Chasing Swells

by Nikki Godwin

  “I think I’m in love,” I say, glancing around us. “I can literally get out of bed and jump into the water each day. This is perfect.”

  “Definitely the best place we’ve stayed,” Glenn agrees.

  I glance over at Kaia, but she seems unimpressed. I don’t know how anyone could look so miserable in a literal tropical paradise. Whatever she has back home must be pretty damn special to want to be there rather than here. She steps ahead of us and walks in as Santino holds the door open for her.

  “There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms,” Santino explains, motioning with his hand. “This is one of the bigger bungalows at the resort, per request.”

  “Great,” Kaia says. “I really didn’t want to share a bathroom with them while they’re blowing the ocean out of their noses every night. It’s bad enough living with one surfer, much less two of them.”

  Ouch. Maybe that’s what it is. She hates the sport of surfing or she hates her dad’s job or she just hates the whole surf culture in general. I can’t get a read on this girl, but I don’t know if I can tolerate the attitude for the next few weeks. I’ll suck it up for her dad’s sake because he’s been an epic coach, but that doesn’t mean my nerves won’t be shot by the time we leave here.

  “I’ll be sure to tell my dad that you appreciate his consideration of these things,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Kaia’s eyes sink into the best death glare I’ve ever witnessed before she walks into one of the bedrooms and slams the door behind her.

  I turn toward Glenn. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He waves it away with his hand. “She’ll come around. Don’t take it personally.”

  I do, though, because I know it’s me. This is why it’s hard for me to make friends or keep anyone in my life for any length of time. I’ve fought like hell to learn responsibility and respect, but it’s not something that comes easily for me. My dad drilled it into my head from the time I was old enough to comprehend words that our family was special. We’d worked hard to get where we were, and we weren’t going to apologize for it. We proved ourselves and deserved the success and big house and expensive cars.

  But that’s the thing. We didn’t do it. My dad was the one who worked hard, got a degree, got his chiropractor license, and created a life for our family. My dad is the one with the big house and expensive sports car and young trophy wife. Sure, most of Crescent Cove thinks he’s a self-righteous asshole, and most of the time he is, but he worked for everything he has, and he’s brutally unapologetic.

  Me? Well, I lost a surf competition to a (then) good friend, acted like a spoiled brat about it, moved away for college because I wanted to join a prominent fraternity, dropped out because I was always drunk, and moved back home just in time to make a fool of local surf star Colby Taylor. I still feel bad when I think of that night. Cassie told me it was okay, that things happen, but my dignity died alongside her grandmother’s coffee table when Colby crashed it to the floor.

  Glenn and I haul our things into our respective rooms, but instead of unpacking, I call my dad to tell him about my broken boards and beg for replacements. I can find something to use in the meantime at the surf shop here, but after riding boards made specifically for you, it’s hard to grab a generic board and hope for the best.

  After my dad promises to fix my surfboard situation, I unpack the rest of my stuff to settle in for our time here. Kaia may not be happy about the island life, but I have to push her out of my mind. I’m here for a reason, and that’s to train my ass off and be the best well-rounded surfer I can possibly be. My dad has heard rumors that there’s a competition sponsored by Drenaline Surf happening at the end of the summer, and if the story is true, I’ll pay whatever entry fee I have to in order to compete. I need to be on my game, at my very best, to prove to everyone back home once and for all that I’m worthy.

  Chapter Three – Kaia

  It’s officially ten A.M. island time when I wake up the next morning. The bungalow is empty, which is nice because I didn’t want to see Dominic before I had a chance to shower. I stroll into the kitchen. A note from my dad is on the counter next to a pineapple-turned-vase. Brightly colored flowers sprout from the fruit.

