Riptide (21 page)

My stomach flutters. I say, “Yeah, you too.”

The horn blares and we both jump. I laugh awkwardly. She’s all business. She swings her board in the air and races toward the water. I snap to attention and follow her, feeling foolish.

By the time I’m paddling out for the big showdown, the acid in my stomach’s lurching around like ocean waves. Win or lose, the impending doom of going home has me freaked out. And then I can’t let go of the fact that Ford’s not here. I really am going it alone.

I make it to the waiting area a few yards behind Super Girl. We eye each other and exchange tight smiles. There goes the signal. I paddle my ass off to make it first to the incoming set. But all the worries rolling around in my mind haven’t let go.

I try to ignore them and drop in first. Well, craptastic. Timing was off. I’m at the bottom when all the water’s going up, which means I get sucked up the free escalator ride to the top, knowing I’m going to get pitched forward and pummeled when it crashes.

I cringe as my board and I fly over the falls and tumble down below. There goes valuable time down the tubes. The full force of the water slams me around and I curl up, trying to protect myself.

Stupid me. Holding back. Getting nailed by the damn wave. Crashing. Like in my relationship with Ford.

For a split second everything becomes clear. Life is like surfing. You hold back scared—you miss the ride. That simple.

I finally get spit out of the wave, jerk my board toward me, grab it, and paddle hard. I’m not crashing anymore, anywhere. No holding back.

I skip the next wave that comes my way. Not that I can cherry-pick, but I probably only have time for one solid ride, which means I better catch a kickass wave. The second one passes and I get antsy. It’s the third one rolling my way I want. I can feel its energy.

I zero in on the sweet spot and catch it. I drop down the face. Pull my bottom turn. Carve a couple of times up and down, getting a feel for the ride, and then I go for it.

The 360. For all the times I didn’t.

For me.

I attack the lip. My board goes vertical and begins the spin. I move my feet as the board and the wave do their thing. I lean back as the board almost finishes the rotation, slide my foot forward, grab the tail, and push down a little so my nose doesn’t plow under. And just like that, the maneuver’s over.

Awwww yeah!

I pump my fist in victory. But my ride’s not over—I pump my legs to gain speed. I slip up the face of the wave, pull a floater, and boost some air before I exit. I paddle back to try to catch one more ride, but right as I begin to go for it, the air-horn blasts and I bail.

As I cruise back to shore, I wonder if that ride was en-ough. What does the UCSD coach think? Would a second-place finish catch his eye? I also wonder what Ford’s doing, and what’s going to happen when I go home.

Super Girl and I make it back to shore at about the same time. There’s a bunch of guys on the beach cheering for us. We look at each other, not knowing the outcome. I look around in search of a friendly face, feeling alone and smiling so big it hurts.

My heart pumps faster—Ford’s barreling at me. He doesn’t slow down. As soon as he reaches me, he flings his arms around me, picks me up, and spins us until I’m dizzy and laughing.

When my feet hit the ground, I say, “You made it.” Because I’m the Queen of the Obvious.

“You were awesome! I almost had to do a double take and make sure I wasn’t watching someone else.” He reaches out and holds my hands in his. “You didn’t hold back.”

Shivers run through me. “You came.”

Ford stares me right in the eyes and says, “Yeah, I did.” His eyes say so much more than his mouth.

Guilt—for all our stupid arguments, for holding out on him all summer, for acting dumb—hits me like a truck. It was super messed up. Like me. I swallow my fear and hope he’ll give me a second chance. “I’m really sorry about everything,” I whisper. “When I bunked that first wave, it was heavy. Everything hit me. And I realized how big I’ve screwed up.”

He drops my hands and nods a few times, taking in my apology. “Dang straight. So?”

I scrunch my face. “So, what?”

“So are we friends?””

I smile. “Best.” Then I can’t stop myself from asking, “What about Brianna?”

His face turns red and he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not going to work out. She deserves more. I called her on the way up here.” Then he hums and works his mouth like talking is a struggle. “Um. What about you and Damien? Are you two together?”

A slow smile spreads across my face. I shake my head no. He grins and steps toward me.

I spring forward on tiptoe and give him a kiss. Not a tongue-down-the-throat kind of kiss, but a soft one, a lips-melting-into-each-other-making-me-swoon kiss.

He pulls back and says, “So you don’t like me, huh?”

I push at him, playfully.

