Surf School (17 page)

‘No, Kyle, you're wrong. That's the difference between you
and me. I'll win by surfing the best I can.' Then she added feebly, ‘And close your mouth.'

‘Well, keep your self-righteous integrity all you want but get used to being curled up on your bed like a loser. Anyway, there was no way I was going to lose to a girl. I'd never hear the end of it.' He smiled slightly. ‘Mind you, being mauled in public by a girl isn't much better.'

An uneasy silence grew as they realised that the conversation had no place left to go. Kyle coughed and gave it one more try.

‘That last wave. I've never seen you surf like that. You tore it up.'

‘Well, being mad at you really helped.' Marlee smiled in spite of herself. ‘I don't get you, Kyle – on land you're fun and nice but once you mix with water you get your beetroot head on. You become someone else. If I take that board then it's like I approve of your behaviour. I can't do that and I won't. If you feel bad, that's your problem.' Marlee sat back down on the bed.

Kyle lifted the board, limping towards the door. He paused, looking back at Marlee. ‘As I see it, I'm not the only one who behaved badly. You're a good hater, Marlee, I'll give you that.'

As soon as the door shut, Marlee's face crumpled. She rolled back on the bed, her face shoved into her pillow.

An oppressive heat, trapped on land by a massive cloud bank, rumbled into shore like a restless army. It bounced off pavements and car windows and, two minutes after leaving the
surf, Tilly longed to be back in it. As the storm clouds built layer upon layer, the heat thickened like soup. Tilly moved slower and slower, worn out with the effort of breathing, her clothes limp and sweaty.

The clouds shifted uneasily, lightning flashing across their underbellies until, finally, the massive lip of black cloud split wide open. A few fat drops of rain splattered, sizzling on hot paths before turning into steam, followed by a frenzy of drops that hit the cooled earth so hard they bounced back up. The rain fell in thick sheets, blotting out the ocean, the drops hammering Tilly's tin roof, blocking out any other sound. Rain leaked through pergolas, splashed into open doorways, swept through open windows, ran tiny rivers across lawns and filled the streets. As it eased, car tyres passed with a soft wet swish.

Tilly had settled onto the verandah sipping a cool drink and watching the storm when she spotted Pink racing across the road. She reached the steps panting, hair plastered to her head, clothes soaked.

‘Pink, are you crazy?' Tilly raced inside for a dry towel. ‘What are you doing out in this weather? I thought you were grounded?'

Pink rubbed her hair, then hung the towel on a chair, leaning over the verandah, hand out to catch raindrops.

‘I love these tropical storms.' She breathed deeply. ‘Smell that wet earth. It's so good to be out. I've been going crazy stuck inside all week.'

Tilly stood next to her. ‘Are you ungrounded now?'

‘Mmm, not really, but my parents are out. They figured I'd never go out in this so they left me.' She checked her watch. ‘I can't stay long though. How's Marlee?'

‘I haven't seen her,' Tilly said sadly. ‘I've been round there but her door's locked. She won't answer.'

‘What about Phil? How's he doing?'

Tilly's eyes lit up. ‘He'll be home soon. The doctors can't believe how well he's recovered.'

‘That's fantastic. Seems like he's been in there forever.' Pink drank the rain out of her hand then put it out for more.

‘Since 5 December. Nearly three weeks.'

Pink's body became very still. ‘5 December? That date rings a bell for some reason.'

‘It was the last week of school, remember? The week we had our First Surf of the Season celebration.'

Pink tracked back through the last few weeks, a feeling of dread overwhelming her. ‘Are you sure?' Her eyes were wide, anxious. ‘Are you absolutely certain it was 5 December?'

Tilly laughed. ‘Of course I'm sure. We do the same thing every year.'

‘No, the date Phil was hit by the car.' She forced the words out, each one getting harder to say.

‘Positive,' Tilly said emphatically. ‘I'll never forget that night for as long as I live.'

Pink stepped back, seemed to stumble then caught herself, pulling her body upright, the stolen joy of getting out well and truly washed from her face. ‘Did they catch the person in the car?' she asked.

Tilly shook her head, looking curiously at Pink. ‘No, not yet. Why?'

‘I have to go, Tilly.' Pink began to cry. She edged towards the steps. ‘I have to go. There's something I have to do.'

‘What's wrong, Pink?'

The noise of the storm washed Tilly's words away as Pink ran, not looking back.

M
arlee paced. Seven steps down, five across. Her little haven had become a cell. She marched the short distance from one wall to another, her eyes taking in the detail around her until they dropped to the set of bedside drawers she'd found on the tip last winter and painted yellow. She opened the third drawer. The white envelope looked grubby, as though it had travelled many more kilometres since Australia Post had left it in her letterbox. And it had. First her sweaty palms, then crunched into her school bag for weeks with half-eaten sandwiches and now finally to her drawers where the ash from the incense she burned had smeared across the address.

