by Nikki Godwin
I settle in on the couch with Miles and turn on my laptop to see if heat match ups have been posted. Miles seems more excited about it than I anticipated he’d be, especially since the first round isn’t even an elimination round.
“Who’d he get?” he asks, leaning into my shoulder to see the screen. “Todd Copeland. Ha. That guy’s a kook. Topher will slay him.”
He stares at the other name in the three-man-heat for a second, mentally deciding if he knows anything about Brendan Ridenour.
“Damn,” Miles says. “I used to be on it when it came to the California surf scene, but I don’t know who most of these people are.”
We skim the list for Colby’s name, stumble upon Dominic Richardson’s name in the process, and eventually see that Logan is surfing against Kieran Caples and Blake Lewis.
“Okay, Blake Lewis can’t surf for shit, so Logan will have the upper hand on him,” Miles says. “I’ll do the whole Team Drenaline thing for Vin, but I hope that Caples kid knocks Logan back to the east coast.”
I don’t admit it out loud, but I hope that ‘Caples kid’ does too. And I hope Clover uploads the video all over the internet.
The condo has been silent for thirty minutes when there’s a faint knock on my bedroom door. For a minute, I wonder if I’m in a dream state and just imagined it, but then Topher whispers my name and taps gently against the door again. I make sure I’m completely covered by the blanket, even though I’m in a tank top and shorts, before I tell him to come in.
“Hey,” he whispers, carefully shutting the door behind him. “Did I wake you up?”
I shake my head, even though I’m not one hundred percent sure I was fully awake when he knocked the first time.
The moonlight glistens around the room, casting a glow on Topher, who wears nothing more than his board shorts. I don’t think I’ve seen him shirtless since I’ve been here this summer. His mild tan is nothing compared to Miles’s or Kale’s, but he’s definitely sunkissed. I can tell that much even in just the moonlight.
“Can I, um, ease in with you?” he asks, motioning toward the bed.
I feel like I’ve swallowed a seashell – one of the round, jagged ones. My words stop in the middle of my throat, scratching and clawing against its insides. So I just nod and move over a few inches to make room for him…and to make sure we don’t touch in any way, shape, or form.
He doesn’t pull the blanket back, thank God. Instead, he sits on the bed but stretches his legs out ahead of him.
“I’m freaking out about tomorrow,” he says. “I know Vin is going to flip – like completely, totally flip out. And on top of that, what if no one notices me? What if no one even thinks I’m worth sponsoring? This could all backfire.”
He goes on about how embarrassing it’d be if certain companies didn’t notice him. He says something about a shoe company and then cringes about an eyewear brand, but it all goes in one ear and out the other as I watch his abs rise and fall with his panicked breaths.
I do all I can not to breathe in the scent of sunscreen and salt water on his skin, but he smells like summertime, like a surfer right off of a wave and onto the shore. I glance away and try to imagine him in the ocean…a dirty ocean with dirty Horn Island water and gross, stringy seaweed. But it doesn’t do me a damn bit of good.
So I try to find a way to make those stupid blue and yellow board shorts less attractive. Yellow is such an ugly color. It’s the color of sunshine, and sunshine is a word I don’t ever want to hear again. Stripes are so last season. Alston would totally bash those shorts. Ugh. This isn’t working. Topher totally makes blue and yellow stripes attractive.
“What do you think?” Topher asks.
“About…which part?” I ask, hoping he won’t know that I haven’t heard much of anything he’s said in the last few minutes.
He sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling,” he says. “Just about all of it, in general, I guess?”
“I think…” I pause and try to channel something awesome to say. I should’ve brought Solomon to hang in the window. Then again, he’s done nothing for me this summer.
“Who cares what anyone else thinks?” I ask. “You’ve wanted this your whole life. So tomorrow, you’re going to go out there, get in the water, and show the world exactly who Topher Brooks is.”
“Wise words,” Topher says. He smiles. “You always know what to say.”
