Clash
Other books in the Soul Surfer Series:
Soul Surfer Bible
Fiction:
Burned (Book Two)
Storm (Book Three)
Crunch (Book Four)
Nonfiction:
Ask Bethany — FAQs: Surfing, Faith & Friends
Rise Above: A 90-Day Devotional
ZONDERKIDZ
Clash
Copyright © 2007 by Bethany Hamilton
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition August 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-86589-6
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bundschuh, Rick, 1951-
Clash / by Rick Bundschuh ; inspired by Bethany Hamilton.
p. cm. - (Soul surfers series)
Summary: One year after losing an arm in a shark attack, fourteen-year-old Bethany Hamilton is still a champion surfer and serves as an inspiration to others, but her faith is tested when an unpleasant new girl seeks her friendship.
ISBN-13: 978-0-310-71222-0
1. Hamilton, Bethany — Juvenile fiction. [1. Hamilton, Bethany — Fiction. 2. Surfing —Fiction. 3. Christian life — Fiction. 4. Amputees — Fiction. 5. People with disabilities — Fiction. 6. Samoa — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B915126Cla 2007
[Fic]-dc22
2006029322
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Zonderkidz is a trademark of Zondervan
Editor: Barbara Scott
Illustrations: Monika Roe
Photography: Noah Hamilton
07 08 09 10 • 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
For Allegra
There is something you need to know — this book is fiction. The story and most of the people in it are made up.
Except for Bethany.
I have known Bethany Hamilton since she was a little kid. I have shot paintballs at her brothers, spent lots of time with her parents, Tom and Cheri, and surfed with them all. My role in their lives has been that of a friend and pastor. I was at the hospital the day Bethany was attacked by the shark and have helped Bethany get her fascinating story told.
So when I tell you a story about Bethany, her friends, or her parents, please understand that I am writing about what I am pretty sure they would really do and say if they found themselves in the situations described in this book.
And I am not really writing fiction when I tell you that Bethany is a smoothie addict or that she has a dog named Ginger or that she is homeschooled so she can train for surf contests. A lot of that stuff is exactly how Bethany is and how she lives her life.
You will probably see that I don’t try to pretend that Bethany is a saint or some kind of perfect human being. I have seen her get in very hot water for camp pranks taken too far, and I know that from time to time she can be as cranky, self-absorbed, or annoying as any of us. The picture I will paint of her is that of a normal young lady, who, although imperfect, tries her best to love and honor God and let him guide her steps.
This is the Bethany that I know.
I will tell you something about Hawaii too. You see, I live there and surf all the same spots as Bethany and know many of the same characters that populate the island. The places, cultural quirks, and names are pretty much exactly what you would find if you came to visit or live here.
Because surfing is a big part of what Bethany does, I will try to explain to those of you who have never experienced the sport what it is like to ride the warm, clear waves of Hawaii. I can do this with some confidence because I was surfing long before Bethany was even born. But please understand that describing surfing to someone who has never surfed is like trying to describe the taste of a mango to someone who has never sunk their teeth into that rich orange fruit. Words can only get you so far.
Finally, these stories are not just about tanned, talented surf kids in an exotic land. They are about situations that people everywhere can relate to. Even here in paradise there are problems, and when you take a good look at them, you find that those same problems are found in Tulsa, Tucson, or Timbuktu!
So, I hope you enjoy this little adventure.
Rick Bundschuh
Kauai, Hawaii
“Bethany!” The voice sounded small and far away as the salty ocean breeze blew across her face. Bethany grinned and turned back to enjoy the view. She loved how the morning sun ricocheted off the ocean surface, sending jewels of light across the tops of the waves. From underneath the huge ironwood trees, she had an awesome view of the northern coastline with its soaring jade-colored cliffs and sandy beaches.
She could experience this a million times over and never grow tired of it.
She was a child of the ocean.
We all are, Bethany thought, looking up to see her friends jogging toward her through the warm sand with their boards.
“Let’s go!” she said, running for the water. Then, without another word, she plunged into the Pacific, her red-and-white surfboard floating under her.
