The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James

by Ashley Herring Blake

  “Yeah, me too,” I say, and then, because I’m thinking about the kind of clothes I want to get, Quinn pops back into my head. I pretty much love everything Quinn wears. I want the same kind of cute and snug printed tees. Also a bikini, preferably bright blue with suns all over it. And a pair of black shorts. Also some dark skinny jeans. All mine are too loose.

  “Just don’t get any tattoos while you’re out,” Kate says.

  “I don’t know. I kind of want a big old sun on my bicep.”

  She laughs and puts her arm around my shoulders, running her hand down my hair. I lean into her and smell her familiar smell—books and clean wax from the candles she loves to burn at night.

  “You like her,” she says.

  My heart jumps into my throat. “Who?”

  “Lena.”

  I relax a little but pull away so I can frown at her. “Am I not supposed to?”

  “No, sweetie, of course you are. It’s just…”

  But she trails off, her eyes all distant and glazy-looking as she holds me tighter.

  Lena and I have been surfing three times this past week. I can stand now and everything. But whenever Lena comes to the house to pick me up, Kate gets all weird. She always lets me go, but she grills Lena for at least ten minutes, asking a bunch of questions about how deep in the ocean we go and how far Lena lets me get from her and when we take breaks and how much water I’m drinking. I’m amazed she doesn’t ask Lena to write down every time I take a deep breath.

  Now, I can see all the wheels turning in Kate’s brain, all the worries. Before I can beg her to chill out, Lena’s truck bounces up the driveway, the horn honking happily.

  “Hey, you two!” Lena says as she slides out of the driver’s seat. “Ready for some serious shopping?”

  Kate’s arm drops from my side as I leap to my feet. “So ready.” And I so am. I’m so, so tired of all the drab stuff in my closet. Old Life Sunny stuff.

  “First, I have a surprise for you,” Lena says, grinning.

  “What is it?”

  She waves me to the back of her truck and I bound off the porch.

  “Sunny, it’s raining,” Kate calls behind me.

  “I won’t melt!” I singsong, and keep running. Kate makes an annoyed noise, but she follows me, and we meet Lena at the truck bed just as she’s pulling down the tailgate. The rain is barely anything, the kind of drizzle that Dave likes to call spit-rain.

  “Ta-da!” Lena sings, flourishing her hands.

  And, um, yes, ta-da indeed. Because there, lying on the worn bed of her truck, is a gorgeous, shiny, sparkling, bright blue surfboard.

  With a gorgeous, shiny, sparkling, bright yellow sun right in the middle.

  My mouth drops open. “Is… is that for me?”

  “Wait, there’s more,” Lena says. She disappears for a second and opens the back passenger door. I hear the rustle of a bag and when she reappears, she’s holding a short-sleeved black rash guard, just like hers. Except this one has a yellow sun on the chest. It matches the one on the surfboard.

  “I love it,” I whisper, reaching out to touch the smooth fabric, rain already beading up on the surface. “Is all this really mine?”

  “Completely and totally yours.”

  Kate clears her throat. She’s got her arms folded and she’s staring at the board like she expects it to sprout wings and fly away.

  “I mean, if it’s okay with Kate,” Lena says.

  Kate doesn’t say anything. She reaches out a finger and runs it over the edge of the shiny board. “What was wrong with the board she was using?”

  Lena’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Well, it wasn’t hers. I rented it and Sunny seemed to like surfing so much. A surfer needs a board all her own.”

  Kate nods, real quick and tight and over and over again, just like she did when Dr. Ahmed first told us I was sick. Nod-nod-nod-nod-nod-nod.

  “I can keep it, right?” I ask Kate, because wow, this board is so pretty. Kate seems upset, but I have no idea why. It’s just a surfboard and I want it so, so bad. I can already feel the waxy surface under my bare feet, see the ocean water moving over that bright sun as I rise up to ride my first wave.

  “Kate?” Lena asks when Kate just keeps staring at the board. Kate startles and smiles at me.

