The List

by Melanie Jacobson

  When the hymn was over, a petite girl on the front row offered an opening prayer and then we were off and running in our lesson. I had missed the first two classes in the bustle of settling in, so this was my first exposure to Sister Powers’s teaching. I could understand why Matt enjoyed her lessons. Her balance of humor and insight kept the pace moving. After a few more stragglers wandered in, the class was nearly full, a cool trick for an Old Testament class.

  After the closing prayer, I gathered my scriptures up and started to rise.

  “Are you in a hurry a lot?” Matt asked.

  I paused in surprise. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You always rush off as soon as stuff is over. Linger longer, Institute . . .”

  “That’s because it’s over. That means it’s time to go. Just because I realize that doesn’t mean I’m in a rush.”

  “Where are you from, anyway?” he asked.

  “Salt Lake.”

  “Okay, maybe that explains it. You’re probably used to sharing a building with fifty-seven other wards and running around trying not to get in each other’s way. Around here when something at church is over, it means it’s time to hang out. You should try it.”

  I blew about a thousand words out in one breath. “Why do you keep saying to relax? I’m totally relaxed. If I get any more relaxed, I’ll pass out and have to be carried out to my Jeep and driven around until the wind resuscitates me with its relentless . . . windiness. But I’ll be all freaked out about being in my Jeep without knowing how I got there, and then I’ll get all wound up and so tense that I’ll have a stroke or something, so you really shouldn’t tell me to relax anymore.” I kept a straight face and gave it my best woman-on-the-edge delivery.

  Matt scrunched his forehead in a moment of excessively cute confusion and then asked, “Relentless windiness? Really? That sounds like kind of a personal problem, but I’m glad you feel comfortable sharing.”

  I grinned and sat back down. “You flinched. You bought that for a second. You really think I’m too wound up, don’t you?”

  “Nah. I’m still more worried about your antisocial tendencies.”

  I leaned forward with a flirtatious smile and employed the same coo Megan had used when she sat down. “Oh, Mattie, you’re such a sweet-talker.”

  “It’s a gift,” he agreed without missing a beat.

  The cooing must have summoned Megan because she leaned in, forcing him to turn so he could acknowledge her. Well played, Megan.

  “Didn’t you just love the lesson?” she said—and not to harp on it again, but she cooed. Maybe cooing and spitting icicles at me were her only two settings.

  “Sure,” he answered. “It was as good as usual, I guess.”

  “I love how she makes the scriptures come to life,” she continued, determined to demonstrate her extreme spirituality. I personally prefer it when someone has an invisible halo I can sense versus one they shine and buff themselves while I watch. But maybe Matt liked that kind of approach. I settled back to watch him.

  “Right, yeah. She’s good at that,” he answered, smiling. I saw him make a tiny shift with his shoulders, like he was about to turn back to me, but Megan caught it too and rushed in with another gambit before he could disengage.

  “President Pearson is my uncle,” she said, name-dropping the stake president. “My cousins love taking those lessons from you. Well, I guess they’re not really my cousins because they’re his grandkids. Or maybe they are cousins but the removed kind, like twice removed? Or maybe they’re just my second cousins. I get so confused with that.”

  She continued on with some story about cousin removal and placement, determined to hold Matt in his seat with sheer word power. I decided it was a good time to slip out and surrender the playing field to the wordier player.

  Matt turned when I stood and I waved good-bye, trying not to laugh at his longsuffering expression as Megan prattled on. When he saw my smothered smile, he shot me a grimace but then turned again to listen to her detailed family genealogy.

  I headed out to my Jeep, letting my smile blossom into a full-blown grin. Unless I was mistaken, Matt Gibson was bummed to see me go, and it had only a little to do with being stranded with Megan.

  He had taken the bait. Now I had to step it up and reel him in.

  Chapter 5

  “How’s the conquest going?” Dave asked the next morning over breakfast. I had moved on to Lucky Charms. There’s nothing like the marshmallow-dyed milk that’s left after the last piece of cereal makes its way to my mouth.

  “The surfboard? You’ve been at all my surf lessons. You should know.”

  “No, your other conquest. Aren’t you stalking Matt Gibson?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You aren’t supposed to know that.”

  “Whatever,” he shrugged. “I don’t think Matt knows he’s being stalked.”

  “Sure he knows he’s being stalked,” Celia said, diverting her attention from her yogurt for a moment. “It’s just hard to tell which girl is doing the stalking at any given moment, is all.”

  “No kidding,” Dave said. “I know he’s a good-looking dude, but how does he pull so many hot chicks?”

  “Probably by not referring to them as chicks,” I retorted.

  “Are you a feminist or something?” Dave asked.

  “I just have a little self-respect.”

  “But I don’t care if you call me a dude. Why do you care if someone calls you a chick?”

  “Dude isn’t insulting. What if I referred to you as a puppy or something? They’re all cute and cuddly and stuff. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “No, but that’s because puppies aren’t manly.”

  “And chicks are fluffy and useless.”

  He shook his head. “I think college is ruining you. That’s the problem with chicks and higher education.”

