Clash

by Rick Bundschuh Bethany Hamilton

  Moments later, an even larger wave scooped up Malia, and after a wild ride, she swept forward in a spray of white water to join Bethany as they paddled the rest of the way to shore together.

  Jenna wasn’t in the mood to admit she was wrong. But she couldn’t help thinking that the sun did feel pretty good and that the ocean was incredibly beautiful. She felt the ocean inviting her to wash off in its cleansing waves.

  Wading in up to her knees, Jenna felt the strong fingers of the waves grab at her calves and try to pull her back to sea with them. She even caught a glimpse of a sea turtle as it poked its head out of the water before stroking away.

  This was a first for Jenna. She had never actually been in the ocean before. Its endless expanse made even the biggest lakes she had seen at home look puny. Like the intense sun, a few rays of hope warmed her heart.

  Maybe I could learn to like this place, she thought, daydreaming.

  She didn’t notice the two girls coming in from the surf until they were almost right on top of her. For a moment, Jenna was dumbfounded by the shock of seeing a girl her own age, dressed in a cute bathing suit, tanned and rising up out of the water . . . with only one arm.

  Then she remembered seeing the TV reports about a girl from Hawaii who was on her way to success as a pro surfer until she lost her arm to a shark. She’d also heard about the girl’s miracle comeback. Gotta be the same girl, Jenna thought.

  “Hi,” the blonde girl said. Jenna smiled shyly.

  “Hi.” Jenna felt her face turn as red as her hair as the girl and her friend’s eyes traveled to the red mosquito bites that covered her body.

  “Looks like some skeeters got to you,” the blonde girl observed.

  “Yeah, they attacked while I was asleep,” she said. “Terrorists.”

  Both girls grinned at her. “Did you have a fan going?” the blonde asked.

  “Fan? No . . . why?”

  “If you set a fan up to blow on you, you won’t get bit,” the dark-haired girl explained.

  “That’s news to me,” Jenna said. “Good news.”

  “Yeah,” the blonde nodded. “It’s a trick most locals know about — hotels should tell you guys that stuff.”

  “Oh, I’m not visiting. I live here. Well, I just moved here.”

  “I’m Malia,” the dark-haired girl said, offering a wet hand to Jenna.

  “I’m Bethany,” the blonde girl said, then grinned. “I’d offer you a handshake, too, but I’m holding my board, so there’s none to spare.”

  Jenna dusted the sand off her hand and shook Malia’s hand. “I’m Jenna. Thanks for the tip about the fan. I would’ve needed a blood transfusion if I had to go through this for another night.”

  Both Bethany and Malia laughed.

  “Well, see ya later,” Bethany said.

  “Yeah, see ya,” Jenna said.

  And with that, the two surfers jogged up the beach toward a woman who appeared to be waiting for them.

  Jenna watched from the shoreline as the girls buried their faces in towels and pawed through an ice chest.

  She noticed the tourists lounging on their cheap grass mats turning their heads toward the girls, pointing and talking among themselves.

  Then she saw one of them, an older woman in a bright fl oral print bathing suit and floppy beach hat, pull a camera from her beach bag and wander over to the girls who were busy stuffing slabs of fruit in their mouths.

  Jenna couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could tell that a request for a photo was in the works.

  Not long after the photo opportunity, more cars pulled up to the beach. Most had surfboards stacked on top or poking out of the rear windows or truck beds. A group of teenage girls piled out of two of the cars, laughing and greeting each other. The Hanalei Girls Surf Team — an unofficial mix of young girls of the same general age, who lived in the same area, attended the same schools, and most important, surfed together — collected their towels, small ice chests, and surfboards, and waved at the adults who had given them a ride.

  The resourceful girls had phoned around and discovered that Bethany and Malia were at Kalihiwai getting some waves and that it wasn’t crowded for a change. This was Bethany’s gang, the group of girls who had been her friends since childhood. These were the people who knew her and liked her before and after the loss of her arm. These were the girls who stood with her, who understood her, who accepted her for who she was and would be her friend if she went on to be a world champion surfer or if she decided to go the soul surfer route and surf only for personal enjoyment.