  “Of course you can keep it, honey,” she says. Nod-nod-nod-nod-nod-nod.

  I squeal and throw my arms around Lena’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Lena laughs and squeezes me tight. “You’re so welcome.”

  “When can I try it out? Right now? Please say right now. I’m ready to catch a real wave, you know I am.”

  Last time we were out, we were in the shallows, where the waves are running toward the shore, and Lena started showing me how to catch smaller waves. I had to stay on my stomach until I got the hang of it, but I still had to get the board positioned and learn to read when a wave was starting to break.

  Lena starts to answer, but Kate cuts her off. “No way. It’s wet and stormy.”

  “It’s wet, not stormy,” I say. “And the ocean is already wet.”

  “The water is choppy. You can see it from here.” Kate waves her hand toward the gray sea to our left. There are some definite whitecaps out there, ribbons of water turned inside out by the wind, but so what?

  “Surfers need to learn to surf in all conditions,” Lena says. “It’s a safety issue. Weather can change quickly on the sea.”

  “Safety?” Kate says. “Safe would be not going out at all.”

  “You can’t swaddle her in bubble wrap forever, Katie.”

  Kate’s jaw clenches. “Lena.”

  “She’ll be fine. She’ll be with me and I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  “Surfers die all the time.”

  “Yes. Inexperienced surfers.”

  “That’s not true. Professionals get hurt just the same.”

  “What, did you Google it?” Lena asks.

  “Maybe I did. I’m Sunny’s guardian. I’m legally responsible for her.”

  Lena stares at her and Kate stares back and my chest starts to hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” Lena finally says, real soft and low. “I don’t mean to overstep, I just—”

  “You promised Sunny shopping. We can talk about this later,” Kate says. Then she pulls me into a hug, her T-shirt good and damp now, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Bye, sweetie. Be sure to get some winter shirts today, okay?”

  “Um. Yeah. Okay,” I squeeze out through a tight throat.

  Kate doesn’t say bye to Lena. Lena doesn’t say bye to her either, but watches Kate flip the hood of her raincoat up and get on her sunshine-yellow beach bike, the one she always rides into town, and pedal away. Even after Kate’s long gone, Lena just keeps staring off down the road, her fists balling up and releasing, balling up and releasing.

  “Lena?”

  She doesn’t answer at first, but finally she nods once, takes a deep breath, and looks at me. “Ready to try out your new board, Sunshine?”

  CHAPTER

  21

  After Lena and I duck into the house to change into our bathing suits—and my new rash guard—we head straight to East Beach. We don’t talk much on the way there. The rain sprinkles the windshield, but barely, and I can’t decide if the knot in my stomach is excitement or terror. Probably a little bit of both. This will be the second time I’ve lied to Kate about where I was—the first being the boat that resulted in the Sam Blanchard Debacle—but I didn’t get hurt and Sam’s fine. So it all ended up okay.

  “Kate always was a worrier,” Lena says, like she can read my mind. Or, more likely, we’re both stewing over the same thing.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. She wouldn’t even let me go swimming at the pool when I was sick. In fifth grade, right after I got diagnosed but was still going to school, she wouldn’t let me go on this field trip to a farm in Calder Heights.”

  “Those baby goats can be really dangerous.”


  I snort-laugh. “She thinks so.”

  “She’s just looking out for you. I know that.”

  “Yeah, but how about letting a girl go play miniature golf every now and then?”

  “She wouldn’t let you play miniature golf?”

  I shake my head. “Last year, Margot invited me to go with her and her mom. Kate said nope.” I don’t mention that I had passed out four times that same week. I also don’t say that Kate had called Dr. Ahmed to ask about miniature golf and Dr. Ahmed was the one who said no. Details shmeetails.

  “I guess tiny windmills and bright orange golf balls are pretty risky,” Lena says.

  “Ha ha.”

