Page 6 of Catch a Wave

Bodhi’s face scrunches slightly.

“Costa Rica,” I clarify. “That’s where I’ve been living. It’s like a surfer commune down there. It used to be more sleepy. Now it’s growing. There are some mid-level consistent breaks and some more gnarly points. Have you been?”

I forget my walls too easily around Bodhi. It’s been that way since the first day I laid eyes on him. He’s got me opening up, relaxing back into the sofa, sharing my thoughts. And all he did was answer the door, grab my bag, and offer me a drink.

KALAINE

(THE FIRST DAY I SAW HIM …)

I knew the second I met you

that there was something about you I needed.

Turns out it wasn’t something about you at all.

It was just you.

~ Jamie McGuire

“Who isthat?” I ask my best friend, Leilani.

My eyes catch on a boy I’ve never seen before. He’s standing at the tailgate of a pickup truck on the other side of the parking lot. The energy in the air is electric. It’s January, overcast, and the conditions are just right for a big break here. Surfers line the lot at the backs and sides of vehicles, all in various stages of dress and undress, towels wrapped around their waists to provide a modicum of privacy while they don wetsuits and prep to go into the water at its peak. When Mavericks breaks, you get a twenty-four-hour notice, thirty-six if you’re lucky. People charter planes, grab bargain flights, take six-hour road trips—whatever it takes to get here and be a part of this moment.

The guy at the back of the truck looks familiar, but so do so many of the dudes out here on the cliffs of this northernCalifornia surf break. Half of them have been on the pro circuit for a while. Many of them have sponsorships. I would remember that face, though. No way I’d forget a guy who looked likethat. His messy waves fall just above his shoulders in such a stereotypical surfer style it should look contrived. Instead, he looks like he invented surfing—and invented sexiness while he was at it.

Leilani follows my gaze and a slow smile spreads across her face. “Oh that guy? He’s Bodhi Merrick. I think Kai knows him pretty well. He’s officially competing as a pro now. All the surf blogs have been following him as he’s been training for big waves. I think he got a Red Bull sponsorship too.”

“Hmmm.” I hum, trying to feign disinterest.

I cradle my tumbler of coffee in both hands, taking a sip to stave off the chill of the mist in the air.

Leilani laughs. “You’re so transparent. Don’t even pretend you don’t want to just run over there and write your digits on his palm in Sharpie.”

I laugh back. “I’ve got more class than that. I was going to use a tattoo gun.”

She bursts into giggles. “That’s what I’m saying. A guy like him would need it tattooed too. Otherwise, he’d be on to next week’s girl and forget you as soon as you walked away.”

“You think?”

“Look at him. He’s hot and he knows it. He’s young, in top shape, getting attention from companies and judges. He’s at the top of his game. No guy like that is looking to put a ring on it.”

“I’mnot looking to put a ring on it. Sheesh. Settle down. I just noticed him.”

“Who didn’t?” Leilani looks around and I follow her gaze. More than a few other girls are staring at Bodhi.

Some of them are wahine—female surfers. Most of them are just honeys—girls dating one of the surfers, or hoping to.Nothing wrong with that. When and if I ever date a man, he’d better love the ocean. I can’t imagine dating a kook. I live to surf.

My eyes drift back across the cliffs to the spot where Bodhi is tugging the zipper pull up the back of his wetsuit. He bends down to wax his board and on the way, he catches me staring. I look around like I’m busy doing who knows what, and then my gaze drifts back to him. I glance at him through my lashes. At this angle, half of my hair covers my face. At least my Hawaiian heritage is good for something. My crazy-thick hair feels like a curtain right now. But he sees through it. I can tell by the smile that curls his lips into a lopsided grin. He’s smiling right at me, and I can’t help but feel like I’m lit up from the inside.

My brother walks over to where I’m standing at just this moment. Of course he does.

“Look but don’t touch, Keiki.” He calls mechild. The nickname used to be sweet, but now it’s more annoying than anything. I’m nearly twenty. But to Kai, my older brother by four years, I’m always a baby, even if I surf waves that are double overhead. I’ve never surfed this place, though.

Mavericks.

In my bones, I know I will. I can feel the call of these waters—the magnetic invitation to come take a ride. Even without seeing them in person, I sense them. Maybe it’s the challenge of taking on something so few men have, and even fewer women. I want to be one of those women—the ones who surf the giants.

I’m already training with BWRAG for safety awareness. My ohana insisted on it. If I’m shooting to ride double and triple overhead waves, I have to prepare to be safe. I agree with them, even if they make demands like the brood of wild, squawking chickens roaming around our neighborhood on Oahu.

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