  We went to the surf shop to see if we can find a board. Surfing until lunch. Feel free to explore but don’t get too adventurous. – Dad

  Don’t get too adventurous? We’re on an island. It’s not like I can really escape, and if I did somehow disappear, there are only so many places to hide. I grab a banana from the plate on the counter, peel it back, and take two bites before deciding that I need something of substance. I glance in the fridge, but after seeing energy drinks, bottled water, and a few vegetables, I realize we’re definitely not prepared for meals.

  I take a shower and get ready for the day before heading down the pier toward the island. I can’t see Dad and Dominic anywhere in the water, but that’s typical. The lineup wouldn’t be anywhere near the bungalows. They probably took a boat out with some locals to the best surf spots. They could be gone for hours.

  When I step off of the pier and onto the sand, I look ahead at the lavish resort. It looks like it belongs in a big city, like NYC, rather than shut away on an island. It’s sort of like trying to hide the Taj Mahal. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture, and the world has no idea it exists. I walk into the lobby, searching for the restaurant my dad had mentioned. The white marble floors gleam up at me.

  “Hey, can I help you?” a girl asks.

  I look over at a girl who is probably my age. She has white blonde hair that shines like these floors. She wears cut off denim shorts and a light pink baby tee that reads Mermaid Life in gold, glittery letters.

  “Um, I was just…looking for the restaurant,” I say, glancing back around. “My dad didn’t bother to show me before heading out this morning.”

  “Oh. Well, I can show you where it is,” she says. “They’re probably into brunch by now, but they always have fresh fruit and muffins out.”

  I don’t mean to scrunch my face up, but I left the bungalow because all we had was fruit and a head of lettuce. Okay, maybe there were carrots too, but I just want real food. Even junk food. Just something that won’t leave my stomach growling all day.

  “You know what? Never mind,” I tell her. I glance at the entrance, wanting to make it my exit. “Is there anywhere else around here to eat? Like somewhere with real food?”

  The girl laughs and nods her head. “Not a brunch person I take it?”

  “Brunch is fine, if you’re into that sort of thing,” I say, shrugging like an idiot. “I don’t really do brunch in my world. I’m more of a fast food girl.”

  “Then I know just the place,” she says. “I’m Sloane, by the way. Sloane Harrington.”

  “Kaia Anderson,” I say. “Are you from here? On the island?”

  Sloane nods. “My dad actually runs this place.” She motions around the marbled lobby. “He and my mom moved here before I was born. My brother was a baby. Dad got this big shot office job, and we got to live the island life. It’s all I’ve ever known, but we live in a house in a suburb, much like the United States. My parents are from the USA, but I was born here.”

  She has no idea what she’s missing with road trips and Wi-Fi. Places like this are great for vacations, but living here forever? That would be a tropical prison. Maybe I’m more free spirited than she is or maybe she just hasn’t experienced wanderlust yet.

  “So, food,” I say again upon feeling that boxing match in my stomach fighting for whatever scraps may be left.

  “Right,” Sloane says. “Let me grab my bag. You can ride with me.”

  After stopping by the bungalow to leave my dad a note and grab my beach bag, Sloane and I venture back toward St. Catalina Resort. She’s parked in the employee parking lot, next to a black Hummer. The white sports car beside it flashes its light when she clicks the key fob.

  “The Hummer’s my dad’s,” she says, sh
aking her head. “I told him he was too old for it, but he doesn’t listen. He’s pretty laid back, though. Not uptight like most businessmen.”

  I get into the passenger seat and adjust the air vent, even though it’s not too terribly hot. It must be a habit from back home. We don’t have an island breeze.

  “Did you say you were here with your dad?” Sloane asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, he’s a surf coach, and he’s got this new guy out of California that he’s been training all summer. This was the next stop on their list of swells.”

  She backs her car out of the parking place and heads out toward the main road. There’s no traffic here on the island. A few people wave from bicycles, and we meet a couple of cars along the way, but this is definitely a far cry from the city life. It’s bright and colorful and serene. I’d never tell my dad, but now that I’ve met someone who can show me around, St. Catalina Island may not be so bad.

