“You did it!”
“I want to go again!”
“Get back out there.”
The session wound down. I let them have fifteen minutes of free time while Lana and I regrouped on our boards just past the break. We bobbed up and down, watching each of the teens.
“You want to close out?” Lana asked.
“Obviously.”
I waited for the right wave. When it came I paddled hard and felt the lift and popped up. My knees were bent, arms hanging loose at my side in what looked like a very chill pose, but I’d be ready to catch my balance in an instant if needed.
“My turn,” Lana called out.
I watched her and thought about telling her not to do it. Not yet. She was still healing. But I also knew she wasn’t going to listen to me. She was twenty years old. I remembered that age. Nothing and no one would have stopped me from surfing.
She caught it, got up clean, and then went for the same move I pulled off. But I saw her mistake and knew how her ride was going to end. She bailed and went sideways off the board. She hit the water hip first, causing me to grimace. I was already moving before she surfaced.
She came up with her hair plastered across her face, one hand going immediately to her right hip, and I saw the expression she was trying to hide.
“I’m fine,” she said before I’d said a word. She pushed her hair back and grimaced. “I’m fine,” she said again. “My hip’s just a little sore.”
I said nothing more as we all made our way out of the water. The parents collected their kids from the parking lot at the top of the beach with the teens exaggerating their skills. The parentshung on every word, convinced they were looking at the next pro surfer.
Lana and I stood at the edge of the sand and waved them off. As soon as the last student was gone, I turned to her.
“How’s the hip really?”
“Sore,” she admitted with a sigh.
“You went too hard.”
“I felt good out there.”
“You always feel good out there. Adrenaline makes you feel invincible.” I picked up my board and tucked it under my arm. “Dr. Fields told you to take it easy. You push too hard and you’re going to set your recovery back.”
“She told me I’d probably never compete again and here I am, so…”
“Here you areinstructing,” I said. “Which you’re genuinely good at, by the way. Don’t push it. You have time to heal properly.”
“I just can’t go any slower, Summer. I’m already going so slow.” She spoke with disappointment and resignation in her voice. “Surfside is as good as it gets for me. I know that might be an insult to some, but it wasn’t my dream. I know you love it here and that’s great for you, but I wanted to be on the circuit. I wanted to be competing.”
“Come get food with me,” I said. “Shack’s got the fish tacos today.”
“I can’t, I’ve got errands.” She was already backing toward the parking lot. “I’ll see you Thursday?”
“I’ll be here.”
I watched her load her board into the back of her Jeep and pull out. She was fortunate, but she couldn’t see it yet. Two years ago she’d been the most talked-about junior surfer on the California coast. Sponsorships lined up. Competitions won. A trajectory that had looked like a straight line to the top. She hadthe skills. The innate talent. I had helped train her since she was twelve. We learned a lot together, but I could admit she was better than I was.
I’d been there the day of the injury and watched her go down. She was twenty years old now and rebuilding her life, but she would never compete. Eventually, her hip would give out, especially if she kept pushing herself too hard.
I slid my board into my truck and reached for the long-sleeved shirt I would wear over the swimsuit when I heard the engine of a car revving. I glanced behind me and saw a black sports car rolling through the parking lot. The windows were down and the driver was making it a point to slow way down. He looked over at me and whistled.
I rolled my eyes. Did men really think that worked? A whistle was going to get me naked and in their bed? I didn’t understand the thinking. Why not stop and offer a compliment? It happened every year. The summer people rolled in like a tide. They arrived in Surfside with the idea that catcalling a woman in a parking lot was cute. I’d been getting it since I was sixteen and I had zero patience for the nonsense.
With no more lessons, I drove home, leaving my board in the truck in case I decided to go out later. Sometimes, I could surf twenty feet out our back door. Other times, I had to chase the waves.
