“Another time,” said Jodi in a slightly strangled voice, and Claire thought, Hah. I’m not so uptight after all.
Rolling her eyes, Linley went on. “Anyway, this doesn’t involve water sports of any kind.”
“What does it involve, exactly?” asked Claire.
“No trust,” said Jodi. “That’s your problem.”
“Strong survival instincts, you mean.”
Jodi drummed the steering wheel with all ten of her fingers. “Come on, trust us, you’ll love it.”
Claire gave up and got into the back of the Subaru. She’d managed to avoid what she’d secretly dubbed Jodi’s Taxi of Death all summer, but at least now she would not die a virgin.
“So did you have fun last night?” Claire had decided on attack as the best defense.
“Tons,” said Linley. “Jodi so wishes she hadn’t gone to her room and passed out—don’t you, Jodi?”
The car speeded up suddenly and whipped around a corner, and Claire was pretty sure she felt two wheels leave the ground. “Slow down!” she shrieked. She focused on taking off her skates to avoid looking out the window.
Jodi said, “The speed limit is for thousand-year-old people in Buicks. Gives them a sense of security, y’know? Plus, they get to wave their tiny little fists at us as we go by, and talk about how awful we are. So really we’re providing exercise and conversation, too.”
“And how do you think they get to be a thousand?” snapped Claire.
“Who wants to be a thousand?” Jodi shot back.
“Who wants to be old?” Linley said at the same time.
“Drive a thousand, don’t be a thousand,” Jodi sang, and somehow managed to go faster still.
Fortunately, the trip wasn’t a long one. Jodi swerved into a turn lane, actually put on her signal, then accelerated into the sort of shopping strip that had never seen better times.
Deciding to get out of the car first and ask questions later, Claire jumped for safety, taking her skates with her in case she needed to make a quick escape in the near future. She surveyed the shops. “We’re here why, exactly?” she asked.
Linley laughed exuberantly. “Okay,” she said. “Take your choice: bikini wax, tattoo, or piercing.”
Sure enough, one place offered bikini waxes and manicures, which sort of boggled Claire’s mind, and another tiny storefront promised “Big, Bold, Beautiful Tattoos” and “Practically Painless Piercings.”
“What? No! No way. I am so not that kind of girl.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. A nice Brazilian wax,” Linley coaxed.
Jodi gave a snort of laughter. “Nice? Nice?”
“Have you ever had one?” Claire asked. As Linley’s roommate for a year, she knew the answer.
“Well, no,” Linley admitted. “But I will if you will.”
Linley, Jodi, and Claire looked at each other. Jodi sort of danced in place, her eyes darting back and forth between the shops, more like a dandelion on acid—and speed—than ever. Linley stood, one hand on her hip, looking like a gunslinger in California girl drag, her lips curled in her familiar shoot first, ask questions later smile, her gold hair falling in its perfect cut across one cheek.
Claire did not trust that smile. She smoothed her now-frazzled waitress French braid and silently shook her head.
“I don’t know,” said Jodi at last. “Hot wax all over”—she made a gesture—“and then everything ripped out at once . . .”
“No,” said Claire, regaining her voice. “No, no, and hell no. Also, no.”
With a sigh of long-suffering, Linley said, “Well, that leaves tattoos, or piercings. And at the moment, I personally don’t want to get anything else pierced.”
“What? No nipple rings?” Jodi feigned shock.
“Claire could get a navel ring, though. It’d look good on her now that’s she’s got a tan,” Linley said.
Claire cut in. “I appreciate the thought and I’ll think about a piercing. Or even a tattoo. But not today.”
“Coward,” said Linley.
Since this was true, Claire saw no point in arguing. She decided on diversionary tactics. “I’m willing to shop, though. In fact, I need to shop.”
“Shopping is good,” said Jodi. “We like shopping.”
“And since I can’t keep borrowing your shorties, I think it’s time I got one of my own.”
“It’s a plan. I like it. Good plan,” said Jodi, staccato style. “Let’s do it, let’s get to it.”