  Becoming a part of the Hanalei Girls Surf Team wasn’t easy. The girls’ long history with each other had glued them into a unified force that outsiders could seldom penetrate. The Hawaiian term for them was hui, meaning a group, club, or gang. Because they tended to show up en masse not only to surf spots but to the movies or other events, people would often say, “Here comes that hui of girls!”

  The girls filtered down to the sand and tossed their gear near the Hamiltons and Malia.

  “Going back out?” one of them asked Bethany and Malia.

  “Yeah, as soon as I finish stuffing my face,” Bethany replied with full cheeks, making Malia laugh.

  The rest of the girls joined in, and Jenna felt herself really smiling for the first time in a long time. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Without realizing it, she had slowly made her way nearer to their little gathering.

  She didn’t know anything about the Hanalei Girls Surf Team, but she couldn’t help feeling like she wanted to be a part of their world as she watched them wax up their boards and head for the ocean.

  Maybe I’ve made too big of a deal out of this move, Jenna thought. Maybe Mom really does know what she’s doing.

  Jenna smiled wryly. Wouldn’t her mother love to hear that!

  Just then a car horn bleated from the parking lot, shaking her from her thoughts. Jenna turned to see her mother had come to pick her up.

  “Did you have a good time?” her mom asked as Jenna climbed into the car.

  “It was okay,” Jenna admitted a bit reluctantly. “I saw a sea turtle up pretty close.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it was kinda cool. And I think I met that girl on TV who had her arm bitten off by a shark. I mean she didn’t say that to me, but she surfs and obviously lives here. Her name is Bethany. That’s the same girl, isn’t it?”

  “I think so. I’m glad you had a good time.”

  Jenna glanced sideways at her mom and then fell silent.

  She didn’t want to admit it just yet, but there was something wonderful and magical about the beach. She had never known that saltwater tasted so salty or that sea turtles would come in so close to the beach. She never realized how such a little wave could so easily knock you off balance or how walking on dry sand was like walking across hot coals and yet at the shoreline it could be soothing and cool.

  On top of that, it was kind of cool to meet someone she’d seen on TV. And besides, that person had been nice to her.

  What had really shocked her — and kind of excited her — was the number of girls who surfed. Up until that morning at the beach, she had always thought of surfing as a guy’s sport, like skateboarding or something.

  Today almost every surfer was a girl — a girl! This was a wonderful world, full of new sensations, sights, and people.

  As the car pulled into the long driveway of Jenna’s new rented home, a small ohana, or family house constructed behind a larger home, she was hit with another thought.

  “Mom, are you going to Wal-Mart anytime today?”

  “Well, I have to drop off some paperwork in town. Why? Do you need something?”

  “I think you ought to pick up a couple of fans,” Jenna said. “I hear the local people sleep with them blowing on them because of the mosquitoes.”

  “I can see how it might keep you cool, but how does that help with bugs?”

  “The mosquitoes don’t like the breeze; it blows them away b
efore they can land on you.”

  “Who knew?” Jenna’s mom said with a small smile. “Sure, I’ll stop and get a couple of fans.”

  “Oh, and you might want to get us some bug repellent too,” said Jenna. “In case what I heard about the fans isn’t exactly right. I’m really tired of being a Happy Meal for bugs.”

  Jenna’s mom rolled her eyes. “Happy Meal?”

  They looked at each other and then laughed —the sound surprised them both after weeks of constant bickering. They were still grinning as they took their shoes off and placed them side by side at the front door.

  “By the way, what’s the deal with this shoe thing?” Jenna asked.

  “I think it’s a Hawaiian custom. I read somewhere that you will really insult people who live here if you wear your shoes into their houses.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” her mom said, “but I think it’s kind of a good idea. It does keep the mud and sand out.” Jenna rolled her eyes this time. “Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

  “Riiight,” Jenna said. Then, in spite of herself, she started to wonder if her mom was right about that too.