The ash couldn't disguise the writing though. It was still her father's. She snatched up the letter, upsetting the things around it so they skittered sideways and rolled onto her carpet. Marlee
glared at the letter. Turned it over to the back. Read the return address once more. He lived in another state. Nowhere near them. Nowhere near enough to provide any help or support. What else did she need to know that he could possibly tell her? She dragged a chair over to her wardrobe and pulled down a red box Pink had given her one Christmas. Marlee shoved the letter inside with all the others, then went back to pacing.

She paced until she couldn't stand it any longer. It was the longest she could ever remember being away from the water and sooner or later she'd have to face the world. She threw on some boardies and a shirt, then stepped into the garden, blinking in the bright sunlight. Her broken board lay against the shed and she nudged it with her foot. It'd be a while before she could surf again. Tears welled in her eyes, the thought filling her with despair. She'd always had her own board – even if it was an old log. She slung her bag over the handlebars of her bike, her résumé letters for sponsorship neatly tucked in the top.

She rode the long way to the newsagency, enjoying the soft breeze on her face, and parked her bike out the front, hoping she wouldn't see Kyle or any of his friends. The new surf magazine was in and she raced to pick up a copy, flipping quickly through the spreads.

If Marlee hadn't recognised the board shorts she'd never have known it was her. She peered at the shorts to confirm that they were hers and then peered closer, scrutinising the photos taken at the competition.

Her board was pinned sideways on the wave as though the
ocean had sprouted a shelf and Marlee was tucked neatly on it. What was unfamiliar was her body. It was taut, rigid, full of grip and power, no relaxed arching back or gentle curves, but a coiled spring of energy about to explode. Her hand trailed behind her, water drops springing from her fingers, forming an arc of water over her head.

Marlee gasped. Did she really surf like that? She smiled proudly until she noticed the rage twisting her face. It was like a stranger had stepped into her skin. Is that how Kyle saw her the day of the contest? Is that what everyone saw? A deep shame and embarrassment ran through her. That wasn't who she was.

Alongside the big photo a sequence of smaller shots showed her ripping up and down the wave and, at one point, hovering above it connected only by drops of water. Marlee read the caption: ‘
Only one place for this girl to go – UP
.'

She snapped the magazine shut, paid her money, shoved it up her T-shirt and walked out of the shop.

‘Look out, it's Marlee the Mauler!' Kyle's friends were perched on a picnic table across the road, laughing and holding up their arms to protect themselves.

‘Don't hurt me, Marlee, I'll let you win …'

Kyle sat in the middle, his arms tightly folded as he stared doggedly at the surf, ignoring his friends, and her. Marlee tucked her head down, riding swiftly to the far end of the beach, crossing the road to the mall.

Christmas lights twinkled in the bright sunlight, an odd combination with the massive blue skies and summer heat but
Marlee was in too much of a hurry to notice. She swerved around the tree to the letter box, checking the addresses in her neat, evenly spaced writing one last time.

‘Marlee!'

She quickly shoved the letters into the box, turning to see Tilly staggering towards her carrying huge bags full of photo frames.

‘Marlee, I've been trying to talk to you for days. Are you okay?'

‘Yep. I'm fine. Just doing some Christmas shopping. You?' Her voice was colourless, her face closed off, defensive.

Tilly remembered that look from the first time they met. Marlee wet and shivering, her father's fingers imprinted white where he'd squeezed her arm too tightly. Tilly put her bags down, wrapping her arms around Marlee who stood stiffly, unmoving.

‘Don't shut me out, Marlee. I'm on your side. Did you get the Blood Book?'

Marlee nodded.

‘Did Kyle drop the board off?'

Marlee nodded again, her body softening a little.

Tilly was relieved. ‘Good. He was worried you wouldn't accept it. He's not good at showing it but he really cares for you.' Tilly tried to say this with as much generosity as she could muster, ignoring the recurring pang of jealousy that Marlee would rather be with someone else than her. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts she nearly missed Marlee's reply.

‘I didn't take it.'

Tilly peered into her friend's face, disbelieving. ‘Why not?'

‘Because it's his, not mine.'

‘So? Can't he give it to you if he wants? Marlee, sometimes you're too proud for your own good.' Tilly's voice softened. ‘Take the board. He wants you to have it. You need it!'

Marlee's face crumpled. She pushed her bike backwards and forwards over the same spot on the pavement.

