Pulled Under

“That’s right,” he says. “And I guarantee you that one of those eight is going to win.”

“I want to make sure that you’ve read the rules,” Ben says. “All of them.”

I don’t know where this is going, but I’m a little nervous. Mickey shoots me a raised eyebrow look.

“Surf City has won this trophy twelve years in a row,” Bullard scoffs. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got the rules down.”

“Then why did you forget to sign here?” he says, turning the roster back to him. “It needs your signature for the roster to be finalized.”

Bullard is beyond a

Ben looks up to him and smiles broadly. “Extremely, sir.”

Mickey is the last one to turn in a roster, and when she does, Ben looks it over carefully. He is obviously delighted, and I can tell that we’ve done what he was hoping we’d do. I linger around after the others leave and talk to Ben for a moment.

“Did any of the other teams enter surfers in all the different divisions?”

“No,” he says. “Everyone on the other teams is entered in the Main Event. Surf Sisters was the only team to figure out the advantage of entering all the divisions.”

I smile. “Let’s hope it pays off.”

A horn sounds, and I worry that it’s my dad bringing his special brand of crazy to the beach, but Ben tells me that it’s the ten-minute warning for the first competition.

“That’s Menehunes,” I say. “I’m going to go give Rebecca and Tyler a pep talk.”

“See you later!” he says as I go in search of my junior surfers. “Remember to picture them in grass skirts and coconut bras!”

“I will,” I call back to him.

Surf Sisters has staked out a chunk of beach for the staff and our families to cheer us on. Even though there would be big sales, Mickey and Mo decided to close the shop for the day so that everyone could come down and turn the event into a party atmosphere.

“Thank you for making this happen,” Mo says as I walk up.

“What do you mean?”

“Competing in the King of the Beach was all your idea,” she says, pointing to our cheering section. “You gave us something positive to think about. You saved the summer.”

She gives me a huge hug.

“Well, here’s hoping that we bring back a trophy to put up in the store.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t care if we finish last. This is a win. A huge win.”

I know what she means, but I can’t think that way. “Maybe so. But I have no intention of finishing last.”

I walk down to the water with Rebecca and Tyler.

“Are you guys nervous?”

“Nope,” says Tyler.

“No way,” says Rebecca.

Their confidence takes me by surprise. “Not even a little?”

“Why should we be nervous?” Rebecca says. “We’ve practiced and we’re ready. We’re going to go out and do our best. If we win, we win. If someone beats us, then they probably deserve it. There’s no shame in that.”

Just like back in the Fourth of July parade, I think I just got schooled by the nine-year-old version of me.

“I like that.”

“Besides,” she continues with a confident gleam in her eye, “no one’s going to beat us.”

“Come on, Bec,” Tyler says as they head out into the water. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

They wade into the ocean, and I am blown away. Sophie’s been coaching them, and more than a little of her confidence has worn off on them. They back it up with their actions. Tyler rips off a couple of long rides to finish second, and Rebecca shows off the skills of someone at least four of five years older and wins the Menehune title going away.

They are swarmed by our cheering section when they come back up to the beach. After I give each of them a hug, I head over to the scoreboard and wait for the fireworks. Our secret is about to get out, and I want to be there for any reaction.

When Rebecca’s and Tyler’s scores are posted by our team name, we’re moved up into first place in the standings. It takes about a minute or so before we see Morgan Bullard hotfooting it through the sand straight toward the scoring tent.

“How is it possible that Surf Sisters already has points on the scoreboard when the competition hasn’t even started yet?” he bellows at Ben’s uncle.

“The competition has started,” Uncle Bob replies calmly. “We just completed the Menehune event, and the competitors from Surf Sisters took the top two places.”

“Menehune?” he asks. “What do a bunch of little kids have to do with the King of the Beach?”

“According to the rules, a team can earn points in any division,” Bob says.

“That’s ridiculous,” Bullard says.

“No,” says Bob. “That’s the rules.”

Bullard thinks for a moment and realizes his vulnerability. “Does Surf Sisters have anyone in the other divisions?”

Bob turns to Ben, who hands him the roster. Bob looks it over and then turns back to Bullard. “The Surf Sisters team has competitors in each of the divisions.”

I look up at Mickey and Mo and both of them are smiling.

“This is not right,” Bullard replies. “I want to move some of my boys into the Teens division then.”

“You can’t.”

I look over and see that Ben has entered the conversation.

“Your roster was finalized the moment you signed it,” he says. “You can’t change divisions.”

Now Bullard is really putting things together, and he’s not happy about it. He points an angry finger at Ben. “This boy is trying to rig this,” he says to Bob. “He did not tell us about this rule!”

“Actually,” Uncle Bob says, coming to the rescue, “this morning when he tried to make sure you knew the rules, you mocked him and treated him with disdain.”

There’s really nothing that Bullard can say in response to that, so he storms off. As he does, he passes right next to us and stops in front of Mickey and Mo. “Think you’re clever, huh? It won’t matter. My boys are still going to win this contest, and you are still going to be out of business once the summer’s over.”

The sisters don’t even reply to him. Instead, they just bust out laughing, which only makes him angrier. He walks away, and they turn to me.

“Well,” Mo says. “I think this is going to get pretty interesting.”

There are more than twenty competitors entered in the Teens division, and even though none of them are on the Surf City team, the group is loaded with talented surfers. Sophie and Nicole stand out because there aren’t many girls, and Nic even more so because of her height. To keep the waves from getting too crowded they only go out in groups of six surfers at a time. Sophie’s in the first group, so I stand with Nicole to watch.

“Look at Sophie,” I say, pointing at her as she takes off on a wave.

The judges are looking for maneuvers that demonstrate speed, power, and flow. Sophie rips off a ride that demonstrates each as she attacks her wave with a series of cutbacks that show off her athleticism. It’s a ten-point scoring system, and she gets sevens and eights across the board. She tops that a few minutes later, and by the time the buzzer sounds ending the session, she has the second highest score in her group. She’s almost certain to make it into the finals.

Nicole doesn’t go out until the last group, which is a shame. The waiting around has made her stiff, and seeing surfer after surfer post good scores has made her nervous. I try to calm her nerves before she goes out.

“Don’t worry about the score,” I say. “Just dominate the wave and the score will take care of itself.”

Sophie and I join the rest of the group to cheer her on. She has twenty-five minutes, and despite some promising swells, she lets the first dozen waves go by without catching any.

“What’s she doing?” Sophie asks. “Why does she keep letting them pass?”

“You know Nic,” I say. “She’s waiting for the perfect wave.”