Page 66 of Below the Barrel

Griffin laughs, not caring in the least about the water dripping from her. “You’re drenched, sunshine,” he teases, but pulls her closer anyway.

I look away, giving them their moment, but the second I do, my eyes lock with Maliah’s. She’s standing at the edge of the boat, water glistening on her skin, but her gaze is fixed on the ring box in my hand. Her expression unreadable.

Before she can say anything—or before I can explain—I stuff the box into my pocket and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes as if that would hide everything. My chest tightens, and the weight of everything presses down on me, but I can still feel her eyes watching me.

I keep my eyes shut, pretending it doesn’t matter. But deep down, I know it matters more than anything.

It’s beena few days since the dolphin safari, and today is competition day at Supertubos. Maliah and Griffin spent the last few days practicing the waves together and giving each other pointers on how to handle them the best. I’m confident they’ll be able to pull it off today. The sky is clear and the conditions couldn’t be more perfect—solid sets rolling in, forming those signature Supertubos barrels that swallow surfers whole before spitting them back out.

Eliana is on the beach next to me, holding her phone steady as she captures content for the team’s social pages. She’s already snapped about a million pictures of Griffin, but now her focus is on Maliah. Every so often, she glances down at the screen, switching between video and camera mode, determined to get the best shots.

“Look at them go,” Eliana says, grinning and zooming in as Maliah carves through the face of a wave.

I lean forward, my eyes glued to the water. Maliah’s form is clean, confident. She paddles with power, and the second she catches another wave, she’s up and slicing across the surface. Her movements are fluid, each turn precise. She crouches low, tucking herself into a barrel, disappearing into the tunnel of water for a few seconds before the wave spits her out clean, leaving a spray of whitewater in her wake.

Griffin’s right behind her on the next wave, making it look effortless. His timing is perfect, just like I’ve seen him do a hundred times. He leans into the wave with a kind of fearlessness that only someone who’s conquered pain like hiscould pull off. He’s a damn powerhouse, accelerating as the wave curls over him, his body low and in control as he threads through the pocket.

“They’re killing it,” Eliana says, clearly proud.

It should be me out there with her. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. Maliah deserves this moment, and I’m not going to ruin it with my own frustrations. My eyes follow Maliah as they both begin their return to the shore, and I almost don’t notice the medic that approaches me just as she paddles in, her hair dripping wet and her face glowing from the adrenaline rush.

“Koa,” the medic says, “let’s take a look at your leg.”

I glance over at Maliah, who’s watching me with concern. She drops her board in the sand next to Eliana before walking over to join me as we head toward the medic tent. She’s quieter than usual, her smile from the competition quickly fading into something else.

Once we’re in the tent, the medic gets to work, carefully unwrapping the bandage around my leg. The relief of air hitting the skin is immediate, but the sight beneath the wrappings isn’t pretty. Most of the smaller cuts have closed, leaving behind pink, puffy lines where they once bled. The deeper ones, the ones that had been stitched still cling to scabs. The stitches have dissolved, but the skin’s fragile, healing over slowly.

“Looks like you’re healing well,” the medic says, inspecting my leg. “No more wrapping it. Just make sure to wash it carefully. Watch those scabs, though. If any of them open up, you’re risking infection.”

I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. Maliah stands off to the side, her arms crossed as she watches, still not saying much. There’s tension between us I can’t shake. Ever since the injury, things have felt off. She’s been distant, quieter than normal. I can’t help but wonder if she’s mad at me—if she blames me foralmost screwing everything up. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Itismy fault.

The medic finishes up, gives me a pat on the shoulder, and lets us go. Outside the tent, Griffin and Eliana are waiting, both of them grinning.

“Dinner tonight,” Griffin says, clapping me on the back. “It’s our last night before we fly out tomorrow, so let’s do something nice. I know a spot.”

I glance at Maliah, who forces a small smile, but she doesn’t say much. I agree to dinner, hoping it’ll give us a chance to talk, to work through whatever this tension is between us.

The restaurant Griffinpicked is a small, cozy place tucked away in the heart of Peniche. The kind of spot that feels like a hidden gem, with candlelight on every table and the faint sound of Portuguese music playing in the background. We’re seated at a booth near the back, away from most of the other diners.

Eliana and Griffin are chatting away, trading stories about the new Shredder Youth Team that Griffin’s been coaching. Maliah, on the other hand, is barely speaking. Every time I try to bring her into the conversation, she diverts it right back to Griffin or Eliana, as if she’s actively avoiding talking to me.

As I sit there, watching her laugh at something Griffin says, I force myself to push the thoughts aside, but I can’t help but feel like I’m losing her, little by little. And I have no idea how to stop it.

The food arrives and despite my anxiousness toward Maliah’s behaviour today, my mouth begins to water. Bakedsalted cod, and roasted mini potatoes sits on my plate but it smells so good that my stomach growls loudly.

“Hungry?” Eliana teases, cutting into the grilled chicken on her plate.

“Starving,” I reply, digging in without a second thought.

When we finally get back to the house, Griffin and Eliana head straight to their room, calling it a night after the long day. It’s just me and Maliah now, alone in the quiet living room. I’ve been waiting for this moment all night. For the chance to talk to her and figure out what’s going on.

Maliah walks over to the couch and sits down, staring out the window at the dark ocean. I take a deep breath and sit next to her. “We need to talk,” I say quietly, trying to ease into it.

She doesn’t look at me. “About what?”

“About Teahupo’o. About us. You’ve been different ever since the accident.”

Her body stiffens at the mention of Teahupo’o, and she finally turns to face me, her blue eyes blazing with frustration. “It’s my fault, Koa! I messed up the wave! If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have gone out there and got yourself hurt. I cost us points, and you tried to fix my mistake. It’s my fault you’re hurt.”

---