  She grins at me and then her face goes all serious. “I get where she’s coming from. I do. But I meant what I said before. Surfing in this kind of weather is important. Not only to understand what the ocean is like, but to understand what you’re capable of. You need to have confidence to surf, or you really will get hurt. I wouldn’t take you out if I didn’t think I could keep you safe. This’ll be good for you, trust me.”

  I look at her, her eyes focused on the road. The same eyes as mine. “I do trust you.”

  She reaches over the middle console and slips her hand under my palm, squeezing tight. I look down at our hands and it feels like there’s a hummingbird fluttering around in my chest. A really, really happy hummingbird.

  I’m holding my mom’s hand. First time ever. Or, at least, the first time I remember. The rain plinks even harder on the windows and I’m holding hands with my mom, like it’s any other day, like we do this all the time. I smile and peer closer at our fingers. We both have freckles here and there, tiny dots like constellations making shapes on our skin.

  Eventually, Lena pulls her hand free—but not before she squeezes mine one more time—and turns into East Beach’s totally empty gravel lot.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, shutting off the truck and stuffing the keys into her bag.

  “I was born ready,” I say. “Or actually, reborn ready.”

  She lifts a brow at me.

  “Sorry, heart transplant joke,” I say, which only makes her frown. “I’m fine. I’m ready.” Then I throw open the door before she can start to doubt her decision to take me surfing.

  She must not have a whole lot of doubts anyway, because she meets me at the back of the truck, and soon we’re running toward the sea with our boards tucked under our arms. Mine’s smaller than hers, but it’s heavy, which helps keep beginners from getting tossed around in the waves like a rag doll. I’m pretty winded when we reach the water.

  “I’ve already waxed up your board, so we’re all set,” she says. She has to yell a little over the wind, and I finally take a good look at the ocean.

  It looks mad.

  Like, really mad.

  It’s churning and spitting and there are whitecaps all over the place. A little deeper out, there are some pretty big swells, which means good surfing.

  It also means my stomach is churning and spitting just like the sea.

  “You okay?” Lena asks, stepping closer to me.

  I nod. At least I think I do. I’m too busy staring at the water, which looks like it kind of wants to eat me, to know what I’m really doing.

  “Hey,” Lena says. She takes my chin in her hand, which forces me to look at her. “You don’t have to do this. We can go change in the truck and go shopping instead. You say the word.”

  I nod again and for a second, I think I’m going to turn tail and run. I don’t want to die, after all, and Kate spent a ton of money on all my medical bills making sure I didn’t. Someone gave me their heart so I wouldn’t.

  But.

  I still can’t run more than half a mile without wheezing. I can’t hang out with Lena without making Kate all worried. I can’t forget about what Margot did. I can’t find a boy I like. Even if I did, I probably couldn’t kiss him without causing him some kind of bodily harm. And I really can’t figure out what to say to Quinn next time I see her.

  But I can do this, right?

  I can dive into the ocean and find the perfect wave, a wave meant just for me, and I can stand up on my very own surfboard and ride that wave until I hit the shore.

  I can do it.

  “I can do it,” I say, this time out loud.

  Lena tucks a piece of already-wet hair behind my ears. “You can do it.”

  I plunge into the water. It’s dark gray and the rain is still falling—not too hard, but hard enough that I have to wipe my eyes—and start paddling out to the deeps.

  Lena lets me go. She doesn’t call me back. But she’s right behind me, I know that, and that makes me even more determined to do this. I only want Lena to know this Sunny, the brave one with a strong heart and steady feet.

  We go deep, but not so deep that the waves have evened out. It’s wild out here and the swells bop me all over the place. It’s like a roller coaster—not that Kate’s ever let me on one, but this is what I imagine it might be like—and I fall off my board a couple of times.

  “That’s part of it,” Lena says when I climb back on and straddle my board. “Just watch for that bit of white at the top of the wave. You’ll know when you see the right one.”

