She eyes me. “Seriously, I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about. You command the sea. This is your space. Be one with it.”
“Calm down, Yoda.”
I stare out the window, preoccupied—or forcing myself to look preoccupied—to avoid further conversation. As we near the location, I’m surprised at the amount of traffic and cars parked along the side of the road. I can just see the tops of a few dozen multicolored tents along the edge of the beach.
“Which meet is this again?” I ask, my suspicion growing by the minute at the throngs of people walking toward the beach.
“RUSH,” Jenna says sheepishly.
“What?” I nearly choke. The RUSH Annual Surf Series is one of the biggest surf competitions in San Diego, and is sponsored by the coolest surf magazine on the planet. I ignore the sudden dip of my stomach. Not only will Lo be watching, but thousands of people will be there, including photographers. “How did we even get in for that? I didn’t qualify to compete.” I stare at her with a disbelieving frown.
“Slow your roll, princess,” Jenna says. “Sawyer hooked it up.”
“How?”
“Technically, it’s only an exhibition heat. He showed them some footage of you from last year and he called in a favor. No biggie.”
“You’re killing me. Really.”
Jenna grins, hopping out of the Jeep as soon as Speio comes to a spot in the narrowest parking spot possible. “What better way to start your senior year at Dover than with a splash? No pun intended.”
“This is a Pro-Am competition,” I say with overexaggerated emphasis. “As in pro. RUSH is more than a big deal. And the exhibition surfers at these events are professional surfers, not amateurs.”
“Seriously, Nerissa Marin, can you stop being such a wuss and suck it up for half a second? You’re a great surfer. Better than great, if you know what I mean,” Jenna says, grabbing my board and shoving it toward me. I shoot her a dry look. “Go have fun. And show off a bit. What could go wrong?”
The question is so loaded that I nearly start laughing hysterically. Besides enticing giant ocean predators like great white sharks, which are attracted to Aquarathi pheromones—mine in particular—what could possibly go wrong other than the worst possible thing? Like mangled, chewed-up people everywhere.
Speio pats my arm, sensing my panic. “It’s a new moon,” he says quietly. “Full moon’s already gone, so you should be fine. Just try to keep it together.” Okay, correction...maybe it’s not the worst thing, since our pheromones are at their peak during the full moon, but that doesn’t mean it’s not risky.
With a resigned sigh, I walk down to the crowded beach, where we meet up with Sawyer. He’s at one of the tents, pinning his number onto his rash guard. His smile is infectious as he comes in for a warm hug.
“Hey, Riss! Glad you got here.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I tell him, punching him half-playfully in the arm.
“Any surfing down in Cape Town?” Sawyer says, his teeth white in his darkly tanned face. A move to South Africa was the cover story for why we left months ago. “Heard there’s good swell there year-round.”
“Nope, didn’t surf at all,” I say truthfully, grabbing a piece of wax off one of the nearby tables. “I’m going to be rusty. Hope you don’t have too much riding on me not completely wiping out.”
“It’s only exhibition,” he says, and nods out at the ocean, where the waves are breaking in perfect sets. “Epic out there. I had an early-morning heat and it wasn’t near as clean as those. High tide. Offshore winds. Epic combo.”
“If you say so.”
I survey the teeming beach—only exhibition...with a gazillion people watching my every move. Waving goodbye to Sawyer, I head over to where Speio’s standing and crouch down next to him on the sand, slowly rubbing wax onto the deck of my board with rhythmic, consistent strokes. I breathe in and slowly exhale with each circle, feeling my body calm and center.
“Hey,” a voice says over my shoulder, making my skin leap like it’s alive. Only one person has that effect on me. I look up, shading my eyes from the sun.
“Hi, Lo.”
“You came,” he says, crouching down beside me. “You’re surfing?”
“Sawyer’s idea,” I say, trying not to let his proximity or the citrusy-vanilla smell of him affect me. It’s a losing battle. Here, with the ocean so close, everything is amplified. For me, anyway. I haul a deep breath into my lungs, furiously scrubbing the square of wax onto the board and remembering Speio’s words about keeping it together. Fat chance with Lo looking on every second.
“So, you any good?” Lo asks, and then answers his own question. “Well, you must be if you’re surfing RUSH. Heard it’s the epic of the epics.”
“Yeah.”
“You nervous?”
“Some.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Lo says with an awkward smile. “See you around.” I know my body language and monosyllabic answers are anything but welcoming, but I can’t help it.
Keep it together, I remind myself. “See you.”
“Good luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”
I don’t allow myself to turn fully around, but my gaze follows him despite my better judgment. Bad move. I’m just in time to see a bikini-clad Cara throw herself into his arms. Lo catches her effortlessly, tossing her over his shoulder. She laughs at something he says and kisses him on the cheek. I duck my head, letting my hair cover my overheated face. The jealousy that spins through me is like acid, scorching every part of my insides without mercy. I gasp, nearly doubling over my board.
Speio is at my side in a second, his hand over mine stalling my movement with the wax. “You all right?”
“Fine.”
“You sure?” he says, his face concerned. He looks over his shoulder, and understanding dawns in his eyes. “You know they’re just friends, right?” he says. His hand tightens on mine. “You don’t have to do this, Riss. Stay here, I mean.”
I squeeze his fingers, forcing the ache into a dark corner of my brain. “I have to deal with it sooner or later. Jenna’s right. Better out here than in a closed environment.” A loud bullhorn has everyone breaking out in a wave of mad cheering as the announcers of the event broadcast the exhibition heat. “That’s me. Don’t worry, Speio. I’ll be okay.”
As I paddle out to the lineup with the five other surfers in my heat, I try to leave all my negativity back on the beach. Being extra careful, I duck-dive under the oncoming waves, letting the ocean flow over and into me, taking strength from its dark blue depths. This is my space...my world. It’s where I belong. With every stroke, I feel stronger.
Out past the breakers, I straddle my board and float, facing the beach. People cover every possible inch of sand for miles. I know exactly where Lo is because I can feel the magnetic pull of him even as far away as I am, but I keep my eyes averted, searching instead for the red flag of Jenna’s hair. Instead a distorted, misshapen face beneath a wide-brimmed hat catches my attention, and I blink, my stomach dipping in fear. But when I look back, the hulking figure is gone. Shaking my head to clear it, I spot Jenna, jumping up and down and waving madly. I wave back and drop down to grab the rails of my board.
The waves are breaking in perfect sets, with glassy blue faces and white-tipped crests. Sawyer’s right—conditions couldn’t be more perfect.