Part of me knows that I would’ve felt sad even if I were going off to college too. Emma is my best childhood friend. She is blanket forts and science experiments and baking projects and skating at Snoopy’s Ice Rink at Christmas and first crushes and birthday sleepovers and summer camp. And in a few days, she’ll be gone. At least the Emma that I know will be. She’ll be different the next time I see her. So will I. I already am.
I want to ask Emma if she’s sad too, but maybe she feels the opposite. Or, worse, maybe she feels sorry for me because I’m being left behind.
The lights in front of her house click on automatically when I pull up to drop her off.
“Good luck, and please don’t forget to have some fun.” I lean over and give her a hug, and she embraces me back tightly.
“Take care of yourself, Chloe,” she says. When she pulls away, it looks like she’s starting to cry.
“Are you okay, Em?” I ask.
“What if I made the wrong choice?” she asks.
“About Brown?”
“No, about engineering.”
“You can change your mind.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she says. Then she laughs an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I’m fine! It’s just weird, you know? Moving away, saying goodbye, all of it.”
“Well, you’ll be back for breaks, right?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“So I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, see you then.” She gives me one more quick hug, and then hops out of the car. But before she turns to the house, she leans back in. “I hope you figure everything out. I mean, you will. I know you will.”
I wait till Emma is safely inside before I drive away. All this time, I thought she had no idea what was going on with me. That she was oblivious to my confusion, my doubts, my inability to reengage with my old life. I thought she was too focused on the road ahead to notice that I had drifted sideways. But I was wrong. And maybe I’m also wrong in being a bit envious that Emma seems to have her life all figured out. Like Jane, like me, like probably everybody else we know, maybe she’s just been pretending that she’s sure of herself. Maybe she’s feeling just as weird as me, even without a new heart.
I wish her a road trip full of surprises.
The following Wednesday, Sarah Harris is still on my mind as I steer my Honda down the curving road to the beach. I dreamed about her last night. In my dream, she and the woman with the blue-green eyes I keep remembering in fragments were one and the same. She looked frail and gaunt and wore a hospital gown over her birdlike frame. A bandage was wound around her head. I sat next to her bed in a room that was otherwise bare and empty, like a prison cell. I asked her if she was my heart donor, and she just looked at me and laughed. But it wasn’t a joyful laugh. It was a laugh that sounded angry and unhinged. It sounded all wrong. And later, as I raced through the nightmare tunnel to yet again meet my death, her laughter echoed in my head.
It’s one more day until I meet up with Jane. One more day until we can at least confirm that Sarah was, in fact, my heart donor. And if she was, then I’ll have to figure out a way to find somebody who knew her so that they can tell me more.
When I arrive at the beach, Kai is scanning the water, thinking, I assume, about the best path for our paddle out. The wind is strong this afternoon, and the waves look wild and chaotic.
“I don’t know,” he says, not turning to look at me. “Maybe we should bail.”
“Why?”
“Surf’s bigger than I was expecting. I’m not sure you’re ready for this water.”
This makes me bristle. It’s not like he’s the wave police.
“I want to try it.”
It’s not just that I want to. I have to. Surfing is the only thing that allows me not to think. Only feel. I need this today.
“See that riptide over to the right? Might be tough for you to paddle through it.”
“I can do it,” I say.
“You think, or you know?”
“I know. C’mon, the meter’s running for your paying customer over here.”
I see the muscle in his jaw tense ever so slightly.
“Let’s go, then,” he says.
I hurry to keep up with him as he heads toward the water.
He seems impatient today. Not in the mood to chat. Not the Kai from last week, who asked about my tattoo and touched his skin to mine.
We paddle out and watch the waves in silence, waiting for one that looks right. The sun is a pale white disk behind thick clouds, trying in vain to break through. Picking up ribbons of kelp as it races our way, the steely water gathers height ahead of us.
I hear Kai’s voice to my right. “Go!”
I paddle fast toward the incoming wave, position myself for the pop-up, and remain upright for a few seconds before slipping off into the water as it sweeps me toward the beach. But I don’t get pulled under, which is progress, I guess.
“You’re hesitating too much,” he says after riding in behind me. “Once you’re up, you have to commit. Try it again.” He reaches out a hand to help me up, but I ignore it and push myself out of the surf.
I try it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
After an hour or so, I’m starting to feel rubbery-armed and tired, but I have at least managed a few respectable rides. I’m getting better at reading how a wave is going to break and at coordinating my body with the movement of the board. At falling without nearly killing myself.
Kai hasn’t yet cracked a smile, but when we are done, he says, “Nice surfing today. You won’t need me much longer.”
I know he means this as a compliment, but I almost feel offended. Disappointed, for sure. Who am I going to surf with if I don’t surf with Kai? I can’t imagine paddling out there with anyone else.
“Well, you still have to show me how to do a three-sixty,” I say, recalling how he’d launched himself off the waves a few weeks back.
He nods. “Yeah . . . the three-sixty. I don’t know if I can really teach you that. You just have to feel it.”
