Page 19 of Britta & the Beach Boy
But Frankie’s not, and that’s McVey’s fault.
I try to put McVey’s taunt out of my head as I jump on my board and try to catch up to Jack, who’s already paddling out. A good set is coming in, and I know he’s seen it. That’s one of his talents—reading the ocean and picking the best waves. I need to get to it before he does.
But I lose the paddle battle to him, and he gets that first wave. Usually, I’d be on the other side of it and not able to watch him, but he was so far ahead of me I have a front-row seat to his carves and the aerial that follows. I’ll have to score a seven or higher, which is not the pressure I want to feel dropping into my first wave.
Every heat is the same in that we get thirty-five minutes to surf as many waves as we can. Five judges score each ride, with ten points being the highest. The highest and lowest scores are dropped and the other three are averaged for total points for that ride. At the end of the heat, the best two scores are added together for a final score out of twenty points.
A perfect ten for a single wave has never happened in the finals. And a perfect twenty rarely happens in any event, let alone in the Worlds.
Scoring a seven or above on a first wave, like Jack just did, is an excellent position to be in. Being the guy following the one who scored that high—me—is not.
That’s what’s in my head when I drop too early into my first wave. I do exactly what Brandon dared me with his taunting to do and lose my focus. The wave collapses under me before I can do anything more than carve the face once.
That’ll be a zero score.
As soon as I’m out of the wave, I see Jack patiently studying another set of waves coming in, but he doesn’t go for any. He’ll wait for just the right wave, possibly only taking two waves total, maybe three. That’s the other thing he’s known for—patience.
That’s something I’m still working on, and I’m already under the pump because he won the first wave, so I focus on settling my nerves. I wait until I spot a good set coming in. Jack starts to go for the first wave, then turns back. He’ll wait for something better. I don’t have that luxury, so I paddle.
I’m ready to pop up on the second wave of the set when I spot something ahead of me.
A fin.
I change direction, paddle out of the wave, and sit up. I can’t put my legs on my board, but if the fin belongs to a shark—not a dolphin—I don’t want him mistaking my dangling legs for seal fins, so I hold as still as possible. I glance over my shoulder and catch Jack getting ready to paddle toward another wave. At the same time, the sound of a jet ski in the distance confirms the Safety Crew is on their way.
I wave my arms over my head to get Jack’s attention. When he sees me, I shake my head and point to the jet ski. Jack sits up quickly. If Safety is coming for us, they’ve spotted at least one shark from the shore or from the copter above us.
Jack cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “You see it?”
“Yeah!” I yell back and point to the spot where I saw the fin.
Both it and the wave are gone now, but no one takes risks when it comes to the “men in grey suits.” Tamayo Perry’s death from a shark attack in Hawaii earlier this year is still fresh in everyone’s minds. The professional surfing community is still small enough that when we lose someone, we all feel it.
Jack swears loud enough I hear it and shakes his head, visibly annoyed but fighting to stay calm. He’s no more worried aboutthe shark than I am. Every surfer deals with them, and the chance of attack is slim. We worry more about a serious injury taking us out than we do being eaten by sharks, but the World Surf League guys won’t take any chances.
Jack had a good chance of winning this heat, but it’s over now. We’ll have to wait for the all clear to get back in the water. We’re not going back out until Safety is certain the shark, or any others with it, is gone. That may mean calling off the comp for a day or two.
The interruption could be devastating for him, but could be good for me. I’ve got time to clear my head and get back in the mindset I need to win the title.
The jet ski pulls up next to me, and I scramble with my surfboard up the rescue sled to sit behind the driver. I hold the strap and scan the water for more fins while a second jet ski picks up Jack.
Water sprays my legs and face as my driver speeds back to shore. When we get close to the beach, I jump off and carry my board through the shallows to the shore. Archie is there to meet me. I sense more than see Jack behind me. I wait to talk until we get past the disappointed fans.
“Sorry, mate,” I say to Jack once we’re in the locker room and our boards are put up.
Jack drops his chin to me but stays silent.
We’ve already been on standby for four days, waiting for good waves. Now we may lose them. Staying in the mental zone it takes to win, while twiddling your thumbs on the sidelines, is excruciating.
I’m too nervous to stay put, so I peel down the top half of my wetsuit and head toward the outdoor shower. Archie follows me there, staying silent while we wait for the judges to make their official announcement about when we’ll get back in the water. Iwouldn’t be getting in the shower if I thought it was going to be soon.
What I’m most nervous about, though, is whether I’ll get a second shot or if Jack will get to take his score and advance to the next heat.
“You may have caught a lucky break,” Archie says after I turn off the shower. “I didn’t see you coming back from that first round. Your head wasn’t in it.”
I nod and tell him about McVey. Archie’s face goes dark as soon as I mention the journalist’s name and what he said about Frankie. Archie doesn’t like him anymore than I do, and for better reasons than mine. He opens his mouth, but then holds back the million insulting names probably running through his head. Instead, his eyes go to a spot over my shoulder.
“We’ve got some company.” Archie lifts his chin, and I turn to see what he’s scowling about.