  Bethany and her friends weren’t exactly Romans, but there was something different about them — something she wanted to be a part of.

  She thought about them late into the night, with her new fan blowing at full strength across her bed. Even the discomfort of a few patches of sunburn, spots she had missed while greasing up, didn’t bother her.

  Tomorrow is Sunday, she thought sleepily. Wish I knew what those girls will be doing . . . bet it’s something fun.

  three

  Sunday morning at Bethany’s house was a beehive of activity as the family prepared for church.

  Bethany, her dad, and her brothers had cracked a dawn patrol at a nearby surf spot and were now quickly trying to shower, eat, and change into clean clothes before Mom herded them out the door.

  “Is Malia coming to church this morning?” Bethany’s mom asked in the middle of the rush.

  “I dunno,” Bethany said around a piece of toast. “If she can get a ride she will.”

  “Give her a call, and tell her we’ll stop by and get her on our way,” Mrs. Hamilton said, putting the juice back in the fridge. “Tell her I have a couple of books from the Chronicles of Narnia to give her too.”

  Soon, the entire family piled into the van and bumped down the road to Malia’s house. Even though Noah and Tim were old enough to drive and had their own cars, it was a tradition to go to church as a family.

  “Sunday is family day,” their parents had long ago told the kids. Over the years, in spite of busy schedules and changing lives, they had managed to stick to that idea.

  The Hamilton’s family church, located on the north shore, held services in a large tent on the grounds of a private school. Bethany often joked that she went to the circus church because the large blue stripes of the huge tent made it look as if there should be elephants and clowns running around as well.

  Set up inside the tent were several hundred chairs and a large stage that held a full band. The edges of the tent could be rolled up to allow the cool trade winds to blow through or dropped down in case of the wild weather that sometimes blew rain sideways.

  As the van crunched over the gravel parking lot, Bethany and Malia spotted their friends making their way across the church campus. Most of the girls were a part of the Hanalei Girls Surf Team who, like Malia, had developed an interest in God in spite of the lack of interest their parents had about spiritual things.

  From between two cars, a young woman popped out and waved furiously at the Hamiltons. It was Sarah Hill. Sarah served as youth director for the church and was also one of the main reasons so many young surf girls had come to know Christ.

  “Bethany! Malia!” Sarah shouted.

  Bethany smiled. It was fun going to youth group meetings during the week — a lot more fun than most people realized. Sarah had helped her see that faith in Christ wasn’t about following a list of rules or just believing because your parents believed. It was about hanging close and personal with the most loving person in the universe — God.

  Bethany and Malia quickly picked up their pace across the parking lot when they heard the worship band warming up. Church time!

  People of every shape and size and from every walk of life trickled out of cars and trucks to join them in their trek to the big top. Men were dressed in aloha shirts, shorts, and rubber slippers or sandals. Some women showed up with skirts or dresses, but compared to mainland attire, they were all very casual — a dress code that was a big part of the island style. Anyone with a tie would stand out like a sore thumb. Anyone with a suit and tie would look as if he came from another planet.

  Wet surfboards strapped high on top of car roofs were proof of pre-church surf sessions, and freshly waxed boards waited expectantly to grab some waves after the service.

  Sarah Hill slid up next to Bethany and Malia as they walked toward the tent opening.

  “Are you coming to the Get Outta School barbecue this evening?” she asked.

  “Get Outta School? I almost forgot!” Bethany said.

  “That’s because you never go to school,” said Malia.

  “I do too! I go to school at my kitchen table every day.”

  Malia rolled her eyes as if to say, Tough life!

  “Actually, I kind of miss public school,” Bethany said. “I just can’t keep up if I’m traveling and training.”

  “You can come to the barbecue anyway,” Sarah smiled. “It’s for the whole youth group to say hello to summer and goodbye to school.”