He pulls me closer to him and I hug him fiercely, trying to keep it together. All my pent-up emotions from today are busting at the seams. Having Ford here with me makes me feel invincible—like I can face anything. Even home.

We pull back and hold hands and then we notice people staring. A lot of people. I’ll bet money my whole face is bright red from embarrassment. Kahuna Pete walks over and says, “I don’t mean to break this clam bake up, but they’ve called your name on the speaker system twice now. One more go and they may decide Ann should win.”

thirty-two

all in:
if a poker player goes
all in,
he’s betting all the chips he
has left toward the pot

Well, shit. I fly down 101, excited about Grace’s victory. She rocked it. And I’m caught up in this new Grace—the one who goes full force, no holding back. Our kiss was an emotional high. While I want to keep my head in the clouds because I’m stoked about finally kissing her, the reality of us being together is sinking in. Her dad’s going to kill my career. So I can’t officially date her. Not now. There’s got to be some way to keep our relationship under wraps. Surely she’ll understand about going for your dreams.

But in any case, we’re finally together. A couple. Although I can’t shout it from the rooftops. Or brag to the guys at the beach, or at poker night at Hop’s. To the coffee girl at Lola’s. To Teresa. Hop. And then Brianna’s face hits me and a slight pang makes me sicker. She’s an awesome girl. Smart. Hot. And super cool. I hate that I might have hurt her.

Nope, no sharing this good news. In fact, it doesn’t even feel good, really. What was I thinking? Too much like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

I shake it off. Try to focus on the positive. Grace winning. I’m so proud of her. She pulled a freaking 360.

Maybe Mr. Parker is all bark and no bite. Maybe he’ll come to his senses about Grace surfing at UCSD and dating a local. Grace was nervous about going home since she skipped out on some brunch. But surely when her parents, especially Mr. Parker, find out she won, they’ll be proud. They’ll finally get that when it comes to surfing, she’s all in.

I blast down 101, the sick feeling taking over. I didn’t imagine it like this. I always thought I’d feel like I had the world in the palm of my hands—because finally, when it comes to me, Grace is all in.

But all I can think is
Shit, there goes my future
.

thirty-three

I want freedom for the full
expression of my personality.
—Mahatma Gandhi

On the drive home, three things keep running through my mind: The dream conversation I had with the UCSD surf coach, who encouraged me to go to tryouts before fall semester and said he’d make sure to let the admissions people know to look out for my application. The kiss Ford gave me on the beach. My parents’ reactions.

When I arrive at the house, the driveway is empty. I wonder if my parents are driving around somewhere or if one of them is waiting for me. Throw-up hits the back of my throat, and what started as a headache on the way home is now a monster. I park the Jeep and enter through the back door by the kitchen.

And there’s Dad, waiting at the table for me. He surveys me and nods toward my spot. There’s a pile of college books and mostly blank Ivy League apps in front of him. I close the door behind me and swallow hard. Then I sit.

Dad starts off. “I’m really disappointed in you, Grace. You skipped out on the brunch for a surf comp? You left a note to mislead us?”

This might be the first time he’s ever been this pissed and acted rational—like a parent should. The tiniest smidgen of hope that things will work out balloons in my chest.

“Your mother and I were extremely embarrassed,” he continues. “How do you think that made me look in front of my boss?” My gut curls. The vein in his neck is pulsing. “I’ll tell you how it made me look. Like I have no control over my family and an ungrateful bitch for a daughter who can only think about herself and having fun. Do you really think a stupid surf comp is going to get you anywhere in life?”

His icy stare sends chills down me.

I hold my breath. It’s now or never. I can be rational too. Quick breath. “Dad, I’ve been meaning to tell you and Mom. I really don’t want to go to an Ivy League—”

“You
ungrateful
little bitch.” Dad lunges at me with a solid slap.

I reel back, pressing my hand against my stinging cheek.

He raises his hand again and stops. Then he storms out of the kitchen, passing the college books on the kitchen table. He grabs the books, reels around, and charges at me.

I jump out of my chair, knocking it over, and by the time I make it to the fridge, he’s within a foot.

“You want to go to college. Here’s the damn books. Figure it out yourself.”

He shoves the books so hard at me that even though I try to catch them they slam into my chest. It knocks the wind out of me and I slide to the floor, dropping the books at my feet. Papers scatter in all directions.

He’s standing there barely reigning himself in.