  “So, what’s there to do around here?” I ask, looking away from the window and back toward Sloane. “Please tell me there are parties or bonfires or something that I can escape to late at night. My dad always crashes early so he can get up before the sun to surf.”

  She laughs. “There are plenty of parties,” she confirms. “They actually start, most of the time, in my backyard, and then we move it down to the beach. My parents love their fire pit, but it’s just not the same as blankets on the sand around a massive bonfire.”

  I like this girl already. I sort of wish I could bottle her up and take her back to California with me and then release her energy across the ocean and the shorelines. I need friends like her back home.

  She turns onto a side road with a few wooden carts of fresh fruit. An older man waves at us, and Sloane returns the gesture. I guess I need to get used to the watermelon-pineapple-coconut lifestyle since I’m going to be here for a bit.

  “This is actually my favorite place to eat on the entire island,” she says before turning left onto another small strip of road. “My parents believe in supporting small businesses, but they both whisper behind my back about ‘how absurd’ it is that I eat here so often.”

  I look around, but there is no restaurant sitting among the palm trees. The ocean drifts in the distance, like a pretty picture framed behind a dining room table.

  “Where exactly is this place?” I ask, still searching through the window. “Why would anyone put a restaurant out here? There’s nothing around.”

  “The Tiki Taco isn’t exactly a restaurant,” she explains. Her car slows down next to a canopy of palm trees. “It’s a taco truck, or well, bus, I guess. It’s a taco bus.”

  And so it is. The Tiki Taco is parked in the shade under the trees. It’s like an old surf van, back when vans were made big enough to carry all of your boards and equipment inside rather than strapping it all to the roof. It’s a beautiful shade of turquoise with a wooden sign hanging on the side.

  Sloane parks her car and motions for me to follow her. It’s probably too early for lunch, but a lady with a flower behind her ear peeks her head out and waves to us.

  “Sloane, so good to see you!” she calls out. “And who is your friend?”

  “This is Kaia. She’s going to be here for a few weeks, so I figured I better show her the good stuff up front,” she says. Then she gestures to the lady. “This is Sylvia. She and her husband own The Tiki Taco. She usually makes exceptions for me when I come before lunch.”

  Sylvia smiles. “Always. Come take a look at the menu.”

  She walks out of the vehicle and hangs the wooden menu on the hook. My mouth waters just looking at the words tacos, burritos, enchiladas, and quesadillas. When my eyes fixate on the word ‘nachos,’ I feel like I may collapse from happiness.

  Sloane orders a taco salad, which sounds so much healthier than the soft shell tacos and order of nachos I asked for. Any other time, I would care about her opinion, but I’ve had two bites since I got off the plane late yesterday, so all caring is out the window.

  We walk over to a picnic table, and Sloane explains that The Tiki Taco is actually mobile, but Sylvia’s family lives down this road, and they usually park here while setting up for the day.

  “My brother Will is obsessed with their food, and he used to sneak down here before and after hours to eat,” she says before scooping up another bite of taco salad. “One day he brought me with him, and the rest was history. Eventually my parents found out. They don’t try to stop us, but they don’t trust food trucks, even though they think Sylvia is ‘quite lovely.’”

  This is my first food truck experience, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be my last visit to The Tiki Taco while I’m here. I crunch into another nacho and savor the taste so I can remember it months from now when I’m back home and searching for nachos of this quality.

  “So what does a surf coach do?” Sloane asks. “That’s a job I’ve never heard of.”

  I explain that Dad’s job is basically to pick apart his surfer’s surfing. They watch clips of surf sessions and see what could’ve been done better. They watch every turn and see where they could’ve used more power or turned the board more vertically or dug the fins into the water more. It’s all the technical stuff that goes into scoring potential. Surf coaches look at the gritty details to see what the judges are looking for.

  “That’s what wins heats. That’s what wins events. That’s what wins world titles,” I tell her. “Or at least that’s my dad’s mantra about the whole thing.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” Sloane says. “Your dad travels the world, gets to see the best waves, and teaches superstar surfers how to be better? And he gets paid for that?”