“I have to feel it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Is this some kind of surfer Buddha bullshit or something?”
“What? No.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks out at the ocean. Why is he being so weird and evasive today? Maybe he’s just pissed about the shitty weather.
The wind is picking up and the waves are getting wilder and more powerful, pounding hard against the shore. Thump. Roar. Thump. Roar. Most of the surfers who had been out there with us are starting to come in. Thump. Roar. And suddenly, I feel compelled to go back out. Alone. To prove that I don’t need him to surf with me. That I can do it by myself. Because eventually I will have to.
I fasten the collar of my wetsuit. Pick up my board.
“I think I’m going to go back out,” I say.
“Now?”
“It’s okay, you don’t need to come with me.” I shoot Kai what I hope is a supremely confident look. “Our hour is done. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Chloe . . . don’t. It’s not safe.”
“There are still people out there.” I point to the few still bobbing in the water beyond the impact zone.
“Yeah, well, they are either really experienced with big waves or really stupid. We’ll find out which soon enough.”
But I barely hear what he’s saying because I’m already stalking toward the surf. I can do this. I just need to get past the area where the breaking waves could break one of my bones. The wind whips across my face and nearly knocks me sideways when a gust catches on my board. I think I hear a fragment of Kai’s voice, my name, but it’s hard to tell. The roaring water and wind drown out every other sound. Thump. Roar. Thump. Roar. Thump. Roar.
I start paddling my way out into the surf, and within seconds a wave crashes right on top of me and slams me like a rag doll toward the ocean floor. But instead of getting scared, I get mad. You think you can take me, Pacific? Not today! And
then I talk myself through it: Don’t panic. Stay calm. Hold your breath. Don’t swallow any water.
Another wave washes over while I’m still under. I open my eyes and see nothing but murk, kelp, and swirling sand. I don’t see anything else. No people. No places that I do not recognize. Nothing that’s not supposed to be here. Which is comforting, despite the fact that I could very well drown.
When I finally surface, gasping, I see another wave barreling toward me, but this time I keep my head. I push my board back down into the water and duck-dive under before it hits me. I surface, breathe, dive again. And again.
And then I’m out of the impact zone, although still working hard to stay with my board even in the calmer waters beyond the chaos. Two other surfers are out here waiting for the next set. They both shoot me an annoyed look. Like I’ve broken some secret surfer code of conduct or something. The words “You don’t belong here” might as well be written on their foreheads. I ignore them.
A huge wave steamrolls toward us and before either of them can tell me it’s theirs, I propel myself in front of it, popping up when it rises and starts to break. And then I’m flying sideways across the wave as it curls overhead, encircling me in a whirling liquid tunnel.
Inside the barrel, it is strangely quiet. Otherworldly. And so fantastically beautiful, it’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen. I am air and water. I am the emerald eye of a hurricane. I am spinning through the center of everything.
I make it halfway across the wave before losing my balance and dropping into the churning surf, where I am tumbled again like a sock on maximum spin. There is nothing to do about it but hold my breath and wait until I feel the water recede enough that I can surface and breathe. When I do, I bodysurf into the shoreline, and then — almost too tired to stand — I drag my board by its leash out of the water and collapse in the sand to catch my breath.
Mother Nature does not mess around. I feel like I just went a few rounds in a boxing ring with someone much bigger and heavier than me. But that ride in the barrel was worth it. Even though it was only seconds, it seemed like I’d traveled through time.
I’m still breathing hard when I make my way back to Kai, who is standing right where I left him. And he looks really, really pissed.
“Jesus, Chloe. That was so stupid. Stupid and dangerous. You could have broken your neck. I could have broken my neck if you’d needed help. People drown in water like that.”
“But I didn’t,” I say. “I’m fine.”
Though now I am embarrassed that he even had to consider paddling out to rescue me. That would have been humiliating.
“Only because you were lucky.”
There’s that word again. Lucky.
I sit and watch the other two surfers still wrestling with the waves. Kai remains standing for a minute or two, quiet. Then he sits next me.
“People think surfing is all about being fearless,” he says. “But sometimes a little fear, or at least a little respect for what you’re dealing with, is a good thing. Especially here, where conditions are less than ideal most of the time.”
And that’s what I’m considering as I study the pounding surf. Being out there should have been terrifying. But I wasn’t afraid. At all. In fact, the more it seemed like I could possibly get killed, the more I liked it.
“You’re right,” I admit. “It was stupid. But . . . I wanted to keep going anyway. I don’t know why, I just did.”
I can tell from the look on Kai’s face that he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“I’m not going to lie. I’ve felt like that more than a few times, and not just surfing,” he says. “And that’s why I have a pin in my leg. And a pretty ugly scar on my back.”
Bet I can beat you in the scar department, I think.
“What happened?” I ask.
“The leg . . . is a long story. I cut my back getting slammed into a coral reef. Thirty-six stitches.”
“In Hawaii?” I ask.
“Australia,” Kai answers.
“I thought you grew up in Hawaii.”
