Sunset

by Melissa J Morgan

  Micah didn’t say anything. Instead he glanced down the beach where the female competitors were all stretching and getting ready for their runs. He could see Danica checking over her board, looking as confident as ever.

  “But don’t get me wrong,” Bo went on. “It’s cool, too. Noble, sort of. So . . . she teach you any moves?”

  “Huh?”

  “On the surfboard. She teach you any of her trademark stuff?”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “Aw, too bad. She’s awesome.” Bo looked out at the waves and chuckled. “Yeah,” he added in a faraway-sounding voice, “she and I have had a lot of fun together. Cassie’s definitely my girl.”

  Micah frowned at Bo’s wide, tanned back. Exactly what kind of “fun” was he talking about? What did he mean she was his girl?

  “So . . . what did you say this camp was called?”

  “Ohana.” Micah managed to keep a growl sound out of his voice. “Camp Ohana. On the Big Island.”

  “Ohana,” Bo repeated. “Huh. Maybe I’ll send her a postcard or something. Anyhow, it’s good to know she has some pals she can hang with while she takes this little break.” He reached over and mussed the back of Micah’s wet hair. “See you around,” he said, and then loped away toward the roped-off VIP section of the beach.

  Micah absently touched the back of his skull. He couldn’t help feeling like a dweeby kid palling around with the older, cooler boys. What did Bo think? That he was some little newbie?

  Even worse . . . was that how Cassie saw him?

  Four

  I’m it.

  Danica kept saying it over and over in her head. I’m it. It was short and sweet and to the point. Just two syllables that summed up her mind-set.

  She had to keep thinking it so that she couldn’t let in any other thoughts. Nothing was going to distract her and keep her from winning this competition.

  Of course the second she hit the beach she saw Elevator Girl and her posse. They flashed her fake smiles and a couple of them even waved. She didn’t give them the satisfaction of playing along. Instead she kept her eyes focused straight ahead and walked to the check-in table as if she had all day.

  Amateurs, she told herself. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

  Maybe back home they could rattle her. Back in Florida where everyone knew everything about her and her family—but not here. Here she ruled. For years she had perfected her image. She no longer had to pretend to be confident and accomplished; she really was all those things. And no one could take it all away.

  “You’re in the first group,” Haydee said, jogging up next to her. “That’s okay, right?”

  “That’s awesome, actually. I love being first.” It was true. That way she didn’t have to wait. She could go out there and show everyone her stuff and set the bar for the other competitors. People usually remember whoever went first and she liked that. Those that followed behind usually stayed that way: behind.

  I’m it . . . I’m it . . . I’m it . . .

  She kept it going throughout the boys’ competition, pretending to watch them while she instead focused on the horizon and kept up her mental chant. She couldn’t let anything else into her head—not even Micah. There would be time for that later. After she won.

  “Yes! Yes! He looked great, didn’t he?” Haydee exclaimed, shaking Danica by the shoulders.

  “Yeah,” Danica lied. No way was she going to confess that she was actually watching a ship in the distance.

  “They’re so slow with the scoring today,” Haydee went on. “Hopefully they’ll have results before you paddle out, but I don’t think so.”

  “Oh well.” Stop talking to me. Haydee’s voice kept interfering with the voice in her mind.

  “That’s it! They just called for your heat. Go! Go kick some butt!”

  I’m it . . . I’m it . . . I’m it. Danica’s chant kept rhythm with her footsteps as she crossed the beach and waded into the water. She bellied onto her board and paddled into the waves, glad to finally be able to move about.

  Something—she wasn’t sure what—made her turn her head and glance to her left. She felt a bit like Spider-Man, the way he tingles whenever evil comes near. Or maybe her neck just needed to stretch that direction. Whatever the reason, she wished she hadn’t. Because now she was staring right into the smug face of Elevator Girl as she swam out beside her.

  “Hey there. How’s the leg?” she said.

  Danica faced out to sea again, but it was too late. Suddenly she was keenly aware of the scab on her thigh. It even twinged in response. And she’d been doing such a good job of focusing!

  I’m it . . . she restarted. I’m it . . . I’m it . . .

  But somehow it sounded different inside her head. Her inner voice seemed way less sure of herself.

  She just had to concentrate and do what she came to do.

  There. Rising in the near distance was a beautiful wave. Nice and clean, dark with depth. And she was closest to its peak. It was all hers!

  Danica got into position, felt the wave pick her up, and immediately stood up tall. She loved this part best—that top-of-the-world feeling when you’re atop a cresting wave. Together, the board and the water picked up speed, and Danica balanced herself perfectly, enjoying the wind on her face and the rush of power beneath her feet.

  Now all she had to do was ride it. She could see the judges’ stand and the bleachers full of spectators. All eyes were on her.

  Concentrate, she told herself. You know what you’re doing. Just stay focused and don’t think about the scratch . . .

  “Oh no.”

  The second the word scratch entered her mind, Danica’s left leg bobbled ever so slightly—as if the wound itself was moving it. She felt her balance shift to the right. She tried to counter by leaning left, but she went too far and had to tilt right again. Panic shot through her like ice water. Her whole body tensed and her board began to waver.