  Basically, yeah. It almost sounds like a lazy job, but in all actuality, my dad busts his ass harder than anyone I know. He has a knowledge of surfing and all the technical details. He knows maneuvers and different waves and what works where. He knows that the things that score well at a beach break in Rio aren’t going to work in Fiji. He earns every penny he makes.

  I nod to Sloane. “One of his best friends, Neil Harper, made the world tour when they were in college,” I tell her. “My dad dropped out and hit the road with Neil. It started out as a year off just to see the world because he didn’t think he’d have a chance, but he started breaking down heats with Neil and he took him on as a coach. It led to two world titles, and a twenty-year career, so I guess it’s not too shabby.”

  “Definitely not,” she says. “So what about this new guy he’s coaching?”

  I eat the last few bites of my second taco as I dig through my beach bag with one hand searching for my phone. The Tiki Taco pulls away, headed toward the resorts and tourists spots for the lunch crowd.

  “His name is Dominic. He’s this rich kid from California,” I tell her. I pull up his Instagram account and find one of his few selfies. “This is him.”

  Sloane’s eyes widen, just like I’m sure mine did the first time I searched him on the web. “He’s rather attractive,” she says, as if it’s surprising to her. “Single?”

  I nod. “I get the vibe that he’s one of those guys who is too busy surfing to date.”

  She shrugs. “That would help your chances, though,” she says. “He’s too busy surfing to date. You’re his surf coach’s daughter. You’re the only girl who would be constant. It’s destiny.”

  I can’t help but burst out with laughter. “I know I’ve only known you for two hours, but you are completely crazy,” I tell her. I look down so she can’t see the heat that’s forming behind my cheeks. “Besides, I never said I was interested in him.”

  “Kaia, you didn’t have to.”

  Chapter Four – Dominic

  I haul my substitute board back to the bungalow, but Glenn is already a few steps ahead of me. The man hasn’t stopped talking about his craving for a turkey sandwich for the last hour. Normally that’d make me hungry, but the thought of eating right after a hardcore surf session makes me want to hurl.

  After I shower and ‘blow the
ocean out of my nose,’ as Kaia put it, I plan on walking down to the resort and seeing if my real boards are here yet. Dad sent me the overnight tracking number, but those things are coming by plane, so ‘overnight’ means nothing here.

  I push the cracked door open, and Glenn stands at the kitchen counter. He says that Kaia isn’t here, so he’s going to go grab a sandwich at the resort and come back for a nap. I make my way back to the shower on our side. I wonder if she’s found anywhere decent to hang out here. I may be surfing and training most mornings, but I can’t imagine sitting around here every afternoon doing nothing. Napping is out of the question. I’ll never get up with the sunrise if I nap in the afternoon.

  Once the ocean is off of my skin, I make my way down the pier toward the island’s resort. It reminds me of that new hotel in Crescent Cove. I actually hated to see that thing go up. They tore down the old carnival, which was abandoned and weathered, but it had character. It was part of the town’s history. Now it’s Florence Gardens Inn with expensive chandeliers and outrageous flower gardens. I preferred the rusted tilt-a-whirl, honestly.

  I check at the front desk and explain my situation to the receptionist. She writes down my information and where we’re staying so she can let us know when my boards arrive – if my boards arrive. My faith in the airlines is nonexistent at this point.

  As I turn to go find the gym, Kaia walks through the lobby in a pink bikini top and a towel around her waist. Her hair is wet but pulled into a ponytail. Her beach bag is over her shoulder.

  “How’s the pool?” I ask, walking toward her.

  She looks up, like I’ve caught her off guard. “Um, I wasn’t at the pool. Well, not here anyway,” she says. “I met this girl, and I went back to her house to swim. Didn’t have to share it with anyone but her and her older brother. No screaming kids. No annoying parents. It was nice.”