by Sarah Beard
He’s right. It is what I want. To live again. To embrace life, even when it’s scary. To chase the things I love, even when they seem unobtainable. I can do this. For me. For Kai. And most of all, for the boy who saved my life.
The waves are rolling around my waist now, and I feel a different kind of tug. A tugging in my heart, the ocean tugging me toward it like it used to. Instead of wanting to flee, I feel the desire to go deeper.
“Want to go back?” he asks softly.
“No,” I say with a slight shake of my head.
One corner of his mouth tips up. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The other corner of his mouth rises, completing his smile. He pulls me into a hug, and now my heart is pounding for an entirely different reason. He dips his head and murmurs in my ear, “You did it.”
“No.” I shake my head, my cheek rubbing against his bare chest. “We did.”
grew up on a skateboard,” Kai says tiredly after I make him show me a good surfing stance for the eighth or so time. He’s standing on my surfboard in the dry sand, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. One arm is extended toward the nose of the board, the other bent at his shoulder like he’s a ninja preparing to fight. “Surfing can’t be that different.”
“First of all,” I say, hands on hips, “steering a surfboard is nothing like steering a skateboard. It’s all about how you throw your shoulders and waist. And look at how big of a surface you’re standing on compared to a skateboard. So many more places to put your feet. How do you know your feet are even in the right spot?”
“Because … this is where you told me to put them.”
I look down at his feet, and they’ve migrated since I told him where to stand. I give him a good shove in the chest, and he staggers backward onto the sand to catch his balance. “If you’d been standing where I told you to,” I say with a smile, “you would’ve stayed on your board. And bend your knees more next time.”
His eyes dance with amusement. “I’m a kinesthetic learner, okay? Let’s stop talking and start doing.” He scoops up the board and starts toward the water, looking over his shoulder at me in a beckoning way.
“Okay,” I say. “Just remember—”
“I got it.” He turns and walks backward toward the water. “Duck dive under the breakers to get out. Head to the peak of the swell. When I see a wave and feel it start to lift, turn and paddle like crazy and pop up. Piece of cake.” His tone is bored, as if he’s already done this a thousand times.
“Yeah—and all the other stuff I just told you. And one more thing—you’re surfing over shallow reef. The tide is heading out, so don’t fall head first.”
“Who says I’m going to fall?” He bites his lower lip and gives me a crooked grin that sort of makes me want to go over and kiss it off his face. Instead, I look at his feet, because at least I can do that without wanting to kiss him.
Something is dragging in the sand near his feet—his leash, which isn’t strapped to his ankle. “Wait!” A jolt of terror rushes through me, and I go to him and crouch down to strap it on for him. “Don’t be reckless,” I say soberly.
His smile fades. “Hey … don’t worry, okay? I’m a good swimmer.”
So am I, but that didn’t stop me from getting into trouble. And the boy who jumped off the pier must have been a strong swimmer to get through the waves to me, but that didn’t stop him from drowning.
Kai must guess my thoughts, because he says, “I’ll be careful, okay?” The sun is right behind his head, making the tips of his hair glow. “Go get your board. Come in with me.”
I stand up, hesitating. An hour ago after I got in the water with him, I felt so brave and determined. But as soon as we got out, all my courage fled. I’m trying to summon it back now, but it’s still cowering somewhere behind my left rib cage. “You go out first,” I say. “I’ll watch from here to make sure you’re doing it right.”
His smile returns. “Way to lay on the pressure.”
I give him a shove toward the water. “Just go.”
“Okay then,” he says, laughing. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
He paddles out, diving under the breakers like I instructed him, though he gets caught and rolls a couple times when he doesn’t go deep enough. When he finally gets past the break, he sits up and looks back at me, chest heaving and hair dripping wet. I feel that pull again, and it occurs to me that maybe it’s not a pull toward the ocean. Maybe it’s a pull toward Kai. I want to be where he is, and I’m willing to cross any obstacle to get there. I back up to my board, keeping my eyes on Kai, and pick it up.