  She had time for one last thought: No! Then she fell sideways into the surf.

  There was darkness and bubbles and a loud rush of noise. Grit from the wave coursed over her skin. Her mouth filled with salt water. Danica felt the leash jerk against her leg as her surfboard shot the opposite direction. And then, finally, she resurfaced.

  She took a loud gasping breath and pushed her hair out of her face. She had just caught a quick glimpse of the beach when another wave pounded her. This one pushed her forward several yards to where her feet touched bottom.

  Feeling numb, she tugged her board to her, undid the strap, and slowly waded back onto shore.

  Her ears were still full of water so she couldn’t make out what the announcer said, but she heard his amplified voice burble something, followed by slight applause. Soon she was stepping out of the surf and onto dry beach. Her legs were shaking. Her eyes stung. Noises were muffled and strange. Only her heartbeat twanged loud and clear.

  And people were staring. Everywhere she turned there was someone looking at her with round, pity-filled eyes.

  “Stop it,” she murmured to no one in particular.

  Her right ear cleared just in time for her to hear Haydee shout her name.

  “Are you okay?” she cried, running up to Danica and stepping directly in front of her so that she had to stop. Haydee took the surfboard from Danica’s hands and craned forward, right in front of her face. “Danica? Danica, look at me. Are you all right? That was a bad tumble you took out there.”

  “Stop it,” Danica croaked again. She just couldn’t take it anymore. All the stares. Haydee’s big head looming in front of her all distorted with worry. And now that her ears had cleared she could even pick up some nearby whispers. “Stop it!” she repeated more forcefully.

  Haydee’s head retracted and she took a step back. “Sorry. I was only seeing if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Danica said shakily. “I just need . . . space.”

  “Okay. Okay. Why don’t we . . . ?”

  But Haydee didn’t
get to finish. Without a word Danica turned and bolted from the beach, running for the red roof of the hotel in the distance.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was freaking a bit much, but she didn’t care. Her breath was already coming in ragged gasps and in a moment the tears would start up.

  And no way was she going to hang around and continue the show for everyone.

  “Third place.” That’s what Zeke had said. Micah got third place!

  It wasn’t good enough to continue on—only the first-place finishers did that. Nor was it good enough to serve as alternate—the second placers did that. He didn’t even get to stand and get photographed by the press like the winner and runner-up. But it was a strong finish. And it was better than he thought he had done.

  Micah had only had time to let the news sink halfway in before he saw Danica’s wipeout. It looked pretty bad. She walked out of the surf in one piece, but he was still worried. He had never seen her run off like that. She didn’t even stick around for her next heat.

  Danica was not the type to give up—which meant something was definitely wrong.

  So here he was, running back to their hotel to check on her, instead of hanging around the beach and getting congratulated by total strangers while he watched the girls’ competition. Not that he minded much. Saying “thanks” over and over again made him feel awkward.

  Still . . . third place! Even as he worried about Danica, the medal kept thumping against his chest as he jogged, reminding him of his win. He couldn’t wait to tell Cassie. Maybe he’d call after he looked in on Danica.

  Only . . . would Cassie even think it was a big deal? She was used to winning tougher, world-class competitions. Third place at a local invitational might not mean much to someone in her league. To hear Bo talk, she was slumming it just hanging around the other campers.

  Micah glanced down with a sigh. Suddenly the medal didn’t feel all that weighty, and it seemed to have lost some glimmer. Now that he studied it, it actually looked kind of cheap. Even the green ribbon holding it on his neck was frayed slightly.

  He entered the lobby and stepped right onto a waiting elevator. The walls inside were covered with mirrors so that everywhere he looked, there he was wearing that medal.

  He was proud of it, and he was proud of himself. But he didn’t want to feel like some dweeby wannabe around Cassie. Gushing about a third-place win in a third-rate contest might make him look . . .

  “. . . stupid!”

  The elevator had stopped at their floor and the doors had just opened. Sitting in the corridor in front of him, rhythmically thumping the back of her head against the wall, was Danica.

  “So”—thud—“stupid! I’m so”—thud—“freaking stupid!”

  “Hey!” Micah cried, bolting out of the lift. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Danica’s eyes met his, but she kept on lightly banging her head against the cheesy flowered wallpaper. “Sitting,” she muttered.

  “Uh, yeah. I see that.” Micah smiled tentatively but let it drop when she didn’t smile back. “So why are you just sitting here?”

  “I forgot”—thud—“my stupid”—thud—“key.” Micah was about to ask why she didn’t return to the beach for it, but stopped himself. Of course she wouldn’t want to go back there. Asking her would have been . . .

  “. . . stupid,” Danica mumbled again.

  “Why don’t you come into our room for a sec? At least until Haydee comes back? I know it’s against the rules, but whatever. You’re stranded. She’ll understand.”

  Her eyes swiveled back up to him. For a couple of seconds she didn’t say anything, but she at least stopped hammering her head against the wall. “Okay,” she said, finally. “Thanks.”

  Micah let out his breath in relief. It freaked him a little to see Danica like this. Normally she was so strong and collected.