“I can’t take credit. Some guy named Clover said pretty much that same thing to his friend who wanted to chicken out of the competition the other day when I was paying your entry fee,” I admit. I should’ve taken credit, but Clover deserved the props.
Topher nods slowly. “So you were just hanging out talking to random surfers? I feel betrayed.”
“Whatever,” I say, elbowing him. “This guy knows who you are. He wants to film you.”
“Surfing?” Topher asks.
“No, sexually,” I say, forcing sarcasm.
“Ohhh. In that case, do you want to watch?” Topher asks, cracking a smile and then laughing before I can respond.
“Get out,” I tell him. “Now. Go to bed. Your bed.”
He starts to say something else but can’t get the words out through his laughter.
I point to the door. “Out.”
He says good night and makes his way back to his room. I wait until the house is silent before I get up and tiptoe to my bedroom door. I lock it and then toss and turn for thirty minutes, freaking out over what might be Topher’s attempt at flirtation. There’s no way in hell I’ll sleep any time soon. So I call the one person who I know will be awake and playing Zombie Sanctuary 3 at this hour of the night – Alston.
The sunrise comes too early in Sunrise Valley. The morning sky pours in through the windows, making me regret the late night ‘girl talk’ with my playboy roomie. Scratch that – I regretted the call pretty much right after I made it, when Alston made jokes about polygamy and how maybe there could be a reality show made out of this complex situation I’m in.
I quickly get ready for the day and then go into the living room to see if anyone else is awake. Miles stretches out on the couch, scrolling through the event’s website on my laptop. He says that he sent Topher out for breakfast. It doesn’t surprise me. Miles is all about the food. I hope I don’t have to chaperone him around today in search of chili cheese fries or pickles. I don’t think he’ll make it far in the sand on crutches. Then again, for pickles, maybe he could.
Topher returns with breakfast burritos, per Miles’s request, and a vanilla frappe.
“This is your usual coffee, right?” he asks, handing me the cup.
“You can’t call a vanilla frappe ‘coffee,’” Miles says. “That’s like a damn vanilla milkshake.”
Topher shoves the food at Miles. “Dude, if she wants to call it coffee, it’s coffee.”
Miles shakes his head. “Why are you siding with a chick over me? Bromance comes before everything else, Brooks,” he says.
Topher sits in the chair across from us and opens a bottle of Ocean Blast Energy. He takes the longest gulp ever before he answers.
“You side with Emily over me every time, even when I’m right,” he says.
“Emily’s my girlfriend,” Miles emphasizes.
“And Haley’s my…brother’s…girlfriend.” Topher looks into the blue liquid in his bottle like he’s waiting for something to swim up out of it and choke him.
Miles fake coughs. “How much longer is that charade going to last?” he asks, turning toward me instead of Topher.
Topher mumbles the word ‘seriously’ and walks back to his room. Miles asks where he’s going, and he says he has to get ready for today. I wonder if breakfast with the Hooligans is always this tense and uncomfortable.
“Haley,” Miles says, using his serious tone. “There are tons of surfboards in the ocean, and you’re just sitting on the shoreline wasting away. I think it’s time to get in the water and paddle out, if you get my drift.”
“Than
k you for your advice, Dr. Garrett,” I say. “You can just bill me for this session.”
With that, I follow Topher’s lead and exit to my room, vanilla frappe in hand. I may be ready to walk out the door for this tournament, but I’m so far from ready for what today is going to bring.
Chapter Sixteen
The shoreline and sand are sprinkled with bikinis, board shorts, and anxious surfers waiting for their moments to shine in the water and possibly be noticed by someone who can make their dreams a reality. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Miles isn’t too far behind. Even though he’s told us repeatedly to go on without him, I don’t feel right about leaving the boy on crutches to make it through the sand alone.
“I wonder if your brother has looked at the lineup for today,” I say, shielding my eyes to see Topher.