Losing the gunslinger smile, Linley said, “Well, okay. Tattoos later, wet suits now.”
Much, much later, thought Claire with an inward sigh of relief.
“Now this is shopping,” declared Linley. She was draping surf items and anything else that caught her fancy across Claire’s arms with reckless abandon.
The shop was the sort to break a bank account and a surfer’s heart—or at least a surfer dilettante’s, Claire thought. Racks of gear as far as the eye could see, from skins to surf socks to surfboards.
But Claire already knew that most surfers didn’t buy their boards off the rack—or the wall. They had them shaped to specifications, and every surfer had an opinion about the best shape and an idea on who was the best shaper.
She wasn’t looking for a surfboard, however. At the moment, she was going for fashion. If she was going to spend the rest of the summer falling off a surfboard, she wanted to look good while she did it.
Funny how she’d never thought much about things like that before.
“Look at this. I love this color blue,” said Linley. She held up a skin, the lightweight, quick-drying surfer’s version of a tight T-shirt. It protected surfers from board rash in warmer water.
Jodi said cynically, “Because it matches your eyes.”
“You’re going to need at least one skin before the summer is over,” said Linley.
“Okay.” Claire was examining wet suits. They looked so—tiny. Snug. Impossible. Yet she knew that she could fit into one because she’d been wearing Jodi’s and Linley’s.
“I like this one,” Claire held up a shorty, a 2.1-mil, one-piece wet suit with short sleeves and legs that stopped at the knees. It had a short zipper with a long zipper pull-cord on the back.
“That company makes designs especially for women. They look great,” Jodi said. “But I like men’s gear when I can wear it. I think they’re made stronger.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me—they probably are,” Claire agreed. “But I’m trying this on, anyway.”
Dozens of suits and skins later, Claire piled a dark ocean-green shorty, two skins in what Linley disdainfully called conservative colors, and a pair of sunglasses on the counter, and prepared for credit card meltdown.
“Sex wax,” said Linley and plopped a final item on the pile.
“What?” Claire felt her face go red.
Big-eyed innocence, Linley said, “For Finn. I’m sure he needs it.”
“Needs it? Needs”—involuntarily, Claire’s voice dropped—“sex wax?” Good grief, the things your mother never told you—not that her mother had ever told her anything.
“You can never put too many coats on your ride,” the girl at the checkout assured Claire solemnly. Her name tag said “Carrie.”
Claire looked wildly from Linley to Jodi to the clerk. Did they all know that she and Finn had been up in the dunes together?
Then Jodi started laughing madly. “Your board. Your surfboard. It protects it and you.”
“Surfboard wax,” said Claire.
“Will that be all?” asked the Carrie-the-clerk, beginning to ring up the purchases.
“Yes,” said Claire.
“And you want the sex wax?” She indicated the little container on top.
“Yes,” said Claire.
Linley leaned over and patted Claire’s arm and whispered loudly, “Finn will be so pleased.”
“Yes,” said Claire, and gave Linley and Jodi a big smile.
They cleared the parking lot and Jodi slam
med on some music. Shouting above it, she said, “Let’s give your gear a workout, Claire.”
“You mean, now?”
“Sure. Surf report!”
Linley flipped open her phone and punched in digits.
Claire said, “Surf? But—”
“Wait! We need boards! We need our stuff!” Jodi burst out laughing, and the car careened wildly as she banked off a driveway to turn around.
“That’s my baby,” said Jodi, patting the car’s dash. She cranked the music, and Linley laughed.
“Don’t you have to work tonight, both of you?” asked Claire.
“All night,” said Jodi cheerfully, but I don’t start until eight.”
“I’m just eight-to-two tonight,” said Linley.
“Remember sleep? Naps?” Claire tried again.
“Naps—babies; sleep—when I’m dead,” Jodi declared, and accelerated as if to emphasize her point.
They were in and out of the beach house in record speed. Claire yearned to go knock on Finn’s door and see if he was there, even though she was pretty sure he wasn’t. But how uncool was that? She compromised by calling as loudly as she could, “Hey, Linley, what beach did you say we were going to surf at this afternoon?”