Beneath the water, Bethany blew bubbles and opened her eyes. She could see the reef spreading out, with little alleys of sand running between the dark green reef heads. She finally broke the surface and whipped her long, white-blonde hair back while stroking hard and deep in the water with both arms. Her laughter echoed over the water as she chased her friends through the shallow reef and out into deeper water.
This was Bethany’s Hawaii — beautiful sun-drenched islands, the water lapping around her as both hands gripped the nose of her board.
Bethany glanced down at the watch around her left wrist. It was especially designed for girl surfers — it was waterproof, dainty yet rugged, and included a tide function. She caught the time — 8:07 a.m. — and then let her arm slide off into the water while continuing to hold the nose of the board with her right hand.
Suddenly, something gray and large loomed up, startling the breath out of her. She thrashed and twisted away from it.
Then the bright sky turned dark. The water, the green hills, her friends, and even her surfboard dissolved into deep gray and then black . . .
Bethany gasped and lurched up in bed.
Blinking rapidly in the dark room, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Just a dream, she reminded herself as she listened to the soft breathing of her friend Malia coming from the futon on the floor.
Just a dream . . . Despite knowing that, Bethany reached over and felt for her left arm. The place where it should have been was hollow and empty, and she felt a momentary stab of grief over her loss.
Not just a dream — a nightmare! It was a nightmare that had replayed what had actually happened to her just a year ago when she’d been attacked by a shark — a horrible day that had cost Bethany her arm and almost took her life.
At least the nightmares didn’t come as often anymore. Not like they used to.
Bethany felt the beat of her heart slowly return to normal as the memory of the horrible attack faded. In the darkness of her room, the lanky teenager stretched out under the sheets and let the comfort and safety of her own bed, in the house she had lived in all her life, with a family who loved her, erase the nightmare.
I’m still alive, she thought. Still breathing. Still laughing. Still surfing. Everyone told her it was a miracle . . . and she knew that. Deep down she also sensed there was a reason behind the miracle — even if she didn’t know what the reason was . . . yet.
With a sigh, she sank back into her soft pillow and let sleep envelop her once again.
By morning she would have no recollection of the nightmare that once again had startled her out of a deep sleep. Nor would she remember waking at all that night.
She was a child of the ocean — but she was also a child of God. And as with all of his children, he came and comforted her. The comfort came in the form of love from her family and friends. They helped her deal with the bad dreams and soothed her with words that washed over her like a gentle ocean tide.
A couple of miles away, another girl lay awake in her bed, eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling and wondered if anyone would ever understand how lonely she was — or how rotten she felt inside.
Out of nowhere came a high-pitched buzz.
The noise, centered in her left ear, sounded as if a dentist had mistakenly gone to work on her eardrum. Only it wasn’t a dentist.
It was a mosquito.
The thirteen-year-old gave an angry swat at her ear, and the sound disappeared. She sat straight up in bed.
The black, star-speckled sky peeked in from between Jenna’s bedroom curtains as she fanned herself with her hand. It was so hot — a sticky, humid hot that was nothing like the dry heat of her home in Arizona.
Jenna squirmed to get comfortable in this new bed, in this new home, thousands of miles and a whole ocean away from everything and everyone she had ever known.
The glowing face of the clock on the bedside table read 2:02 a.m. It was still too early for the ever-present roosters to start their song.
Then the itching started — on her feet, between her fingers, on her legs, arms, and face. The mosquito buzzing in her ear had only been one of an army of bloodsucking intruders that had somehow found their way into Jenna’s house and honed in on her sleeping form by sensing the carbon dioxide from her exhaled breath. In the blackness, Jenna muttered words of exasperation as she scratched wildly at the itching bites.
Here she was in paradise — Kauai, the crown jewel of the Hawaiian Islands — or so she was told. She preferred to think of it as jail. She had been dragged halfway around the world because her mother “needed a change” (which was code for “I met a man”) and then plunked down in this mosquito-infested cell of a room.
Why am I even here? she wondered, even though she knew there was no one to give her an answer.