The Mount Vesuvius in me erupts. I stand up, leaning against the fridge. “How dare you! How dare you!” I’m half-sobbing, half-screaming. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll leave and never come back! Do you hear me! Never!”

His face registers shock, and for once he steps back. A flash of intense anger passes across his face. He clenches his fists and starts to leave the kitchen, but Mom’s blocking the entrance. I’m so upset I’m shaking. She finally saw the show. Dad’s going to get it. She’ll finally leave him. God, that almost makes it worth it.

Mom says, “Hold up. You two aren’t going anywhere. You’ve both said enough for one day.”

Both? Both? I haven’t even started.

“In fact, you’ve said enough for a lifetime. Grace, what were you thinking, ditching the brunch?”

My mouth drops open. I start to say something but I don’t have any words.

Mom holds up her hand like she’s the only saint in the room. “And Jack, you know I love you, but you get way too worked up sometimes.”

Dad stands there looking uncomfortable.

Vesuvius erupts a second time. I yank down the neck of my shirt to show her red marks from where the corners of the books collided with me, small though they may be. “Look! Look what he did to me.”

Mom frowns and glares at Dad. “I’ll deal with that later.”
She looks back at me. “But that is no excuse for
your
behavior today.
You
wrote a note full of lies. You
skipped
the brunch, which is the reason your father lost his temper.” Dad crosses his arms. “He was worried sick. I was worried sick. We didn’t raise you to be like that. My goodness. And in the end you
embarrassed
us, in front of all the important people at his firm.” Mom’s eyes tear up. She glares at Dad too. “I’m ashamed of both of you.” She gestures toward the table. “Now, let’s all sit down and be reasonable.”

I take a seat and stare at the patterns of the grains of wood in the kitchen table. Dad sits between me and Mom.

She takes a shaky breath. “So, here’s the deal.”

My dad slaps the part of the table I’m staring at. “Look at your mother when she’s talking to you.”

I sigh and look at her, doing my best to keep back tears.

“
You are grounded for your behavior. You will apologize to your father and me for missing the brunch. You’ll write a note of apology to his boss. We’ll come up with a reasonable explanation for your absence. You and Ford are no longer to hang out and your surfboard is confiscated as of today.”

I jerk upright. “What!”

Mom continues. “You will spend your senior year ensuring your class rank. If you embarrass us like this again or refuse to live in our house under our rules, then you can find another place to live. After all the years we’ve set aside money for you, taken you to gymnastics, taken you to Girl Scouts, taken you all over the place, I do
not
understand how you can stab us in the back. If you’re going to act like that, don’t come crawling to us for anything. Got it?”

I nod and keep my mouth shut.

“Now, you can go to your room and think about your apologies and your actions today. You made some very poor choices, and I’m disappointed. I thought better of you.” She eyes Dad. “
Both
of you.”

I get up, push my chair back into the table, and trudge down the hallway. Once I close the door to my room, I fling myself on the bed and sob in a pillow.

By two in the morning, I’m a nervous miserable wreck. My head feels like it got knocked with the “damn books.” And I refuse to apologize to Dad’s boss. I’m sick of lying. And all for what? To hide their freaking problems. Mom didn’t even have my back—it makes me sick. I can’t believe she would buy into cutting me off so coldly. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s crazy. I’ll go crazy.

I keep thinking about choices. If I stay here, I’ll have none. If I leave, I’ll have choices but no family. If I stay here, I’ll have a pissed-off family but no Ford. If I stay here, things will probably get worse.

I pick up my cell and call Ford.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey … ”

I whisper, “Um, hey.” This is so embarrassing. What am I supposed to say? Yeah, right. My heart falls to the floor in one big flop.

Ford says, “What’s wrong?” The tone of his voice sounds sharp, like he’s on high alert
.

God, this hurts so much. I don’t even wipe at the tears streaming down my face. “You remember how I said things get out of control?”

“Are you okay?” His words are staccato notes.

I cover my face with my hand. “Yeah. No. Yes, I’m fine. But I’m not.” It’s so confusing.

“What’s wrong?” His words have a terse urgency behind them.

I gulp, because I don’t want pity. And no one can really get it. No one will ever fully understand living like this. “It all happened because I skipped this brunch to go to the surf comp. When I got home, it was just Dad. Which should have been clue number one to shut up. But I didn’t. And he slapped me, and hit me with books. Well, sort of. I mean he did, but it was after we argued. And my mom wants me to apologize. And I’m not explaining this very well. My head hurts and I’m exhausted and … ” My voice ends in a croaky whisper. “I can’t … live like this … anymore.”

