Four and a Half Years Later
May
Nate
The intense sun beats down on my skin as I step off the boat, fresh from winning our final match race as a USC student.
I’m going to miss the SoCal sun.
There’s something different in the air here than there is on the East Coast. The saltwater feels a little less drying, and the laid-back energy is something I never thought I’d get used to as a New Yorker.
But after five years, I can officially say it. I love the West Coast.
It’s not home. Never will be.
But damn, the serotonin boost out here is no joke.
“Davenport.”
I turn at the sound of my name. Elliot, one of my teammates, jogs up, grinning.
“What’s up?”
“Spoke to my dad. You’re in.”
“No, shit. Thanks, man.” I shake his outstretched hand, caught off guard and a little stunned. I just got invited to try out for one of the most prestigious boating teams on the East Coast.
Elliot’s dad is a legend.
He retired after winning the America’s Cup and went on to coach professionally.
Although now that Elliot’s shifting gears and is headed to law school, his dad’s stepping down, too, launching a competitive rec team based out of New York.
And I get to try out.
It’s the best of both worlds. I’ve been dreading the idea of giving up competitive sailing.
Sure, I’ll always have my boat in the Hamptons, which is perfect for clearing my head, but nothing compares to the adrenaline rush of a race.
He scans the lot, frowning. “Where’s Maddie and your brother?”
I laugh. “Told them not to come. Who the hell knew we’d win? We haven’t beaten San Fran in over a decade. Maddie’s best friend is in town, so I told them to hang back.” I nod toward my car. “You need a ride?”
“Nah, I’m sticking around for a while.”
“Sounds good.” I pat his shoulder. “If you make it back to campus soon, meet us on the great lawn. We’ll probably be there for a few hours.”
He salutes me, then runs off to catch up with some of our teammates.
Forty-five minutes later, I pull up to campus. I’d love to say that the traffic was a fluke, but that would be a lie, and it reminds me why Iwouldn’twant to live in LA.
I jog across the quad toward the great lawn. It’s packed with students tanning, soaking up the rays before school ends. Music blasts from every direction, and there is a faint smell of weed in the stoner section.
God, I’m going to miss it here.
My eyes scan the crowd, and I spot my girl instantly.
She’s the best view on campus.