He shrugs and gnaws into his apple while we wait for Miles to hobble along and catch up to us. I should’ve made the breakfast run instead this morning. Then Miles wouldn’t have had time to confront me about Vin, and Topher wouldn’t be eating breakfast while dragging his surfboards through the sand.
I scope out the competitors’ areas as we walk by. Colby waves from the first tent and motions us toward him. Vin isn’t anywhere in the vicinity. Topher and Miles follow me toward the infamous surfer.
“You didn’t even give him time to eat?” Colby asks, nodding toward Topher. “It’s competition day. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Oh God. I hope he doesn’t get all ‘your body is a temple’ on me. I don’t know why Colby hasn’t been picked up by some water company or fitness training center. He’d be a better poster boy for them than he is Drenaline Surf. He really lives that lifestyle, minus his Wall of Shame moment.
“Food of champions,” Topher says, tossing his apple core into a nearby trash can. “That’s why I’m surfing today and breakfast-burritos-on-crutches isn’t.”
Miles steals Colby’s chair while Colby and I quickly run through any major questions he may get asked, but he’s done his homework. He answers them just as Vin has coached him to answer. He’s too well-rehearsed. Anyone could see through his act, which only makes him less relatable and more unlikable.
“You can’t answer like this,” I tell him. “You sound coached, in a bad way – like someone fed lines to you that aren’t even phrases you’d use. It’s obvious that you’re saying what you’ve been forced to say, and people will only hate you more.”
Topher nods in agreement. “You sound like a robot,” he says. “Everyone knows you’re in a mess right now. They want the truth, not whatever my brother told you to say.”
“I can’t tell them the truth,” Colby says, glancing over at me.
He’s right. No one can know about the lawsuit or that Drenaline Surf may be served with legal papers next.
“You’re right,” I say. “But let’s do this. I’m going to give Topher the questions we discussed, and you answer them as truthfully as you can to him. If you can’t say it to Topher, you can’t say it to the public. And for the hell of it, pretend like Topher isn’t mad at Vin, so you can’t say anything bad about him either.”
Topher laughs and the two of them walk further out of earshot to revamp Colby’s answers. Since Topher doesn’t know about the lawsuit, Colby can alter his answers carefully but still be himself and hopefully be more likable. And unlike Vin, I trust Topher not to let anyone say anything that could hurt Drenaline Surf, which is why I know Colby’s in good hands.
An hour later, Miles finishes up his second interview of lies regarding his injury and how he was ‘practicing new maneuvers and wiped out, slamming his leg into his board.’ I almost believe him myself, and I know that he actually just surfed stupidly and slammed into Horn Island’s rocks. Vin would be impressed, though, and that’s what matters at this point.
We find our way back over to the competitors’ area. Colby shakes his wet hair around and slides Topher’s boards out from behind his own, where Topher has been hiding them all morning. From what I’ve gathered, Vin hasn’t stopped by to check in on Colby. He’s too wrapped up in the façade of Logan Riley, the fresh new face of Drenaline Surf. I could vomit.
“Go suit up,” Colby tells Topher. “Maybe you’ll already have paddled out by the time Vin realizes you’re in this heat.”
Miles laughs. “Yeah, you’re home free once you’re in the water because you know he sure as fuck isn’t going to paddle out after you.”
“He’d let me drown before he’d paddle out,” Topher mumbles. He grabs his competition jersey and a bottle of Ocean Blast Energy, and he pulls his T-shirt over his head. I glance away so Miles won’t have any reason to make things more awkward than he already has today.
Colby leans in toward me. “My interview is in fifteen minutes,” he says. “I won’t screw this up, I promise. Stay here with Topher. He’ll need you to be there for him more than I will. When he comes out of the water, Vin is going to flip out. I swear, I’ll watch my words.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Okay, go over to tent three,” I say. “You’re meeting with Bridget Parker from SurfTube. She’s a tiny little blonde, and she’s wearing four-inch heels. You can’t miss her.”
Colby nods. “Got it. I won’t let you down.”