  “You can count me in,” said Malia.

  “I’ll be there too,” Bethany said. “You don’t think I’d miss a chance to taste your famous strawberry pie!” Sarah was known for her secret recipe for strawberry pie, which appeared at the end of every youth gathering.

  “You’ll have to get behind me,” Malia said with a grin.

  “Pie junky,” Bethany shot back.

  “Great!” Sarah laughed as the girls arrived at the tent entrance. “I’ll see you tonight, if not before.”

  After church, the Hamiltons returned home, where Bethany and Malia quickly made tropical smoothie lunches out of mango, pineapple, banana, and guava juice. As soon as their straws sucked the bottom of their glasses, the girls hustled off to load their surfboards in the car and change into swim gear.

  “Timmy, will you drive us to Pine Trees?” Bethany asked. Her brother grinned at her.

  “Sure, if you make me a smoothie.”

  “Come on,” Bethany pleaded. “We wanna get in the water as soon as we can, so we can make it back in time for the barbecue tonight.”

  “Guess you better start walking then,” Tim said with a smile.

  Bethany weighed the trade-off for only a moment before she decided that it was fair enough. Then she hurried over to the blender and started assembling the ingredients for another smoothie.

  “You can make one for me too!” came a voice from the back of the porch. It was Noah, the oldest of the Hamilton kids.

  “No problem,” sang Bethany, “but you have to clean everything up!”

  There was silence as Noah weighed the tradeoff in his mind.

  “All right,” Noah sighed. “I guess that’s fair.”

  Bethany pushed the button on the blender, and it roared to life, slicing and then mashing the fruit and juice into a thick, delicious fluid.

  A few moments later, smoothie in hand, Tim backed his car out of the driveway while Bethany hung her head out of the window to smell the perfume of the plumeria trees that lined the entrance to her home.

  What a cool day, Bethany thought happily. Then, with no warning, she suddenly heard the voice of that young girl who had yelled at her mother run through her head: “You don’t care!”

  “Tim, did you ever yell at Mom or Dad?” Bethany asked, suddenly. She saw Malia glance up.

  “Why would you ask me some
thing like that?” said Tim.

  “I overheard a girl and her mom arguing the other day, and they said terrible things to each other.” Bethany frowned. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Yeah, well, some people yell like that,” Tim said as he studied the road ahead.

  “Maybe, but they probably yell at home where nobody can hear them instead of in the grocery store parking lot,” Bethany pressed.

  “I yelled at Mom once.”

  “Really?” Bethany said, glancing back at Malia with a look that said, Tim? She looked back at her brother. “What happened?”

  “It was a long time ago, so I don’t remember all the details. But I do remember that I yelled something kinda bad at her — some word I heard other kids saying at school. I don’t even know if I knew what it meant, but I knew you weren’t supposed to say it. In the end, I had to spend a lot of time picking weeds.” Tim grimaced. “It was terrible. My friends would come over to play, and I had to send them away. I would get up, eat, and then pick weeds until it was time to go to bed.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “Three or four years.”

  “Seriously!” Bethany said, and Tim smiled.

  “Long enough to learn my lesson,” he answered finally. Uncharacteristically, big brother Tim reached over and put his hand on her shoulder as she and Malia started to pile out of the car. “You gotta understand something, Bethany. We’re Christians — not every family has that. Because some people don’t have God in their lives, they aren’t able to see things the way we do.”

  “I know that,” Bethany said a bit impatiently.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” Tim said as she started to shut the door.

  Bethany frowned at her brother — but Malia gave him a small smile of gratitude.

  A few hours later, returning sandy and salty from the beach, the girls raced for the Hamilton’s outdoor shower to rinse off.

  “You owe me another smoothie,” Tim shouted after them.

  “Sorry! Only one per customer!” Bethany called out as she plunged under the spray of the showerhead.

  Within a few minutes, wet bathing suits were drying on the line and the girls, hair still clingy wet, were dressed and ready for the youth group barbecue.