Page 129 of Ride the Wave

‘Sorry?’ I ask, having been distracted by the cuteness of two little kids in wetsuits, following their mum, a Semifinals competitor walking down the steps with her board.

‘Fierce,’ he repeats, folding his arms and nodding. ‘Leo looks fierce today.’

I raise my eyebrows, impressed. ‘Fierce is good.’

‘Yes,’ Adriano says, a smile playing across his lips. ‘Very good.’

*

Ethan Anderson wins his heat.

It’s a major upset, knocking out one of the highest-ranking surfers in the world who was hoping for his first win at Bells Beach this year. My stomach is twisting itself into knots at the beginning of Leo’s heat as he heads out, having been quiet and focused all day. Suddenly, it all feels very real – if Leo wins this round, he wouldn’t just be facing the Bells Beach final again; he’d be facing Ethan Anderson. The organisers of the event must be beside themselves with anticipation going into this heat. Either way, this is big news: if Leo loses, they still have a former World Champion back to make his mark on the tour for one contest only. But if Leo wins? The interest in the final would surely soar to new heights. Two former champions and rivals, both here on special invitation, one last shot to win.

Fuck. This is big.

My hands are trembling, but not from the cold this time. I shove them into the front pocket of my hoodie and clasp them together, chewing on the inside of my cheek. It seems unfair that Leo’s heat is second. More time for the nerves to build. To be fair, Leo looks a lot more relaxed than I feel.

So I guess it’s a good thing he’s the one surfing and not me.

Yazid Bayu gets things started, tackling an early wave and taking his time to carve his way along it, putting in turns and grinning from ear to ear as he rides into the shallows on the end of it, blowing kisses to the adoring crowd.

I instinctively worry that his charm and style will overshadow Leo and knock his confidence, but I couldn’t be more wrong.

As soon as Leo goes for his first wave, the spectators know we’re in for a good heat. Picking up speed, he attacks the lip of the wave, the spray curving in a rainbow raining over him as he turns, his surfboard like an extension of his body. I’m in awe, baffled by how it seems glued to his feet, how he can possibly stay on when he’s moving that fast, manoeuvring so quickly, defying gravity every time he glides up the face of a wave before speeding down it. To a roar of approval from the crowd at his finish, Leo jumps off his board and comes up grinning, turning to blow a kiss back to Yazid, who bursts out laughing.

They’re playing.

They’re meant to be rivals right now, but it just doesn’t feel that way. As the heat goes on, the two of them up their game, and it feels like they’re showing off to each other. You can imagine what they’re saying out there to each other:

‘This looks like a beauty of a wave, check this out.’

‘Oh yeah? Not bad, but look what I can do!’

They look as though they’re having the time of their lives out there, as though they’ve forgotten there’s anyone watching them at all and they’re being scored on each wave. Even when they mess up, they don’t seem to mind too much.There’s always the next wave. My heart could burst at how touching it all is and once again, I find myself inspired by this sport and its community.

Scores are looking tight as we near the end of the heat, but I’m not sure anyone watching actually cares that much. We’re all having too much fun.

Then, Yazid makes a crucial mistake.

He lets a wave go and Leo takes it.

*

No one can stop him now.

That’s what I’m thinking when the points come in. The fans waiting on the sand are going wild, their cheers drowning out the commentary coming through the speakers. Leo is wading in from his final wave, his hand scooping up sea water and throwing it up in the air to rain down on his head as he cries out, ‘Come on!’ in celebration.

My hands feel numb from clapping, tears in my eyes. He’s shallow enough to start jogging in now, his surfboard tucked under one arm, his free hand raking through his wet hair that’s plastered to his forehead, and he’s looking for me. I know he is. He spots where I’m standing, waiting for him. His eyes light up, his smile widens, and my heart soars.

Dropping his board, he strides across the sand to lift me up, saying hoarsely, ‘I’m through to the Final! TheFinal!’

Then he kisses me. It’s a kiss that I will soon learn makes a great photo – water dripping off him, my hands cupping his jaw, my feet kicking in the air.

In a few minutes, it will fly around social media. It will go viral and cause Flora to phone me later when she wakes up and scream, ‘That kiss is so sexy, you almost made my water break!’ Naomi will message,You found the dream surfer! (Does he make piña coladas?)and Toni will email,I look forward to the final draft of your article, Iris, but then WhatsApp from her personal phone on the side,I fucking knew it. Let me know when you’re back and we’ll go for wine. I will glug down a large glass of Chablis while you tell me every delicious fucking detail.

But I don’t know any of that yet.

All I know now is this kiss and how happy it makes me.

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