“We traveled around a lot when I was a kid.”
“How come?” I ask.
“My dad competed.”
“He’s a competitive surfer?”
“Yes. Was. Not really anymore.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s cool.”
He shrugs. “It was cool for him. My mom and me, not so much. She kind of lost patience with the nomad life.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
He shakes his head. “They were never married to begin with. But they split up when I was, like, eight? Or maybe I was ten. They were on and off for a while. It’s funny, though. She used to be a kick-ass surfer too. That’s how they met. Sometimes I wonder if she would have . . .” He trails off and points as something catches his eye out in the surf. “Check it out.”
One of the guys I ran into has caught a big wave. I watch him drag his hand across the wall of water as he rides it, his board spraying a trail of white in its wake.
“He’s good,” Kai says. Then he turns his eyes to me, making me feel like I can’t look directly at them and like I can’t look away all at the same time. “You were looking pretty good out there too. Aside from almost breaking your neck, I mean.”
The air is charged again. Electric.
“Thanks,” I say.
We’re both quiet for minute, but my heart is thumping so hard that I’m sure he’s able to hear it.
“So what’s your plan for the fall?” he asks at the exact same moment that I say, “So what happened with your leg?”
“It’s a long story,” he says again while I repeat his question, “My plan for the fall?”
“You go,” I say.
“I was just asking what your plans are after the summer. That’s when it actually gets more surfable out here. Better weather.”
“Well,” I start, wondering how much of my whole, complicated story I should get into. “I’m supposed to be going to college, but I’m probably deferring until the spring. Or maybe even next fall,” I say.
He nods. “It’s a lot of money.”
“No, it’s not the money. My parents have been saving since I was a baby. But that’s the thing. I feel like heading off to college is just what I’m supposed to do. Like nobody ever thought that I’d even consider anything different.”
“Your parents are going to pay your tuition and you’re not sure if you’re even going to go?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Spoiled much?”
I can feel my face heating up. “Wow, Kai. Tell me what you really think.”
He doesn’t even know the half of it. It’s not just that my parents have been saving money to send me to college since I was in diapers. In a way, someone died so I could go. Someone who maybe even had kids of her own.
Wow. I hadn’t even considered that until right now. My thoughts are pulling me in so many directions at once that it’s making me seasick. Sarah Harris. College. Kai.
He looks at me again, bringing me back to the present moment.
“I didn’t mean that. I’m just kind of jealous, I guess. I think I’m probably going to be paying off loans for the rest of my life after the next four years. Maybe your parents can adopt me.”
I raise my eyebrows. So he’s off to college too. Just like everyone else.
“Where are you going to school?” I ask.
“Cal, but also not till the spring. I’m trying to save a little more money first. Hence the surf lessons. I don’t really want your parents to adopt me,” he adds, smiling. “That would be weird.”
Cal. As soon as I hear it, an acrobatic hummingbird takes flight inside my chest. One of the acceptances waiting on my desk is from the University of California, Berkeley.
“Oh, yeah? I’ve been accepted there too. Well, Cal and a few others. I’m also considering Columbia.”
“New York, huh?” Is that a note of disappointment I detect? “I hear there are a few decent places to surf on Long Island
.”
“I guess,” I say. “I honestly hadn’t been thinking about the surfing.”
“Me neither,” he says. “Otherwise I’d be headed to Southern California. But Cal has the program that I want.”
Interesting. Kai does have a life separate from surfing. I wonder what he was like in school. He must have had straight As if he’s going to Cal. Was he popular? A loner? I wonder what he’s like when he’s not here, near the ocean. It’s hard to picture. Does he have brothers and sisters? Is he a dog person or a cat person?
Before I can ask another question, he stands up. His eyes are on the two guys emerging from the water. The ones who were out in the waves with me earlier. He picks up his board.
“Maybe we should go before those two come up here to kick our asses. You definitely snaked their wave. I mean, I know you could probably take them and everything, but I’d rather not get mixed up in your living-life-on-the-edge shenanigans.”
Kai, using the word shenanigans. I think this makes me like him even more.
I roll my eyes. “All right. Enough. Now you’re just trying to make me feel stupid.”
He smiles, with the dimples, and holds out his hand to help me up.
This time, I take it.
When I go to strip off my wetsuit in the parking lot bathroom, it feels like it’s pinned to the back of my right shoulder. I turn around to look in the mirror, and see something sticking out of a small slit in the neoprene. I reach back to touch it. It’s sharp, like a tooth.
There’s no one in here to help, so I pinch the thing between my fingers and pull, hard, until it releases. It’s a broken piece of shell that must have been hammered into my shoulder when I went down with that last wave. In my hand, I examine the bright red drops of blood clinging to the jagged edge. My blood. Or is it our blood? White cells. Red cells. Cellular memory. Is this girl who is not afraid to get thumped by huge waves and stabbed by shells really me? Because the thing is, when I’m out there, it certainly feels like me. Maybe even more so than the person I was before.
Everything I Thought I Knew Page 12