I send a prayer to all of Kale’s Hawaiian gods that Colby doesn’t.
My nerves crawl through my body, like an octopus spreading all eight tentacles around a treasure chest and stealing it from pirates. The air horn sounds, and Topher rushes into the water with Todd Copeland and Brendan Ridenour.
Miles grabs his crutches and says we should go closer to the shoreline to get a better view. I sort of hope we can blend in with the spectators and Vin won’t be able to find us as easily. Then again, I’m roaming the beach with the only dreadlocked blonde on crutches, so we stick out like a sapphire in a chest of rubies.
The upside of Miles and his crutches is that he’s well-known in the Cali surf scene, so plenty of people are more than willing to let him squeeze through closer to the shoreline. It only costs him a few autographs and selfies. For those who don’t know him, the crutches take on a charm of their own.
“Hey! Drenaline Surf!” a guy shouts.
Miles and I both pull our eyes from Topher and the water to see who is shouting about our employer. Clover waves from behind his digital camera and motions for us to come stand with him. Miles doesn’t object.
“Topher is fucking killing it,” Clover says, looking back out at the water. “You need to let me send him this footage. It’ll be better than that stuff he has on YouTube.”
Miles and I stand silently, nodding along and smiling at Clover’s over-the-top enthusiasm.
“It’s okay to talk,” Clover says. “I kill the audio and add music, so it’ll be sponsor-worthy. I know Drenaline Surf can’t post videos with me saying shit like ‘Topher’s fucking killing it.’”
Apparently, Clover keeps up with the California surf scene better than the rest of us. He rambles off stats on the other two guys, gives us a breakdown of how Topher should start working on an air game because it’s the future of surfing, and then asks Miles what maneuver he was attempting when he broke his leg. I sort of want to hire this guy – filmmaker slash surf analyst. Too bad I don’t have the power to do so. I may not even have a PR job once this heat is over and Vin locates us.
As the heat winds down and Topher sits with a strong lead, Miles and I walk back up toward the competitors’ area. Clover waits by the water’s edge to capture the moment when Topher comes out of the water.
“Fuck,” Miles mumbles. “Your boyfriend’s waiting.”
Vin stands under the tent with Logan. His lips move, probably coaching Logan to find his zen place before a heat, but his eyes never leave his little brother. I may need Miles’s crutches to hold me up once I hear what Vin has to say. I’m pretty sure my legs will give out on me since I’m already shaky.
Once we’re under the shade of the tent, Vin cuts his eyes to me. “How did
he afford that entry fee?” he asks, a bit too calmly.
I debate lying, but I can’t think up a good story fast enough. “A.J.’s charges were dropped, and the city reimbursed him and Reed, so they gave Topher his money back,” I say.
Vin looks back at the water as the air horn sounds and Topher advances to the third round of the Sunrise Valley Tournament.
“Who brought the money up here? He’s been working, and I know he hasn’t been out of town,” Vin says.
“Alston and I did yesterday,” I say, finding a bit of strength in my voice.
The worst Vin can do is fire me from Drenaline Surf, and Colby Taylor will riot if he does. Scratch that – Vin doesn’t give a damn what Colby does, and he doesn’t know the kind of power Colby has right now. So yeah, I’ll probably just get fired, and that’ll be that.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” Vin asks, looking back at me. “He’s my brother, and you knew damn well how I felt about letting him surf here. It wasn’t your place to do this.”
Miles grabs onto my shoulder to balance himself. “Maybe she didn’t talk to you about it because you don’t have any fucking time for anyone but Logan,” he says.
Oh Miles. Why did you have to do that? The sand’s about to hit the fan.
Vin shakes his head and smirks like he always does when he’s about to be an arrogant asshole. I want to grab Miles’s crutch and use it as a sword to defend us because Vin’s about to draw.
“Where’s Taylor?” he asks instead. He glances around dramatically and then looks down at me. “Wait, that interview, correct? The one you were supposed to go with him to so you could monitor what he says?”