  I was about to go after him again when a balled-up napkin bounced off the side of his head. “Quit messing with her, Dave,” Celia ordered.

  He grinned at me. “I’m kidding,” he said. “I respect women. But you can’t deny that it’s mostly the chick variety who go after Matt. They don’t get it.”

  “Get what?” I asked.

  “They think he’s just a surf bum and they like that he’s all buff, but the guy has a lot going on upstairs.”

  “You know him well?” I asked.

  “A group of us surfed together before my mission and we would talk. Matt’s pretty smart, actually. He’s got some good ideas.”

  “Ideas about what?”

  He shrugged. “They’re his ideas. You should ask him.”

  “Oh, she can’t,” Celia said. “Ashley stalks by not talking to him or being anywhere in his vicinity.”

  “Not true,” I defended myself. “I just make him come to my vicinity. That’s all.”

  “That’s a pretty good plan, cuz,” Dave said. “Is it working? Because there’s a cute girl I saw at FHE that I might try ignoring completely if this works out for you.”

  “It won’t work if everyone does it, so you’ll just have to go back to lurking and hope she notices you,” I teased him.

  “Dave’s not a lurker,” Celia said.

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Yeah, he’s more of a skulker,” she added.

  He rolled his eyes and scooped up the last of his Grape Nuts. “I’m done with this estrogen fest,” he said. He took his bowl to the sink and then headed for the back door. “The Taco Reef Express leaves in one minute if any chicks in here are trying to get some surfing in.”

  He barely ducked to avoid Celia’s yogurt container as it bounced off the door frame behind him, leaving a small splatter of pink gunk in its wake.

  “You got one minute, Barrett!” he called to me over his shoulder. “I hear the pearl beds are hopping today.”

  Knowing I needed the practice, I dumped my marshmallow milk out with a sigh and hustled after him. It looked like I’d be washing down my Lucky Charms with mouthfuls of sand and
seawater instead. Yum.

  I secured my board in the back of Dave’s pickup and hopped in. He pulled out, and as the wind whipped through the rolled-down window, I scooped a fistful of hair out of my face and turned to face Dave. “How come you didn’t mention you know Matt?”

  “How come you didn’t mention you were trying to replace me with him as your surf coach?” he responded.

  “I don’t know. I guess I figured you didn’t like teaching me and you’d be happy to get rid of me. He seems like a good bet.”

  “And I guess I thought you were looking around for someone better.” He kept his tone even, but I could sense a slight trace of hurt.

  “No way! I just feel bad that I keep carving out chunks of your surf time when you already have to squeeze it in. I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  He was quiet for a minute. Then he shrugged. “Well, in that case, maybe I’ll help you get lessons from Matt Gibson. He pretty much is the best guy around.”

  “You can do that? He’s already full for the summer, I heard.”

  “Yeah, but he speaks dude. I’ll make it work.”

  “That would be awesome!” I was excited for almost ten seconds, and then I frowned. “Wait, are you just trying to get rid of me so you don’t have to teach me anymore?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then my feelings are hurt now.”

  “But you get Matt Gibson as a consolation prize.”

  “Oh yeah. Good trade.” I thought for another minute. “Can you do this in a way that doesn’t blow my covert stalker status?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I don’t really have a choice.”

  He snorted and cranked up the radio. “That’s the best thing about you, Ashley. That great attitude.”

  I grinned and spent the last few minutes of the drive watching the houses downtown roll by. Old original beach bungalows nestled between small apartment units and large McMansions with tiny front yards. The crazy hodgepodge of architecture always entertained me. If I lived here, I’d probably hole up in one of the little cottages with their wooden porches and low roofs. They reminded me of my favorite old-school neighborhood, the Avenues, back home in Salt Lake.

  Dave turned down Ninth and situated us next to the Taco Bell again. We jumped out, wiggled into our wetsuits, grabbed our boards, and then waited at the light with a few other surfers and some dog walkers on their way to Dog Beach. After two weeks, standing in front of the Pacific and watching it stretch endlessly before me still gave me a flutter in my stomach. The waves were about waist high again, and when we hit the water, I stayed right behind Dave. He watched the waves roll in, checking for a rideable one.

  “The first one that comes in and looks good is yours. Be ready to go when I tell you, okay?”

  I nodded and stayed focused on the swells. I saw one forming up that looked right.

  “This one’s yours,” he nodded toward it. “Let’s go.”

  We turned our boards toward the shore and I took off, paddling fast to match the momentum of the wave. A strange, weightless feeling stole over me for a moment, almost like the texture of the wave had smoothed out beneath me.

  I was about to tell Dave that I thought I finally got “the plane” he described when he asked, “Do you trust me?”

  I turned around in confusion. “What?”

  “You have to trust me. Stand up!”

  I did as ordered, feeling for the first time ever that I was on the shoulder, the prime spot for taking a wave in. A giddy bubble of adrenaline welled up inside me, and then suddenly, a sharp tug on my ankle sent me headfirst over the nose of my surfboard. When I broke through the surface of the water, Dave was almost on me, looking angry.

