Justin’s friend Caleb, a tall, lanky guy with white-blond hair, starts talking about their next surfing excursion. “We’re hitting La Jolla Shores tomorrow,” Caleb informs me, his green eyes dancing.
Justin nudges my arm. “One of the best beaches ever. Have you checked out any beaches yet, Livi?”
I shake my head no.
“How about coming with us? The surfing’s going to be awesome.”
I hesitate, squinting at Justin. My first impulse is to say no; I don’t like taking risks, and surfing looks dangerous. But then again, Justin’s kind of asking me out … and he’s probably not the type of guy to ask twice. Plus, I love the beach.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never surfed before.”
“Come on,” Justin says. He glances at my physique, and I feel chills tingling up and down my spine. “You’re obviously in great shape. Besides, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling. Somehow, Justin makes Essie’s lame-o cliché sound much more appealing.
***
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter, wriggling into my rented wetsuit the next day. It’s slithery and damp against my skin, and I shudder as I imagine who might have worn it before me. My first impulse is to run the other way, but one look at Justin and I can’t. He wears his own wetsuit, and the blue Billabong logo exactly matches his eyes.
“Thanks, man,” Justin tells the surf shop guy, who hands him an enormous surfboard. It’s at least eight feet long.
“Is that yours?’ I ask Justin.
Justin grins. “No way, Livi.” He gestures to a shorter, more colorful board propped up outside the doorway. “That one’s mine. This is yours.”
Struggling to lift the huge beginner board, I follow Justin and his friends down steep wooden stairs built into the burnished-gold cliffs. I remember how I’d loved hiking through the forests of Pennsylvania, trekking up mountains, and skipping rocks over streams. Those rolling hills will always hold my heart, but I have to admire this golden-hued ocean paradise.
“It’s high tide!” Caleb yells. He and the others run ahead, plunging fearlessly into the ocean, catching waves and balancing on their boards. They make surfing look as easy as walking.
The Pacific Ocean doesn’t seem very “pacific” now; the vicious waves have a mind of their own. Awkwardly, I follow Justin into the surf, fumbling with my board as nature’s powerful forces jostle it.
“Try this,” Justin says, guiding my hands to the back of the board, tilting it so the nose is high in the air. My emotions are a pendulum more turbulent than the ocean; I’m swinging between a warm crush-glow and fear for my own life.
“Here’s a perfect wave!” Justin yells. “Now, paddle away from it.”
I slide, tummy-first, onto my board, but I’m not fast enough. I scream as the “perfect” wave crashes in, knocking me sideways. I flip over, and rushing saltwater whisks the board out of my slippery hands.
“You almost did it!” Justin calls as I surface, scrambling after my runaway board. “Just jump up a little faster.”
Several failed attempts follow until I finally master the paddling away part. I spot a particularly monstrous wave and belly-flop onto my board, working my cupped hands furiously.
“You’ve got it!” Justin exclaims as I catch the wave. “Try standing up!”
I pull myself laboriously into a quasi-standing position, which is actually more like a tilted squat. The next instant, the roaring wave breaks violently, and I gasp as my board flips. I’m sucked underwater, and the ominous thud of the board against my skull is the last thing I hear before my world goes black.
***
“Livi! Are you okay? Talk to me.”
My eyes flutter open. I’m sprawled on my back across the sand, and Justin’s friends are congregated around me. Justin himself is bent over me, his forehead contorted into a worried frown. His full, juicy lips are mere inches from mine.
I try to talk, but my voice doesn’t cooperate. Instead, I spring into sitting position, coughing up a lungful of briny water. My drenched hair hangs in my face like seaweed. Classy.
“I’m okay,” I choke out, “but I think I’m done with surfing for today.”
Justin smiles and tucks back my hair, trailing his damp fingers down my cheek. “You did a good job.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right,” I say, giggling.
But Justin doesn’t laugh. Instead, he encircles me with his muscular arm, and his sun-streaked hair falls in his face as he fixes me with his intense, ocean-colored gaze. Right now, his eyes are so blue that they seem electrically charged. Or maybe that’s just the static between us. I’m attracted to him, as if by gravitational pull.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” I start to say, but I’m interrupted as Justin’s hot, salty lips take mine, in my first kiss ever. My brain loses track of time and place, and my body seems to melt like rich, milk chocolate in the balmy sun. My only coherent thought is Justin’s name. His friends cheer as we reluctantly separate from our ocean-flavored lip-lock.
“Any time,” Justin says. “When you’re surfing, the first time is always the hardest.”
It’s been a week of memorable firsts all around, and at this moment, I realize I’ve never felt more alive. Who would have known that a play-it-safe kind of girl would not only experience so many firsts, but actually--gasp--start to embrace them? I’m breathless with excitement as I imagine what other firsts my future in California will bring.
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A First Time for Everything Page 2
