Page 45 of Reckless Hearts

“See, Flynn,” Jade quips, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed in annoyance. “She gets it. What’s your name again?” She turns to look at me, hitting me with that same condescending smile from before.

“It’s Alana.”

A part of me wants to tack on that she should remember my name because in two weeks I’m going to be handing her ass to her out on the water. But I hold back, not needing to make enemies with one of the biggest female surfers in the world. She’s making it really easy to dislike her, though, and it’s not just because of Flynn.

We walk over to where the kids are lined up under the tent, chatting and laughing. I remember when surfing was like this. Fun and friendly; it was a place to meet new people and chat about something we all had in common.

Now it feels like everything’s a secret, and everyone is competition, and while I know that’s partially true, it doesn’t have to be that way.

A little girl wearing an oversized Pipe Dream T-shirt comes running up to me, a marker in one hand and a magazine in the other. She’s absolutely beaming, a huge smile on her tanned and freckled face, and she stops, a toothy grin on display as she says, “Will you sign this for me?”

“Oh my god!” Jade barks out, shielding her face as if she doesn’t want people to see her. She lets out a hard sigh. “I’m even getting noticed over here.”

I turn to look at her, narrowing my eyes, and I can’t help it, the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “Your struggle is profound.” And now it’s me letting out the hard sigh. I have no idea how Flynn deals with her. She’s like a spoiled child, but she’s too old for this kind of shit.

“That’s so cute!” Jade now croons, changing her tune on a dime as she turns to look over at the little girl. “You probably want me to sign this, not her.” She laughs, but it’s completely humorless, taking on a quality that says she thinks she’s better than me.

“No, I want Alana to sign it,” the girl instantly replies, and in perfect little kid fashion, she adds on, “I don’t even know who you are.”

She holds out the marker and the magazine for me, and although Jade is pretending she doesn’t care, I watch her gaze travel over the magazine cover, taking in the picture quickly before she looks away.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask the little girl, and when she tells me, I add it along with a note of encouragement before signing my name.

Handing it back to her, I smile, telling her to have fun, and she returns the smile before running off to show her friends.

“How funny was that?” Jade says, rolling her eyes. “That kid wanted your autograph, and you’re, well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a nobody. She must have mistaken you for someone else, huh?”

Holy shit, she’s about as likable as hugging a cactus, and I’m not even sure how to respond to her. Don’t take it the wrong way? Is there any other way to take that comment? It was pretty much an intended insult, and I’m trying not to let it bother me.

But it is.

“She wanted my autograph because she does know who I am,” I state, duly irritated now.

Just because Jade doesn’t know who I am doesn’t make me a nobody. I’m a role model to these girls, and I love it. I want them to grow up and remember all the fun times we had together at the surf school and how I surfed Maui Pipe as an amateur. I want them to see it’s possible.

“And who are you?” Jade fires back, still obviously insulted that she got dissed by a six-year-old.

“I’m surfing Maui Pipe too.”

This comment pretty much knocks her on her ass, her mouth falling open in complete surprise, and I love it.

“What?” Her word comes out between clenched teeth, and it’s hard not to smile at her bothered annoyance.

How could this trashy local be in the same category as her? She just can’t wrap her head around it, but she doesn’t need to. I’m of no concern to her because she’s so wrapped up in her own world that I might as well be invisible.

“I was brought in as an amateur after I won a local comp here,” I tell her, waiting for her snide, backhanded insult that she likes to think is a compliment.

“That’s so cute,” she says, her words laced with poison, spat out, and sour.

And I swear to god, if she says “that’s so cute” or “oh my god” one more time, I’m going to punch her in the throat.

“So that’s why I don’t know you. You’re not even ranked, but that’s okay. It’s still cool that you get to give it a try, right?” Every word out of her mouth is an intentional insult designed to make me feel small.

What she doesn’t know is that my entire life has been like this, from my mother and her string of useless boyfriends to all the people who thought I’d never make it as a surfer. I will hold a grudge against this girl forever. It won’t be until I kick her ass that she will remember my name, but after that, she will never forget it. The second I hit the water at Pipe, she will be the only thing on my mind.

“Right,” I reply with a disgruntled laugh, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying what I really want to say.

“Who’s your coach?” she now asks, and I can’t even believe she’s talking to me. But it’s all so she can continue to belittle me, and I’ll play along, letting her feel like she’s winning.

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