Page 26 of Catch a Wave

Arif tries to stifle his chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, Arif. Is that all you have to say?” Leilani teases him. “If I said I was going to blow something up, would you just say, ‘yes, ma’am’?”

Arif smiles politely again. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. Good for you, Arif. I hope you go a little crazy when you get off work. All this yes ma’amandno ma’amhas to get old after a while. Doesn’t it?”

She parrots his response with him in stereo when he answers her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Then she laughs her trademark giggle and slaps an Indonesian 20,000 rupiah in his hand. He smiles widely at her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Leilani curtseys like the goofball she is, and says, “You are welcome, sir.”

Arif backs out of our room with a bright smile. “Have a good day, ma’am. And you, ma’am. Just ring the main desk if you need anything.”

These separated cottages are on a property with one main building. That central building holds a restaurant, a bar, some ballrooms, a few conference rooms, a spa, and a fitness center.

Leilani turns to me. “It feels so decadent giving him twenty K, but not when I think of how that’s only like … five dollars? Or is it three?”

She doesn’t really want me to break down the currency exchange rates—again. I walk over to the double glass doors that take up most of one wall of our cottage room. This room is a square fishbowl. They’re not much into privacy here, I guess. The ceiling fan swirls at a low continuous oscillation, stirring thewarm, humid tropical air through the room but doing nothing to cool it down. My hair is at an all-time record-high frizz.

The twin beds are made in an identically organized fashion with a decorative swath of fabric across the footing and matching throw pillows along the wooden headboards. Three-foot-wide framed photos of surfers are tastefully centered over each bed.

Yep. We’re in Bali.

The view out our doors and across our deck has a glimpse of the ocean. The lush grounds with grassy lawns and winding pathways give way to white sand and the ocean beyond. And this time of year, April through summer, the waves are ripe for big wave surfing. Leilani and I are here with a group of hosted surfers for two whole months. No contests. No travel. Just surfers hanging out and riding waves, coaches working with us, yoga instructors leading classes on the beach, and a lot of relaxing in the local surf towns. And, of course, obligatory photo shoots for the sponsors who are floating the bill for the bulk of this getaway.

Leilani isn’t here for the surf as much as the experience. But I’m here to paddle out through the sea caves and surf the larger swells. And to sample each break along this section of the coast. And to mingle with a few great surfers I only get to see once in a while when our paths cross at competitions.

As if she can read my mind, Leilani says, “Do you think he’ll be here?”

She falls back onto the bed with a relaxed flop, her arms out like she’s about to make a snow angel.

“He?” I know who she’s thinking about. I try to play it cool even though I am the farthest thing from it.

“He … Bodhi. And you knew who I meant.”

“I don’t know. He might be.”

“I hope he is.”

“Why? Are you going to hit on him?”

“As if. That would break the girl code. He’s a cutie, but he’s not mine.”

“He’s not mine either.”

“But you want him to be. And what better time for you two to get better acquainted than us all being here for nine glorious weeks together? Surf trip romance. Am I right?”

“Hmmm.” I hum.

“Don’t you play coy with me. I know you want him. I think this is your lucky trip.”

“We’ll see. Either way … we’re in Bali!”

10

KALAINE

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