And right now, sitting across from me, there’s nothing but pride on his face. He doesn’t even try to hide it. His eyes are practically sparkling.
“She’s pretty,” I say.
“Looks like my mom. It’s our Hapa genes.” He glances up at me and explains, “Half Hawaiian. My grandparents were Polynesian and Chinese. My dad met my mom when he was my age, sur ng the Pipeline on the North Shore. Here.” He pulls up another photo of his mother. She’s gorgeous. And she’s standing on the boardwalk near my favorite churro cart, in front of a familiar shop: Penny Boards. Well. Guess that answers that; it was his family’s shop, after all. Note to self: Pick another churro cart, already!
Feeling strangely shy, I glance at his face and then quickly look away.
“Is it weird having a younger sister who’s going pro?” I ask, more out of nervousness than anything else.
Porter shrugs. “Not really. She’ll be heading out on the Women’s Championship Tour for the rst time next year. It’s kind of a big deal. She gets to travel all over the world.”
“What about school?”
“My dad’s going with her. He’ll homeschool her during the tour. I’ll stay and help my mom run the shop.” Porter must see the look of doubt on my face because he blinks a few times and shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s not ideal, but Lana doesn’t want to wait until she’s eighteen. Anything could happen, and she’s on top of her game now. On the tour, she gets a small salary and a chance to win prize money. But the big thing is the exposure, because the real money is in the product endorsements. ?at’s pretty much what we used to live off of until Dad lost his arm.”
Sounds a little pageant mom–y, making the kid perform on stage for money, but I keep this opinion to myself. “You guys don’t own the shop?” I say, nodding toward his phone.
“Sure, but what people don’t understand is that the shop barely breaks even. ?e overhead is ridiculous; rent keeps going up. And now that my dad isn’t sur ng anymore … well, no one wants a one-armed man pimping hats.”
Yikes. ?is conversation is heading into awkward waters. I turn away to nd the sea monster’s big eye judging me—You had to be on your phone, looking this up at work, didn’t you? Couldn’t wait until you got home?—so I turn back toward the table and pick at my half-eaten cookie.
“I knew one out of three had to be right.”
“Mmm?” I swallow cookie while trying to look cool and nearly choke.
“You like sugar cookies. I didn’t know which one. I was just hoping you weren’t vegan or gluten-free or something.”
I shake my head.
He breaks off a piece of my cookie and eats it, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t know where his hands have been. We aren’t friends. And just because his dad’s missing an arm, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him for being a grade-A assbag.
“You aren’t going to ask me?” he says. “Or do you already know?”
“Know what?”
“How my dad lost his arm?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t already know. Are you going to tell me?” Or should I just wait until you leave and look it up? ?at works for me, thanks, see you later, hasta luego.
“?ree years ago, I was fteen, a year younger than Lana. I went down to Sweetheart Point to watch my dad surf for this charity thing. It wasn’t a competition or anything. Mostly older surfers, a few big names. Out of nowhere …” He pauses for a second, lost in thought, eyes glazed. ?en he blinks it away. “I see this big shape cut through the water, a few yards away. At
rst, I didn’t know what it was. It heads straight for my dad and
knocks him right off his board. ?en I saw the white collar around its neck and the mouth open. Great white.”
My mouth falls open. I shut it. “Shark?”
“A small male. ?ey say it’s like getting struck by lightning, but damned if it didn’t happen. And let me just tell you—it wasn’t like Jaws. Hundreds of people around me on the beach and no one screamed or ran. ?ey all just stood there staring while this thousand-pound monster was dragging my dad through the water, and he was still leashed to his board by the ankle.”
“Oh, my dear God,” I murmur, stuffing half of the second cookie in my mouth. “Whaa haaappened next?” I say around a mouthful of sugar.
Porter takes the rest of the cookie, biting off a corner and chewing while shaking his head, still looking a little dazed. “It was like a dream. I didn’t think. I just raced into the water. I didn’t even know if my dad was still alive or whether I would be if I bumped into the shark. I swam as hard as I could. I found the board rst and followed the leash to the body.”
He pauses, swallowing. “I tasted blood in the water before I got to him.”
“Jesus.”
“?e arm was already gone,” Porter says quietly. “Skin
