“I’m more than sure. It’s just that I’m upset about all of this.” I gesture to the others on the deck with us. “I wish there was something I could do.”
He goes to say something, but then he stops himself. Instead, he just looks at me and smiles. Then he puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me in closer for a moment.
Maybe it’s the nostalgic display of fireworks, or maybe it’s the wonderful realization that I, shy Izzy Lucas, am cuddling with my fabuloso boyfriend—I still can’t believe that part—that makes me wonder what it would be like if I actually was the type of person who had the courage to compete in the King of the Beach. Better yet, what if all of us girls entered and shredded the waves as one last great send-off for Surf Sisters?
“What are you smiling about?” Ben asks.
I didn’t realize I was smiling, but I dare not even say it aloud. Instead I answer, “Nothing . . . everything.”
Moments later, the grand finale starts to blanket the sky with color and light, and the noise drowns out any possibility of him pursuing the subject further. Surprisingly, I can’t shake the daydream of all of us competing. As a team. As Surf Sisters.
“Hmmmm,” I say out loud for no particular reason.
As I look at the fireworks, my mind keeps turning it over. Then, when the final ribbons of color fade into the night and the smoke and smell of powder waft over us, I wonder if this is something we should do. I have found a boyfriend. I have marched in a parade. Could I possibly compete in the King of the Beach? Could all of us? We could go out with a fight. Our very own grand finale.
The party has reached its end, and people are beginning to hug one another and say good-bye. I start to breathe faster as I wage an internal debate. There’s no way to go to the register to get a verdict on this one. I have to make this decision all on my own. And as it is with most decisions you dread, the difficulty isn’t so much figuring out the answer, which is obvious, but deciding if you can face the consequences.
“Wait!” I say as the others start to leave. They all stop what they’re doing and all eyes turn to me. I freeze for a moment as I reconsider my decision one last time.
“What’s the matter, Iz?” asks Mo.
“What’s the matter?” I say, incredulous. “The store’s closing. That’s the matter.”
Her eyes are watery and consoling at the same time. “I know, sweetie.”
“We can’t just let it happen,” I say. “We can’t just keep coming to work and act like we’re happy as we count the days until it’s over. It’s not fair to Steady Eddie and it’s not fair to you.”
Mo wraps me in a hug as tears run down her face. “I don’t know what else we can do,” she says.
“I know,” I say with a deep breath. Then it hits me. I want to do this for Surf Sisters, but I also want to do it for me. I’m tired of standing off to the side. I’m ready to be noticed. “We can win the King of the Beach and get your trophies back.”
Over the next week I develop a new routine in my daily life. Today fits the profile perfectly. It starts in the morning when I wake up early and head to the beach with my surfboard under my arm. This may not seem like a change, considering that I surf most mornings anyway, but now my approach is totally different. First of all, these sessions are not about finding my Zen place and becoming one with the ocean. They are full-out training sessions. I’m working to build endurance and strength. I’m practicing technique and I’m challenging myself to develop the moves I’ll need to do to get the judges to notice me.
Secondly, I’ve started to surf the pier. Every break, which is what surfers call a specific location, is unique. The more you surf it the better you know its secrets. The King of the Beach is held at the pier, and by the time the contest begins, I want to know each and every inch of it. The problem with surfing there, however, is that it’s the most popular break on Pearl Beach. This means there are always other surfers there, even in the early morning hours, and I have to work on my “surfs well with others” skills.
The other girls from the shop are coming down to the pier too, but we are keeping our plans on the down low. One thing—the only thing?—working in our favor is the element of surprise. Surf City has walked away with the team championship every year for more than a decade. On the morning of the competition, their only concern will be figuring out which one of their guys is going to win the individual crown. We don’t want them to be just overconfident about the team title. We want them to think it’s automatic.
That means we don’t arrive together. We don’t wear any Surf Sisters gear. And we never talk about the contest. In fact, we don’t really talk much at all. Well, except for one of us.
“So,” Sophie says as we sit side by side straddling our boards and waiting for the next set. “Have you told Ben that you love him yet?”
I don’t even dignify this with so much as a glance in her direction.
“It’s obvious that you feel that way,” she continues. “You love, love, love him.”
“Stop it,” I say, still trying to ignore her.
“Have you said that you can’t imagine being without him and that you’re going to follow him back to Wisconsin so you can live on a big dairy farm together?”
“Do you mind?” I say, finally turning to her. “I’m trying to surf here.”
She nods. “And I’m trying to make you better at it.”
I flash her my skeptical eyes. “How does annoying me make me better?”
“I’m not only annoying you, I’m also teaching you the importance of not letting anyone distract you. You know . . . like I just did.”
“What are you talking about?”
Before I even finish my question, she has turned and is paddling. By the time I figure out what’s happening, it’s already too late. There’s a beautiful wave coming, and she has completely shut me out and stolen my position. Normally I surf by myself or with my dad, and there are no distractions. That won’t be the case during the King of the Beach, as Sophie reminds me fifteen minutes later when we’re back in the lineup.
“There’s no margin for error,” she says. “Wave selection plays a big part in who wins and who doesn’t. You can’t afford to miss any good ones because you’re distracted.”
I nod my agreement and remind her that we need to keep the talking to a minimum.
After my morning session I go home and crash in my bed for a power nap. Of course, before I do that I check to see if I have any texts from Ben. Even when he’s working with the campers, he usually manages to send off a steady stream during the day.
After my nap I head in to Surf Sisters and work my shift. Mickey and Mo have put me on the same shift almost every day. They said it was to help me establish my workout routine, but I think secretly they’re trying to have my hours line up with Ben’s as much as possible. (See what I mean? They totally rock.)
The vibe at the shop is completely different from the way it was a week ago. Everyone is excited about Surf Sisters competing in the King of the Beach. I think the important part is that it gives us something positive to think about and takes our minds off the fact that the store is closing. Even the fact that we’re keeping it a secret gives the whole thing a spy vs. spy feel.
There is one massive problem, however, that nobody’s talking about. I know I’m certainly not going to bring it up. But . . . even though I’m the one who came up with the idea and I enjoy our secret sisterhood and backroom plotting, I don’t see how we can possibly win the contest.
The Surf City team isn’t just good. It’s amazing.
Consider this little nugget. Surf City sponsors ten of the twenty highest rated surfers in the state. A team can submit up to eight surfers in the competition. That means two of the best surfers in all of Florida won’t even make it on their team. Meanwhile, Mickey and Mo are the only people on our team who have even been in a tournament before. And, while I don’t doubt their greatness, the two of them are over fifty and haven’t competed in decades.