Pulled Under

I let this sink in for a moment.

“I still don’t get it,” Nicole says.

“You can earn points for your team in any age group,” I say. “But none of the other teams ever do it. If we enter surfers in Menehunes, Teens, and Legends, we could earn a lot of points. We could build a really big lead before the Main Event even starts. We might even be able to win this thing.”

Now I see the expressions I was hoping for.

“Are you sure?” asks Mo.

“Look for yourself,” I say as I hand her the rules.

“Most teams are just made up of young guys at the peak of their skills. So of course they all enter the Main Event. It never occurred to anybody to make up a team that spa

Mickey flashes a big smile. “At least not until now.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” says Sophie. “I deem this hug worthy.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes so much that it lifts me off the ground.

“Sophie, you and me in the Teens,” says Nicole, thinking aloud. “Mickey and Mo in Legends. That leaves us with three spots. Who else can we get? We need some Menehunes.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I say as I break free from Sophie’s hug. “Rebecca and Tyler are the two best surfers in summer camp. I bet they’d do it.”

“Those two make seven,” says Sophie. “We can add one more.”

“I know who would be perfect!” says Mickey with a Cheshire grin.

“Who?” I ask.

“Your dad,” she says. “Is he over forty-five?”

“By six months,” I say excitedly.

“He’d be great,” Sophie says. “He’s really good.”

“Oh my God. He’ll pass out when I tell him.”

“That gives us three Legends, three Teens, and two Menehunes,” Nicole says. “If everyone does well—”

“It still won’t be enough,” Mo says, interrupting.

We look over to where she has the rules spread out on a surfboard. She’s writing numbers on the back of one of the pages.

“Why not?” I ask.

She scratches out some more math and looks up at us. “The points count from all the divisions, but the point values are bigger in the Main Event. There’s a very real chance that Surf City will sweep that, and if they do, it doesn’t matter how well we do in the others. We’ll still fall a few points short.”

She holds up her paper to show us the math.

We all think about this for a minute and try to figure out a solution.

“We have to have someone in the Main Event who finishes high enough to score points,” Mickey says. “Those will count double because not only will we be adding them to our score, but we’ll also be subtracting points from their total points. That could put us over the top.”

“Considering we’ve got two past champions on our squad, I still like our chances,” I say. “One of you can surf in the Main Event and the other in Legends with my dad.”

Mickey shakes her head. “I’m afraid it will have to be one of you three.”

“Why?” I ask. “You’ve both won it before. You’ve got the skills.”

“Our skills have faded,” says Mickey. “We can do some damage in the Legends, but it would be a miracle if either one of us made it out of the first round in the Main Event.”

“She’s right,” says Mo. “It needs to be one of you.”

“And if we’re going to be honest,” says Nicole, “I’m not in the same league as Izzy and Sophie. So it shouldn’t be me.”

I feel my pulse pick up pace as Sophie and I lock eyes on each other.

“That means it’s got to be you,” I say to her. “You’re much better at cutbacks and tricks than I am. You can earn a big score. You can do this.”

Sophie laughs. “You know that’s not true. You know that I am nowhere near the surfer you are. This is your time to be bold. This is your moment.”

“Well, it’s got to be one of you,” Mo says.

“How do we decide?” I ask.

Mickey smiles at me. “That’s easy. The same way we always decide disputes at Surf Sisters. We’re going to go to the register.”

“But we’re not open yet,” says Sophie. “No one is working the register.”

Mo nods. “I know that. But since Izzy is the one who first came up with the idea of competing, and since she’s the one who found this wrinkle in the rules, we’ll say that she’s officially on register. We’ll let her decide.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Bullet dodged.

“That’s not fair,” says Sophie. “You know I’m right and you just gave her a way out.”

Mo looks at me with an intensity that’s u

That last bit gets to me. I do take tradition seriously. I look at them one by one, and each one stares right back at me. I think about the contest. I think about the summer.

Back in June the idea of me competing in the King of the Beach would have been laughable. But so much has happened. I’m definitely not the same girl I was then. I’m not even the same girl I was on the Fourth of July. Then I start to think about the girl I want to become. No one rushes me. No one says a thing. They just wait for me to respond.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll make the decision.”

“Who’s it going to be?” asks Mickey.

There is no hesitation in my voice. “Me.”

Ben’s first day back in Pearl Beach doesn’t follow any of the romantic comedy movie plots that have played out in my imagination. There is no indie pop love song playing as we rush into each other’s arms at the airport. (I have to work so his uncle picks him up without me.) I don’t walk out of the shop after my shift and find him waiting for me across the street as he sits on the hood of a sports car. (His flight’s delayed two hours, so he’s still not back when my shift ends.) And we don’t go on a picnic and have it ruined by a sudden rainstorm only to kiss passionately after we take cover beneath an abandoned gazebo. (Okay, so I was pretty certain this one wouldn’t happen but, man, how cool would that be?)

In fact, Ben’s first day back in Pearl Beach doesn’t even include me until it’s almost over. I still haven’t heard from him by ten o’clock, so I try to call and it goes straight to voice mail. I figure (at least I hope) that it’s because his battery is dead and not because he hit ignore when my picture popped up on his phone. Without really thinking it through, I ride my bike over to his uncle’s house and knock on the door. I regret this decision the moment I see his face.

“Hi,” I say as he opens the door.

He smiles, but it feels forced. “Hey.” I can tell that he’s exhausted both physically and emotionally.

“How was your flight?” I ask.

“Long . . . like the week.”

There’s an awkward silence, and I’m not getting any encouraging signs, so I decide to cut my losses.

“Well, I was just riding home from Nicole’s and wanted to make sure you got back okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turn around and try to speed walk over to my bike, but he runs up behind me and takes me by the shoulder.

“Wait a second,” he says. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

I turn around and try to read his face, but it’s hard in the darkness.

“I don’t know. I figured you’d be happy to see me. But you don’t seem happy. So I thought I should leave.”

“I am happy. It’s just that I’m tired and I have to get up early for work.”

(“You gave two excuses. Which one’s the real one?” I think as I remember what Nicole said to me just a couple of nights ago.)

“I completely understand. Let’s just act like this never happened. We’ll see each other tomorrow and run into each other’s arms.”

I really could use a laugh right here, but he looks serious.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” he says. “So we can talk.”

All these signs are worrisome. I start to breathe heavily, but I try to hide it as Ben tells his uncle that he’ll be right back.