  I nod but don’t say anything. My heart is pounding. I think I’m shaking, but I can’t tell if I’m cold or nervous or having some sort of heart episode, or what. I keep my eyes on the waves, though. The way they’re breaking, the roll of the water as it pushes toward me.

  Then I see it.

  Hi, I whisper to the water, and I know it hears me. The wave is perfect—not too big, but big enough to scare the pants off me if I was wearing any.

  I shift my weight back and use my arms and legs to angle my board toward the beach.

  “Okay, you’ve got this,” Lena says.

  I’m too busy trying not to scream to answer.

  I grip the sides of the board and slide my legs back so that I’m lying down on my board. Then I start paddling. I paddle, paddle, paddle, waiting for that perfect wave to pick me up.

  Then I feel it behind me. A gentle lift. I paddle harder, angling down the wave instead of heading straight toward shore, just like Lena taught me. I look over my shoulder, hoping the wave hasn’t broken yet. There’s a sharp edge at its top, like it’s just about to topple.

  “Now, now!” Lena yells.

  I stop paddling and jump up, sliding my feet onto the stringer and doing a push-up. I wobble big-time, but I stay crouched and by some miracle I don’t fall off. The rain splatters in my face and the wave feels huge. Like I’m on top of a skyscraper, the world nothing but tiny ants below.

  I laugh and I think I might be crying, because oh my god, I’m surfing. I stay low, my body like a comma, and try to control the board with my leg muscles, moving it through the wave. It doesn’t move all that much. I’m about as strong as a baby mouse. Still, I’m on my feet. I’m teetering like a slowly spinning top, but I’m on my feet.

  It’s amazing. I’m a surfer. I surf.

  The wind combs salty fingers through my hair and the sea splashes over my legs, on my arms and face. I careen toward the shore. My balance lurches and I duck a little lower, evening out my weight. I never want to get off this board. I want to bend down and run my fingers through the water like I’ve seen super-cool surfers do on videos. I want all the people on the beach—well, the people who would be on the beach on a clear day—to watch me and oooh and aaah because I’m amazing.

  Sunny St. James—the heart transplantee turned professional surfer.

  I can’t believe I get to do this.

  I tap my hand to my heart, giving it a little high five. I sway on the board even more when I do it, but it’s worth it. Because finally, finally, my heart is doing something right.

  The shore looms ahead through a gauzy gray curtain of rain. I’m almost there, almost there—

  The world flips upside down as my board flies out from under me. My back hits the sea with a stinging smack. I flail my
arms and legs to get my head above the water, but I can’t find the surface. It’s like I’m a tennis ball and the ocean is the racket, volleying me back and forth, back and forth.

  My board is still tied to my ankle and I yank it toward me. I reach out and finally feel an edge, but it’s too thick and slippery to grab on to. I kick my feet as hard as I can, trying to go up. Something sharp scrapes down my forearm. It hurts like fire, but I keep kicking. The sky has to be there somewhere. I’m not going down like this.

  Finally, I see some light. It’s gray and blurry, but it’s there, right below me. Which means I’m upside down. I flip myself around and kick and just when heaving a lungful of salt water starts to sound like heaven, my head breaks the surface.

  I gulp at the air. Gulp and gasp and chew and lick and anything I can possibly do to get oxygen in my body faster.

  “Sunny!”

  Lena’s voice isn’t far. She’s swimming frantically through the water. I put my feet down, my toes barely scraping the sandy bottom.

  “Are you okay?” Lena yells.

  I nod, feasting on air, and look around for my board. It’s floating about ten feet behind me, innocent as can be, still leashed to my ankle.

  Lena reaches me, her own board trailing behind her like a puppy, and scoops me up. Literally, she picks me up under my armpits and devours my face with her eyes.

  “Did you hit your head?” she asks. “Did you?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but I guess I’m not fast enough because she barks the question again.

  “Sunny, did you hit your head or not?”

  “No. No, I’m fine. I just got turned around underwater.”

  She nods, but she’s still holding me, breathing heavy. I’m breathing heavy. The whole world is breathing heavy.