  “How many times do I have to explain this to you, Ashley?” he demanded, irritation furrowing his brow. “It’s standing up. Just stand up!”

  Too confused to speak because I knew Dave was the one who had yanked my leash, I treated him to a cold shoulder and paddled toward the sand when I heard Matt say, “Hey, Dave,” his voice mellow.

  “Hey,” my cousin spat back. Whoa.

  “What’s going on?” Matt asked.

  “I’ve been trying to teach Ash here to surf for two weeks. I’m over it.”

  “Have you stood yet?” Matt asked me.

  I shook my head. “Only in the white water.”

  “She doesn’t get the timing, and I’m running out of ways to explain it to her,” Dave said. “You know what, Ashley? I quit. I’m going to go catch some of my own waves. Stay here if you want a ride back home.” Then he stomped off to grab his own board and headed for the water.

  I think my mouth was slightly open, unhinged with shock at this little display. I snapped it shut and managed a joke. “I hope he doesn’t come back and kick sand at me.”

  Matt smiled. “I’ll help you brush it off if he does.”

  When I looked at him funny, he added, “Uh, that was an accidental double meaning. I just meant I’d help you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I need. Help. Like remedial surf tutoring.” I didn’t know if I was more embarrassed over how wrecked I must look from the wave bashing or the fact that he’d seen my pitiful attempts to stand up. It was a humiliating toss up.

  “Surfing is a little easier if you’re relaxed,” he said.

  I mustered a weak smile. “Again with the suggestion that I’m uptight. I’m not uptight. I just lose all sense of coordination in the water. I’m pretty athletic everywhere else, so I don’t even have an excuse.” I plopped down on the sand, deciding that dejected loser status could only work in my favor. “It’s bad when even family quits on you.”

  My patheticness was a black hole that sucked him down on the sand next to me. “I could help,” he offered. He stretched out his sand-dusted legs, which extended from black board shorts.

  Nibble, fishy, nibble.

  “How? Are you going to yell ‘Relax!’ from the sidelines every time I fall off my board?”

  “No, I just mean I could teach you.”

  “You heard Dave. I’m hopeless.” I held my breath, hoping I was throwing out just enough line.

  “I’ve watched you on the waves a few times. It’s possible Dave might not have explained a couple of things to you that would help.”

  Almost there, almost there . . .

  “Really?” I asked, allowing curiosity to color my voice. “Like what?”

  “Like you need to change the angle of your surfboard when you’re paddling to catch a wave. You always point straight toward the shore. Starting diagonal would help you.”

  “That sounds so easy. How come he never told me that?”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes people who are really good at something don’t know how to explain it. It’s just what they do. That’s what my sister says about math, so maybe it’s true about surfing.”

  “So you’d still teach me even though I stink after two weeks of lessons?”

  “Yeah. I’m out here most mornings, anyway.”

  Tugging on the line . . . !

  “I’m pretty broke, so I can’t pay you.”

  “Just make me dinner and we’ll call it even. I’m tired of Derek’s burgers.”

  “What if I’m a bad cook?”

  A slight grin twisted his lips. “You can’t cook worse than you surf. I’m sure I’ll live.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m just kidding.” His grin widened. “Can you cook?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” My mom had insisted that all of her daughters learn to make some fierce meals as part of our Early-Marriage Prep training. Goat cheese stuffed chicken breasts? Unbelievably rich beef stroganoff? I’m your girl.

  “Okay, then. How about we trade? A surf lesson for a meal.”

  I heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “And I so hoped you would do it just for the chance to hang out with me.”

  “Who says I’m not finding a way to do that twice?”

  Hooked.

 
He climbed to his feet, and I looked up, way up, to see his face.

  “I think my client is rested enough for me to finish his lesson right now and I have another one after that, so I need to go, but what are you doing in an hour?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m stuck here waiting for a ride with Dave whenever he decides he wants to leave.”

  “If you’re still here and the waves are still right, I’ll take you out.”

  “To tell you the truth, Matt, chances are I’m going to lose my balance and my board is going to take you out.”

  He grinned and pointed to an older gentleman in a comically small wetsuit sitting several lengths down the beach. “That guy was standing halfway through our first lesson. You’ll be fine.”

  “If I get bored working on my tan and you only find an Ashley-shaped indentation in the sand where I used to be, I’m probably at the volleyball nets.”

  “See you in an hour.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, and watched him saunter off. He had a world-class saunter. I leaned back, enjoying the steady heat from the sun until a spray of cold droplets rained down on my face. I gasped and jerked upright to discover Dave standing over me, dripping, with a crafty smile on his face.

  “Why did you yank my leash?” I demanded.

  “Come on, cuz. You’re the queen of strategy around here. You know why I did it.”

  “Because you were trying to make Matt feel sorry for me so he’d offer to teach me instead?” I guessed.

  “Yep.”

  “You little schemer. I’m so proud.” I slapped him a high five.

  “I knew you would be.”

  “But I totally owe you for knocking me off my board. I was going to catch that wave, for once.”

  “You caught Matt instead. You’re a very demanding female to want it both ways.”