There’s a lull before the next set. Then, when he sees it coming, he lies down on his board and turns the nose toward shore. When the first mound of water swells up behind him, he’s ready.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shout, cupping a hand to my mouth. He paddles hard shoreward, then springs to his feet. He’s a bit too late though, and the wave passes under him. He drops off the board into the water and then climbs back on, ready for the next one.
The next time, he paddles sooner and faster, pops up at the right moment, and sails down the face of the wave on his board. Just before the tip of his surfboard hits the trough, he throws a hard left turn and glides horizontally along the swell, pumping the tip of his board to pick up speed. My jaw drops, and all I can think is that either he’s done this before, or skateboarding must have more in common with surfing than I realized. He veers upward and launches off the lip, going airborne for a second before disappearing behind the crest.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to resurface. But after a few seconds, I don’t see him. I crane my neck, trying to see over the peaks. There’s no sign of him. With a spasm of panic, I rush for the water with my surfboard and dive in, paddling hard toward the spot I last saw him. I dive and pull under the breaking waves, a heaviness in my belly that has nothing to do with water pressure. Every time I resurface, I scan the water, searching for a sign of Kai. But I can’t see over the peaks when I’m in the valleys. So when the next wave comes, instead of diving under, I paddle to the peak. And finally, I see him. Just beyond the next crest, halfway out of the water, arms spread across his board.
I exhale in relief, catching his eye before dropping into the next trough. I dive under the coming wave and kick hard, and when I resurface, Kai is a few feet away. He slides his board under him and sits up, shaking the water out of his hair. The way he’s sitting, surrounded by rolling hills of water and speckled with reflected sunlight, makes him look like some sort of sea god.
“You scared me,” I say, out of breath. “Slow down. No more aerials until I teach you how to do them safely.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “I don’t have time to slow down. If I’m going to surf, I’m going to surf.”
I swat the surface with my palm, sending a big splash his way. “If you don’t want me to have a heart attack, slow down.”
His eyes soften, and after a long moment, he nods in concession.
I glance back at shore, realizing how far away it is, and then it hits me, really hits me, that I’m out here, in the ocean, on my surfboard. A tingling sensation makes its way from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes, and I feel a surge of energy inside of me, an ache on the threshold of fulfillment.
Another set is approaching, and I study the shape of the incoming swell, looking for the peak. I lie on my board and paddle north, positioning myself where the wave will be fullest.
The first one feels too weak, so I let it pass under. There’s a humming under my skin, as though I’m plugged into some great source of power. As the next wave approaches, it grows louder, more powerful. I feel it in my muscles, in my bones. I turn the tip of my board toward shore. When the water starts to swell, and I feel its energy surging inside of me, I know this is the one. It’s moving fast, so I paddle hard, then spring to my feet in one swift movement. My arms spread out like wings, and then I’m flying. The waves are the wind, and I’m a bird, so
aring over the face of the sea. I sail toward the crest, throw a hard turn, then speed back down a clear wall of water. I feel alive and free. I reach out and drag my fingers through the water, proving to myself that it’s real. That I’m real. That I’m really doing this.
The wave curls over me, and I crouch down, barreling through a crystal blue cylinder. I come through and launch over the crest, then plunge into the foaming water. When I resurface, I’m breathing hard. I climb back on my board and straddle it, sitting up. My eyes roam the water for Kai, and I find him back where I left him. He’s watching me, his gaze piercing mine even through the distance. For a long moment he doesn’t smile, but when he does, it’s a broad grin that reaches into me, and even though I didn’t think it was possible, I feel even more alive now than a moment ago.
I watch him catch another small but smooth wave, and this time he doesn’t try anything fancy. He rides the wave’s energy toward me, making gentle turns here and there before losing momentum and letting the wave roll under him. He paddles over to me and sits up.