‘I can't,' she whispered. ‘I know I'm my own worst enemy sometimes but I couldn't use it without feeling – I don't know – ashamed, disappointed. I didn't win. I can live with that. It's how I lost that I'm ashamed of. I'd think of it every time I used the board.' Marlee pushed her bike forwards but this time she kept going and before Tilly could respond, she'd ridden to the end of the mall and disappeared.

‘Marlee!'

Marlee didn't have to turn around to know it was Mitch. She pushed the pedals faster hoping to get away but he called again.

‘Marlee, wait up.'

She scraped her thongs across the sandy concrete to slow her bike. What was the point. She'd have to face him sooner or later. Might as well be now. She laid the bike on the grass and walked back to him.

‘Hi,' she smiled. ‘Mitch, before you say anything, I want to apologise for my behaviour at the competition. I know I totally lost it. I'm sorry. Christie said I'd be fined.'

‘Well, you certainly got a few things off your chest.' Mitch chuckled. ‘But you won't be fined. Jasmine told me what she saw and I also had a chat to Kyle. You're as bad as each other, you two, but unfortunately you're the only one who's going to have to wear the fallout. There's far worse out there than Kyle Parker.'

Marlee felt relieved about the fine and turned to go but Mitch kept talking.

‘No, I wanted to say how impressed I was with your surfing. You've really improved this summer. Do you know about the juniors' circuit? It starts early in the new year. The competition's strong but you should think about going in it. The experience would be good for you.'

Marlee gulped. ‘Really?' She smiled. ‘Thanks.' Desperate and boardless, she ignored her pride. ‘Would you be able to help me?'

Mitch smiled a little sadly, weighing up his words as he pushed his toes in and out of the sand. ‘If you mean sponsorship, Christie and I decide that kind of stuff together and I'm afraid she, well, we'd like to wait until next year before making a decision. You could make the top league, Marlee, but it's a tough place and you've got a few rough edges to be ironed out first.' His voice softened when he saw Marlee's disappointment. ‘I'm not saying no but you need to mature a little.'

Anger fluttered through Marlee but this time she pushed it down deep, forcing a smile. ‘Okay, thanks, I'll work on it. Bye, Mitch.'

‘Come back to me in six months, Marlee,' he called after
her. ‘We'll talk about it some more.' Marlee smiled and waved politely, determined from now on to handle things differently.

‘Let's sit here for a sec.' Phil slid onto the seat, gently shifting his leg into a comfortable position then rested his crutches alongside, his arms stretched along the top. The sun was setting and light played across the ocean in channels of gold. A fresh breeze lifted the hair around the neck of his shirt.

‘Are you all right, Dad?' Tilly asked, concerned.

‘Never better,' he smiled. ‘Just wanted to smell that ocean. It's so good to be home.'

‘You're telling me. We're back where we were weeks ago!' Tilly cuddled up next to him, her head on his shoulder. ‘Well not quite, but it's better than it was.'

Shane brought a class of students up the beach, their shadows elongated across the sand. Phil gave him a long, slow wave. Tilly itched to pull him up and lead him down the steps to the School.

‘Do you want to go and see Shane?' she asked hopefully.

Phil shook his head. ‘Not yet. Just give me a couple of days to get my energy up. Besides, Shane's doing a great job, I don't want to go crashing in there and take over. I'm happy to ease up for a while.' He yawned. ‘Speaking of going slower, let's have that dinner you've made for me, Tilly, and then I'm going to hit the sack.'

‘That's the best meal I've had in my life.' Phil pushed his plate back, accidentally upsetting his crutches. They crashed loudly
to the floor, the sudden noise making everyone jump. He laughed. ‘Sorry, I'm a bit clumsy.'

Sam moved the crutches aside while Phil awkwardly pushed his chair away from the table.

Tilly gathered the plates. Phil's stir-fry was only half-eaten, and she tried not to look disappointed. Phil squeezed her hand. ‘Sorry, love, my appetite's not what it used to be but I can't tell you how good it is to sit in my own home and have dinner with you three. The future's looking good. Plenty of waves to catch and a thriving business to run, thanks to you guys. So, Tilly, do you want to show me this magnificent web page of yours? It sounds fantastic.'

Phil's strong arms quickly moved the crutches across the floor but he gasped slightly as he knocked his foot against the table leg.

‘Hey, Phil, why don't we strap your leg to a skateboard. You'd be totally mobile then,' Jamie suggested.

Phil's face was white and even though he laughed, his voice was strained. ‘I don't think I'd be safe being any more mobile than I am.' He sat heavily then flicked the computer switch.

Tilly drummed her fingers nervously against the edge. ‘Dad, there's something I've got to tell you about …'

The computer whirred into life and Tilly watched in disbelief as the icons flashed up on the screen. She glanced at Jamie and Sam.

‘I don't get it.'

‘What?' Sam asked.