If Finn was there and that didn’t wake him or buy him a clue, then Claire could do nothing more.
She put on her bathing suit and paused to admire herself in her new short suit. Did it look too new? Did she look too newbie?
Well, she’d practice. Surprise Finn.
A short time later, she surprised herself by hooking an actual ride. Okay, it was on a baby wave, what Linley called a beachbreak, and her exit from the board was just this side of a face plant, but she couldn’t complain.
After that, she gently floated for a while, savoring her victory. Through half-closed eyes she stared at the shining, irregular crescent of beach, felt the warm sun through her new wet suit. Time seemed to slow down.
But this was not the slow march of time while she watched a clock in a bank. This was time spread out around her like the ocean. Her friends drifted and surfed and laughed and talked. She had friends.
Farther along this same beach, Finn was probably teaching someone to surf while Barrel waited patiently in a nearby patch of shade. She had a boyfriend.
High overhead, a bird wheeled and Claire felt as free as that bird.
I could live like this, Claire thought. I could die right now and I’d die happy.
And ten yards away, a triangular fin broke the water.
Thirteen
Claire jerked her feet up instinctively and almost tipped her board. She grabbed hold and somehow righted herself and croaked, “Shark.”
The fin slid down leaving no mark in the water. Fin, and then no fin. Shark, and then no shark.
Her voice had come out the whisper of a whisper, lost in the sound of water and wind.
Claire tried again. “Linley. Jodi.”
Louder. Good. Much louder. But not a scream of panic.
Not yet.
Linley glanced over and straightened. “Claire. Are you okay?”
Raising a shaking hand, Claire pointed. “P-porpoise?” she said hopefully, although she knew better. As if Claire had conjured it, the fin appeared again. It was farther away this time, but not nearly far enough. Was that just the tip of it? Was that an enormous shadow she saw below it, the hulk of the beast itself?
In a deadly quiet voice, Linley said, “Paddle slowly toward shore. Don’t splash or thrash, do you hear me?”
Claire nodded.
“And whatever you do, don’t fall off your board.”
As if I needed anyone to tell me that, Claire thought.
They began to move. Time slowed even more. No, time stood still.
From some far distant place, Claire heard Linley’s calm, conversational voice. “Dusk and dawn is when they usually come out the most. That’s why it’s good never to surf alone, especially early morning or at sunset.”
“Yeah, and it’s probably not a white, or anything like that.” Jodi’s voice was quick and breathless with excitement. “Those are the ones that use surfboards for toothpicks.”
“Better the board than me,” Claire heard herself say. Her voice sounded far away. Would they never reach the shore? She was afraid to look back, afraid of tipping, afraid of what she’d see. She dug into the water with her hands, but not too deeply. Every minute she expected to feel the thump of shark against board, for her to be turned over into a shark soup. Would it hurt? Would she scream?
“. . . spearfishing,” Linley was saying. “You want to avoid that, believe me. That’s why you want to paddle without thrashing. Thrashing is shark language for injured fish. Or, in a single word, dinner.”
As if it were a fishing line reeling her toward shore, Linley’s calm voice pulled Claire along.
“Don’t look back,” Jodi advised in a staccato whisper, as if the shark might attack at the sound of her voice. “Just wastes time.”
No time to waste, that was for sure. Claire paddled in long, slow, shallow strokes.
Something brushed her hand, and she jerked it up with a strangled cry. The board rocked.
“Claire!” Lindsey’s voice, taut, low.
Looking down, Claire saw not a bloody stump but a strand of seaweed. “Seaweed,” she croaked. “Sorry.”
“Just keep paddling, nice and easy,” Linley said. “We’ll be there soon, no worries. I remember one time, I was out on this break . . .”
Her voice rippled along, and Claire concentrated not on the words but on the calm tone of them, concentrated, too, on paddling through the bright sun that suddenly reminded Claire of the heat lamps above the food at the restaurant. She was the food, the ocean was the plate, and . . .
