio.”

I look up at her and shake my head in awe. “It’s a work of art, Mickey. How’d you come up with the design?”

“I didn’t,” she says with a smirk. “It was your boyfriend.”

“Ben? Did this?”

“He actually wanted to buy you a custom board,” Mo starts to explain. “He asked if we could work out a payment plan because he said he wouldn’t have enough money until the end of the summer, but that he really wanted you to have it in time for the contest. He said he even knew what he wanted the design on the board to be.”

I look over at Sophie and Nicole, and they smile warmly at the thought of Ben doing this.

“We told him that we had already pla

“That’s when he handed me this,” Mo says as she holds up a sheet of paper with the design sketched out on it. “I thought it was great.”

“I wonder why he wanted this design in particular,” I say.

She shrugs. “So do we. He told us that you would know.”

I have no idea.

I look down at it. It is mesmerizing. It seemingly changes color depending on how you look at it or how the light hits it. That’s when I realize what it is, and I’m so caught off guard that I reach up and cover my mouth.

“What?” asks Nicole.

I shake my head. “I can’t. It’s too . . . mushy.”