“I’ll be right there. Your stuff packed?”

I hadn’t even thought about the logistics. “No.”

He says, “Throw whatever you can’t live without in your suitcase and we’ll figure the rest out later. Don’t worry and stay off their radar. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Silence.

Then he says, “And Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

And that’s when I break down. Between gut-wrenching sniffles, I say, “I … love … you too.”

Packing my suitcase at three in the morning, figuring out necessities versus accessories, as noiselessly as possible, is like expecting a train wreck to be orderly. It’s not.

I survey my room, trying to decide where to start. How do I know what I can and can’t live without? I swipe at my tears with my sleeve. At this point, snot on my shirt is the least of my concerns. After a shaky breath, I shuffle over to my closet and dig out the one suitcase I own.

The reality of this nightmare feels removed from me, and instead of breaking down and bawling, I walk over to my dresser and open a drawer in search of my favorite T-shirts and board shorts. At this moment, it’s too much to register. So I pretend like I’m just going on a long trip.

The first stacks of T-shirts are mostly Goodwill buys of old-school surf shirts and brands. They’re worn and comfy and I don’t feel bad about taking them because my mom can’t stand them. But it also makes part of me ache so deep I don’t know how it can ever heal. Those T-shirts aren’t just surf shirts. They’re memories of fun, no-strings-attached-or-apologies-needed shopping trips with Dad. He’d be in a good mood and take me to Goodwill. We’d eye the store as a challenge. How many cool, retro shirts or cords could we score that trip? Every find was like striking gold. Dad and I would leave with the biggest grins on our faces.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s a moment I’ve dreamed about for years, only there’s no feeling of victory. No happy dance will be carried out. I smash down my suitcase, sit on top of it, and force the zipper to slide to the other side. I set it down next to my ragged teddy bear.

Then I tiptoe down the hall in a drunken fashion, lugging my suitcase without dropping it. I go back for my backpack and then make one last sweep of my room, my old bear tucked under my arm.

As I step into the hall, I see Mom silhouetted in a doorframe. My heart leaps to my throat and a confusing shame consumes me. Mom pads down the hall toward me, putting two and two together.

She says softly, “So this is how it’s goi
ng to be. You’ve made your choice. Just don’t come back expecting anything from us. Consider yourself on your own.” Her voice breaks and I see the hurt in her eyes. “You might think I’m weak for staying, but I’m a lot tougher than you could imagine. I’ve been through a lot more with your father than you could ever understand. Sometimes you look at me and I feel your judgment, but things aren’t cut-and-dry in families, and they aren’t cut-and-dry in marriages. Your father does the best he can. His neighborhood wasn’t the kind you’ve grown up in. Your father has done more for you than
anyone
took the time to do for him growing up.”

A tear trickles out of the corner of her eye. She pauses, clenches her jaw, and pulls herself together. “Where are you planning on going?”

I swallow the lump building in my throat. “Ford’s.”

She narrows her eyes. “You think his parents are going to want an extra kid to be responsible for?”

I think about my polka dot mug. About the hugs, the jokes, the smiles. Ford’s house is the only place I feel one hundred percent accepted. “Yeah, I do.”

Mom flinches, blinks, and then stiffens. There’s more reaction in that response than I can figure out. As long as I can remember, she’s been an expert at not letting her guard down, at keeping up the pretense. I wonder what she thinks about the possibility of someone wanting me, no strings attached.

“I hope things work out with your new family,” she says, “because otherwise, things are going to get lonely pretty quick. In this life, family is all you have.”

I nod and walk resolutely toward the front door with leaden feet, Mom taking staccato steps by my side. Right before I reach it, her arm falls across the opening like she’s Checkpoint Charlie. “And I’ll need your house key.”

The finality of her statement hovers in the air like a thick fog. I swallow, dig the key out of my pocket, and hand it over, feeling like a common criminal. My insides feel shaky and my heart just broke into a thousand new fragments. Good God, I wish she knew how much this hurts, how much I wish things were different.

She takes it and walks back down the hall like the fragile, broken woman she’s become.

I go in the opposite direction. I guess, really, the one I’ve been headed in my whole life. Freedom.