Pulled Under

Of course, normally I’m only interested in what’s most comfortable and functional for surfing. Today, however, is not normal.

Instead of hitting the waves to find the perfect ride, I’ll be teaching a bunch of grade school kids how to surf. That means they’ll be staring at me while I do a lot of leaning and bending over. The last thing I want to do is give them a little show-and-tell. But I’ll also be in front of Ben, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I actually looked, you know, cute.

After countless combinations, I finally settle on a pair of rainbow-striped board shorts that have a stylish cut but still cover everything I need covered and a baby blue Surf Sisters rash guard that I put on over a black bikini top. As I take one final look in my bedroom mirror I empathize with all of the women who ask me to help them find a swimsuit. Still, to my surprise, the combination actually looks cute, and in a rare moment of self-confidence I’m willing to say I’ve gone from flounder to dolphin.

At the beach, Sophie helps me set up before the campers arrive. She’s doing a good job of keeping it light and fu

I look up just in time to see Ben leading a makeshift platoon of campers over a sand dune and right at us. They are whistling a silly tune as they pretend to march, and it is irresistibly cute.

My guess is that Ben didn’t spend nearly as much time worrying about his wardrobe as I did. He’s traded in his coach’s shorts for a flowery Hawaiian print bathing suit but has maintained the rest of his signature look with a tucked-in polo, white socks, and ru

“He’s wearing shoes and socks,” Sophie says to me. “He’s wearing them on the beach.”

“Yeah,” I respond. “I’m going to have to work on that.”

I recognize the other counselors from school. The guy’s name is Jacob. Even though he’s a star soccer player, he runs with the brainy crowd and stays pretty low key. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I’ve always liked him and we get along well. The girl is a different story.

Kayla is a total alpha, a shark to my dolphin. She lives to make sure that girls like me know that we’re not nearly as sparkly as girls like her. For example, just so everyone realizes how unbelievably awesome she is, she’s wearing a way too tight Surf City top that shows off her curves—and I imagine also restricts her breathing. Surf City is a megaretail store on Ocean Ave. where girls like Kayla, wearing short-shorts and tank tops, sell overpriced T-shirts and surfboards to tourists who don’t know any better. They are our sworn enemies.

“Watch out for that one,” Sophie says with a nod toward Kayla. “If she so much as gets a hint you’re into Ben, she will totally drop in on you.” “Dropping in” is what surfers call it when someone tries to catch a wave that you’re already riding.

Although the Kayla development puts a slight damper on my mood, things take a turn for the better when Ben sees me and flashes that smile of his.

Even Sophie can’t help but notice. “Well, what he lacks in fashion sense, he makes up for with dimples,” she says, accompanied by a friendly nudge of her elbow. “That’s my cue to let you two be all alone . . . you know, except for the screaming kids and the co

She smiles and gives a friendly wave to Ben and the campers as she walks back up toward the surf shop.

Just as they’re about to reach me, Ben holds his hand out like a stop sign. “Campers, halt!”

The kids make exaggerated stops, some even going so far as ru

“I thought you said you weren’t going to be teaching this class,” he says.

“There was a change in plans,” I answer, trying to sound mysterious but probably coming across as clueless.

He thinks about this for a second and nods. “Very nice.”

He turns to address the kids, and from the way they hang on his every word I can tell that they love him.

“I want all of you to say hi to Izzy.”

“Hi, Izzy!” the kids shout in unison.

“Hi, everyone!” I say back. “Are you ready to learn how to become slammin’ surfers?”

There are cheers, and I realize that even if it wasn’t for Ben, I should never have tried to avoid this. Kids are great and I love teaching them about the ocean. I can’t help but flash back to my own summer camp when I came here for the same lessons. My dad had already taught me the basics, but this was when I really got the bug. It’s also when I first started to hang out at Surf Sisters.

“Before we do anything,” I continue, “I want you all to repeat these three words. Slip! Slop! Slap!”

“Slip! Slop! Slap!” they shout in unison.

“Who can tell me what these words mean?”

When no one else raises a hand, Ben jumps right in.

“Slip, slop, slap,” he says. “That’s what happened to me when I tried to stand up in a bathtub this morning.”

The kids laugh.

“Good guess,” I say. “But not what I was going for. This is why they’re important. If you’re going to be in the sun for a while, you should always ‘slip on a shirt,’ ‘slop on some sunscreen,’ and ‘slap on a hat.’”

I open up the two big boxes that Sophie helped me set up and start handing out rash guards, Steady Eddie surf caps, and plenty of sunscreen.

“We love the sun, but we have to respect it,” I say. “Too much of it is bad for your skin. Isn’t that right, Kayla?”

All eyes turn to Kayla, whose richly ta

“That’s right,” she says unenthusiastically as she stares daggers at me.

Once everyone is fortified against the sun, I get them all in a big circle so that we can stretch. I don’t know if it’s coincidence or co

Once we’re all stretched out, I hold up a thick foam board about three feet long and ask, “Who can tell me what this is?”

Without missing a beat, Ben answers, “A surfboard!”

The kids all laugh because they think he’s joking, but I can tell by his expression that he thought he had the right answer. I quickly come to his rescue.

“Ben’s trying to trick you guys, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” they shout, and Ben smiles and plays along.

“This is way too short to be a surfboard, isn’t it, Ben?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a grateful smile. “Way too short. Even for short people like these guys.”

“So, who, other than Ben, can tell me what it really is?”

A few of the kids call out, “A boogie board.”

“That’s right,” I answer. “A boogie board. It’s also called a body board, and although you use it to ride waves, you don’t stand up on it like a surfboard. Do you?”

“No,” they reply.

I notice one girl in back is too shy to shout out with the others. She reminds me of me at her age, so I point to her and ask, “How do you ride a boogie board?” As I ask the question, I rub my hand over my stomach.

“On your belly?” she says with a little uncertainty.

“That’s right, you ride it on your belly. Before camp is over we’re going to have all of you standing up on surfboards. But for today we’re going to just stay on our bellies and ride these. Okay?”

“Okay!” they shout, and this time she shouts with them.

We break the campers into smaller groups and take them out into shallow water a few at a time. This lets them get used to the dynamics of waves and builds their confidence for riding on a board. It’s also unbelievably fun.