  “Here you go,” he said, unlocking the door to his and Zeke’s room and holding it open for her.

  She trudged inside and glanced around as if lost. Then she turned and looked at him. “You won?” she asked, nodding at his medal.

  “Oh, uh . . . no,” he replied, feeling foolish. “I just got third place.” Micah took off the medallion and set it on the dresser. He assumed she didn’t want to look at it, and frankly, he didn’t either.

  “That’s great, Micah,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s no big deal.”

  “Sure it is.”

  He shook his head and sank into a chair. “No, it’s not. Not really. But . . . thanks.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Micah frowned. “What?”

  “You don’t have to play down your win just for my sake. It’s not your fault I sucked out there.”

  “I . . . I’m not. You didn’t. You had an accident. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “No! Not to me,” she snapped. “I don’t let things like that happen to me.”

  Micah didn’t know what to say. It was true she usually managed to avoid mistakes. She was always so . . . ultra aware—so on top of things. For most of last summer he thought she was perfect. But she wasn’t. She had flaws and she messed up sometimes. Even she was human.

  Of course, pointing that out wouldn’t be much of a comfort to her.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she moaned, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I let that hag psych me out.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” She shut her eyes and lay back on the bed with a sigh. “I screwed up big-time. That’s all.”

  Micah felt like he needed to reassure her in some way. Only he had to be careful not to use the typical “you did great” kind of line. Danica would see right through that, and it would only make her more upset.

  “Look . . .” He leaned forward in the chair and clasped his hands, trying not to crack his knuckles the way he tended to do when mulling something over. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s tougher here. This competition was much harder than Ohana’s. Bigger crowds. Bigger deal. The surfers are in a different league . . .”

  Danica rose up on her elbows and grimaced. “Easy for you to say. You placed.”

  “Barely!” He glanced over at his medal and shook his head. “I gave it my all and all I could do was third. You just had some bad luck. If you’d been able to give your best, you’d have smoked them. You’d have won first place easy.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “I’m sure even Cassie—”

  “Please! I really don’t want to talk about her.”

  Micah frowned. “Fine.”

  “Look. I appreciate the pep talk, but don’t bother. Really. I know what I did wrong.”

  “What was that?” He couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

  Danica let out a long sigh. For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer; then she looked straight at him and said, “I let another competitor get to me. And I can’t do that in this league. Not if I think I belong here.”

  Micah leaned back in his chair and stared at the cottage-cheese pattern on the ceiling. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I let the competitors get to me, too,” he said, thinking about Bo.

  Danica reached out and nudged him with her foot. “It sucks, doesn’t it? It’s scary to think that even if you do your best, some people might be better than you.”

  “Yeah.”

  They fell silent. Micah could hear the muffled traffic through the closed window, and the ticking of his watch on the nearby dresser. He felt totally separate from the world. It was just him and his thoughts. And Danica.

  “But you know what?” Danica sat up and smiled loosely. “Just because someone might be better than you now, doesn’t mean they always will be. Right?”

  Micah grinned. He wanted badly to hug her—she deserved it for her winning attitude—but he didn’t want the weirdness it would bring.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.�
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  “Go! Go, you little booger!”

  The gecko paused as if he’d actually heard and understood Cassie. Then he took off through a small triangular-shaped opening in the wall. His tiny spotted tail gave one last flick, as if waving good-bye, before disappearing from sight.

  “Yes!” Cassie raised her right arm in victory. She’d bet herself that the lizard would find that hole. Took him twenty-two minutes. Only . . . now that he was gone, she had nothing left to do.

  Now what?

  She slowly lowered her arm and tapped out a rhythm on her knees. She couldn’t believe it was only a little past noon. It seemed like she’d been there, “recuperating,” for hours and hours. Shouldn’t it be dark out?

  Cassie blew out her breath and glanced around. Let’s see . . . she’d already flipped through the fashion magazines Tori brought her. Not that she understood them. She had been halfway through one article about moleskins and softshells before realizing it wasn’t about animals. And she still had no idea what zouave leggings were.

  How was it possible that a sixteen-year-old girl could be so unaware of such things? Was there something wrong with her? She knew that this stuff wasn’t important the way, say, math was important. Or flossing. But she also knew that on a certain level, it did matter. Part of the reason she’d looked forward to this camp was because she wanted to mix it up with “regular” teens. Kids who didn’t spend most of their life on a plane or in the ocean, who didn’t eat protein bars for lunch or wake up at 4:30 in the morning. Normal young people.

  But how could she talk to them if she didn’t understand things like fashion, cool TV shows, and the importance of metallics?

  Cassie flopped onto her side, keeping her legs crisscrossed so that she resembled the world’s laziest yoga practitioner. Her stomach made a little rrrowl sound. Even though she was starving, she dared not go find food. Otherwise she’d have to explain her miracle recovery, and Simona would probably have her out teaching surfing before she could even take her first bite.

  She felt another twinge in her gut—only this one had nothing to do with hunger. Whenever she thought about how she’d weaseled out of being surf C.I.T., a massive, stomach-kicking guilt passed through her.