“You’re amazing,” he says breathlessly, his expression completely serious. I want to say the same, but I can’t seem to get any words out. My whole body is humming, my chest full to bursting, and it’s all I can do to get air in and out of my lungs.
I dip my hand in the ocean, letting the crisp water run through my fingers. I feel the pulse of the sea beneath me, a repetitious, soothing rhythm. Lifting me, dropping me. Up and down, sliding over hills into valleys and back again. This is home to me. The one place I belong. The place where I can be me.
I’m shivering, but not from the cold. I look over at Kai, who’s still watching me, and I whisper, “Thank you.” Only, the words aren’t just for him, but also for the boy who saved my life. Because without him, I wouldn’t be here in this perfect moment, on this perfect swell, with this perfect boy. And it occurs to me that the best way to honor him isn’t to stay out of the water, but to immerse myself in it; accept his gift and live my life to its fullest.
Lying on my towel, my hair is half-dry, coiled up like dreadlocks and sticking to my arms and back. The late afternoon sun warms my skin, and my muscles feel shaky from surfing all day. Kai lies beside me on his stomach, head resting on folded arms and turned toward me. His shoulder hides his nose and mouth, so all I can see are his eyes, but they hint at a smile. A tattered sheet of clouds moves across the sky, and his face alternates from shadow to light, and light to shadow.
“Thanks again,” I say softly, “for today.”
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at me in a way that says, My pleasure. I think about what he did this morning, using his secrets as bait to lure me into the water, and all the things he told me are only now sinking in. His mom dying when he was eight. His dad in prison. Being separated from his sisters and growing up in foster care. I’m beginning to understand why he’s always hesitant to talk about himself. And then I think of something else he said, about how he’s on his own now.
“Kai—how old are you?”
Another shadow moves across his face, and a damp onshore breeze ruffles his hair. “Seventeen.”
“So … aren’t you still supposed to be in foster care?”
He props himself on his elbows and gazes at the ocean. The tide is low now, and the waves are steep and fast, curling into tubes at the break. Here and there, the sun breaks through the clouds and scatters patches of sparkling light across the distant sea. “The last foster parent I had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. He was this old guy, Charles.” Kai’s fingers are drawing circular patterns in the sand, going around and around and around. “I couldn’t bear the thought of going to another home. Another strange place with strange people who pretend to care about me, but don’t really know anything about me.” He sweeps away the pattern, making a clean sandy slate. “So I ran. I hitchhiked across the country, hoping that if I could talk to my aunt and uncle face-to-face, I could convince them that I wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“What did they say?”
“I never got the—” He pauses, then shakes his head and releases a long breath. “It didn’t work out.”
I find myself studying his profile—his strong brow and straight nose, his sharp jaw and generous lips. Something about his face feels so familiar, as though I’ve seen it somewhere, even before this week. His picture is probably posted on one of the missing person reports I’ve scoured. “So you’re a runaway.”
He gives me a sidelong glance and a slight, guilty smile. “Just give me a head start before you call the authorities.”
I tap his wrist lightly. “I won’t be calling anyone.”
He goes back to gazing at the sea, whispering, “Thanks.”
I roll onto my back and watch the frayed edges of a rain cloud inch across the sky in our direction. “What about your sisters?” I ask. “Do you ever get to see them?”
“Yeah—sometimes.” His voice is sad. “I like to make sure they’re being taken care of.”
With everything he’s done for me the last few days, this doesn’t surprise me. He must have been a great big brother, and it makes me sad to think that for the last few years they didn’t have him around to look out for them. Something occurs to me, and I sit up, twisting my hair over one shoulder. “Kai—when you fought with Tyler the other day, you said he hurt someone you cared about. Were you talking about one of your sisters?”
He sits up and dusts sand off his elbows, then says quietly, “No.”
“Then who was it?”
His eyes move slowly over my face, his lips twitching restlessly like he can’t decide whether or not to answer. The restlessness spreads to his limbs, and he stands up and wanders to a boulder nearby. He paces in front of it a few times, then hoists himself onto it and dangles his bare feet, brushing the sand with his toes.