And then they’d reached the froth of water’s edge, and Linley and Jodi had flicked off their quick releases and stood up to grab their boards. With single-minded efficiency, Linley reached over and flicked Claire free and somehow Claire didn’t run out of the water, but walked as calmly as if she’d done this every day of her life, walked out of the ocean and away from a shark.
Then Claire saw that some of the other surfers who had been nearby had come in, too, although she hadn’t even noticed them paddling toward shore. No one had screamed, no one had shouted. Everyone had just removed board and body from the water, and now those boards and bodies stood in a rough line in the sand, facing the water. Farther down the beach, other surfers still floated and rode.
“What about them?” Claire said.
“Someone’ll pass the word,” Linley said. Now that they were out of the water, her voice had gotten thinner. She headed for their spot on the beach without looking back. When she reached it, Linley didn’t shinny out of her wet suit this time. She sat down and pulled a towel over her hair to rough it dry.
Jodi dove for the cooler, and Claire sank bonelessly onto the blanket next to Linley.
“It was a shark,” she said, just to be sure. Her voice didn’t sound like her own.
“Yep,” said Jodi, drinking off half the hard lemonade she’d pulled out. “After all, we’re swimming where they eat. It’s only natural.” Her words were casual, but her voice sounded funny, too.
“Attacks happen, but not that often,” Linley said. She dropped the towel and leaned back and turned her face to the sun. She was, Claire thought, a little pale.
“Didn’t it . . . weren’t you scared?” Claire asked. She could still feel her heart trying to escape from her chest. She pulled out a hard iced tea and practically drained it.
“Yes,” said Linley.
“You didn’t sound scared,” Claire said.
“We’ve been here before,” Jodi said. “Water, surfboard, shark.”
“If you hadn’t been so calm, I don’t know what I would have done,” Claire said. “You might have saved my life, maybe.”
“Nah,” said Linley, looking faintly embarrassed. “You stayed calm. You didn’t panic. Panic is what’ll get you k
illed.”
“Hey, it was totally panic-worthy,” Jodi said. “Big. Huge!”
“Big enough,” said Linley. “Don’t freak, Claire. I mean, you didn’t freak in the water. Don’t do it now.”
She could have been talking to herself as much as to Claire.
Claire nodded and realized somewhere in the back of her mind that Linley feared losing control maybe more than she feared a shark.
She herself was no longer scared. Just . . . shaken. “It’s so weird,” she said aloud. “I had just been thinking how cool it all was, how if I’d died right that moment, I’d die happy and—”
“The shark of tempted fate came swimming along,” said Linley almost harshly. “First rule of happiness: Don’t kiss it hello, because it’ll kiss you good-bye.”
Frowning, Claire stared at Linley, who went on, her face almost angry. “It’ll die right in front of your eyes and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Was she talking about Max? It seemed extreme, even for a broken heart.
“Better chance of getting struck by lightning than being shark chum,” said Jodi, who was apparently bobbing along in her head, pursuing her own thoughts. She’d toweled her hair into the usual spiky points, and her eyes glowed with excitement. They seemed huge in her pointed face, and Claire thought she looked thinner, if possible. “Hey, better chance of buying it out on the freeway than dying on your surfboard. . . .”
“When you’re driving,” Claire said, before she thought.
Jodi straightened at that. “What?”
“You’re an insane driver,” said Claire. Her near-shark experience had unhinged her inhibitions, unleashed her tongue.
“I am not,” Jodi said indignantly. “I’ve never even had a single teeny-tiny accident. Not one. Never. Nada. Zero.”
“Well, that’s good, because for you, it’s only going to take one,” Claire retorted recklessly. “You and whoever you’re driving won’t live for the second one.” She finished her drink of whatever it was. And burped.
Linley stared. “Claire? You just burped.”
“Get used to it,” said Claire.
“I’m not a bad driver,” said Jodi, sticking to her subject. She began to rummage for another beer. “God, I am so thirsty.”
The Shore Page 28