When he finally gives me an answer, it comes out so quietly that I barely hear it. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
His heartbroken tone tells me it clearly does matter. And even if it doesn’t matter to him, it matters to me. “Was it … a girl? Someone you … love?”
His feet go still. Bingo. And then the rest of him goes rigid, as though he’s tensing every muscle, trying to keep the truth captive, or maybe trying to hold himself together. His lips are pressed into a tight line, the muscles in his jaw bulging, and his hands are squeezing the edge of the rock so tightly he just might break a piece off.
“You can tell me, you know,” I say softly. Even though it will hurt to hear him say he loves someone else, I want him to confide in me. He has spent the last few days drawing out my secrets, my burdens, and they’re lighter now because of it. I want to do the same for him, even if his secrets crush me. I stand up and brush the sand off my board shorts, and then cautiously go to him. “Who is she?” I ask gently.
His stillness shifts into unease, and his eyes dart around, looking for someplace safe to land. They settle on my hand, which is nervously clutching the hem of my shorts.
The line between his brows deepens, and he gets a faraway look in his eyes, as though he’s picturing her, or maybe recalling a specific memory. “She’s the reason I came here,” he says faintly.
“But … I thought you came here to see if you could live with your aunt and uncle.”
He grimaces, like he’s not sure how to explain himself. “The first time I came here, that was why. That was last winter. While I was here, I met this … amazing girl.” He looks into my eyes, and I pray he can’t see the hurt there. “Then I had to leave for a while, and … she’s the reason I came back.”
“Oh.” I try not to wince, but I’m not sure if I succeed entirely. “Where is she? Why haven’t I seen you with her?”
He looks away and feigns interest in a pelican floating on the water. “Have you ever wondered how a bird that heavy can fly?” The question seems so random, but then I recall something he said two days ago in the chocolate shop. When questions are like daggers, I dodge. He’s definitely dodging.
Like it’s the most natural thing to do, I put my hand on his jaw and turn his face back toward mine. His skin is like fire in my palm, and it burns all the way up to my cheeks. But I can’t seem to detach my fingers from his face.
“Please,” I say in the most persuasive tone I can manage. “Talk to me, Kai.” His face is so close to mine I can see the fine white hairs on his forehead and cheeks. I can see the gradations of blue and green in his irises, and the tears that are beginning to pool there.
“This is the one thing I can’t talk about,” he says in a broken whisper. “Please—don’t ask me.”
He looks so heartbroken that I don’t even think twice when I slide my arms around his shoulders and pull him into a comforting hug. Whoever this girl is, she must mean the world to him. And whatever the reason he can’t be with her, it’s tearing him apart. I force my own feelings aside and focus on what he needs right now—a friend.
I feel his arms hesitantly slide around my waist, and his head sinks into my shoulder. My hand moves to the back of his head, and I become keenly aware of the softness of his hair on my fingertips. Silky, smooth, light. He’s so warm, and it’s a warmth I can’t quite categorize as temperature. Whatever it is, it invites me in, and I draw him closer. I notice how we seem to fit together perfectly. My head falls into the place between his neck and shoulder, and I mold into him like soft caramel. The sun is hidden behind rain clouds, but my skin is tingling as though its rays are being redirected through Kai.
He tightens his arms around me, drawing me even nearer, clinging to me like a life preserver in a wind-tossed sea, and I realize just how much hurt he’s been holding in all this time. I want to take it from him, to draw it out and absorb it into myself the way he seems to have done with all my pain. And at the same time, I want to raise his face to mine and kiss him. So many emotions are warring inside of me that I feel dizzy. Sorrow and compassion, intrigue and desire, swirling around and around.
My heart is pounding so hard against my ribs that I’m sure he can feel it through my surf tee. And then, like hearing a clarion call, I receive the message my body is trying to send me.
