Page 35 of Britta & the Beach Boy
There’s an ice bucket full of drinks on the table between us. I eye a Corona, but reach for a water instead.
“What’s so important it can’t wait until after the party?” I ask while twisting the cap off.
“That was a huge win today.” Marta leans back in her chair and crosses her legs.
“Thanks.”
I wait for her to say what she’s really thinking, because it’s not about surfing. She couldn’t care less about surfing. All she cares about is how I can make money from it. That’s why she’s my agent now instead of Dad. She sees the surf companies whorepresent me and other pro-surfers as the multi-billion-dollar businesses they are. Dad saw them how they wanted us to see them: as fellow surfers who are family.
It was a nice thought. Except the execs were all driving hundred-thousand-dollar cars to their vacation homes while I was camping in the back of trucks to save money while surfing at competitions sponsored by their companies or shooting promotions for their products.
“We’re going to get you more out of the win than some prize money and a trophy.” Marta doesn’t smile, and while I don’t want to talk business right now, I trust her to do exactly what she’s promised me. When my surfing career is over, I’ll have enough money to retire without worrying about anything but where I’m going next to surf for fun.
“Awesome. Do it. Let me know what you need from me.” Marta and Archie handle all the business stuff I’m not smart enough to understand.
They’ve got the education for it. I didn’t finish secondary school, so I usually excuse myself from any conversation with Marta and let Archie do the talking. Which is what I have every intention of doing as I push myself up.
Marta’s look puts me back in my seat. “I’m talking Olympics, Dex. You need to be part of this conversation.”
“Olympics?” I’ll gladly stay in my seat to talk about my chances of going to the Olympics. I might have been one of the two Australians in Tahiti six weeks ago if I hadn’t gotten injured in 2022.
Archie rests his elbows on his knees and leans toward me. “Your comeback this year has grabbed the attention of sponsors and USA Surfing.”
“USA?”
Archie nods.
“Why?”
“Your Mum’s dual citizenship, for starters, which gives you a connection to America. Besides that, you’ve lived in the States three years and have a visa, so you may already qualify as a permanent resident. And most importantly, you’ve just proven you can beat the Aussies, but they don’t want you.” Archie counts off his fingers as he lists each point, but it’s the last one that gets me.
“What do you mean, my country doesn’t want me? I’m Aussie.”
Archie holds up his hands to stop me. “Not your country, mate. The Olympic committee. You’ve been in their sights the last two Olympics, and you’ve crumbled or been injured.”
“They still got their medals with Wright and Robbo,” I mumble, but it’s not a valid defense.
I doubt I’d consider myself if I were on the committee. I crumbled before even getting close to the 2020 Olympics, and my back injury took me out of contention for the 2024 games. That alone would be enough for the committee to be skittish about considering me, but add my age plus years of bad behavior when I was younger to the equation, and Archie’s right. I wouldn’t want me either.
“The real problem is whether you’ve spent enough time in the States over the past three years that you can qualify as a permanent resident. If so, you’d only need another two years to gain citizenship.” Marta inserts, as though I’m actually thinking about surfing under any other flag but Aus’s.
“They’d hate me back home if I surfed for America, and I spend as much time traveling out of the States as I do living here.” I wag my head left and right, as much to say no as to shake the Olympic idea from my brain.
But it’s already taken seed there. Because Archie may be right. The only way to live out my dream of surfing in the Olympicsvery well could be under another country’s flag, and America is the only one I’d even consider.
Mum’s dad was American. He met my Australian Gran when she was a nurse in Vietnam and he was a doctor. They married, but her tour ended before his did. She went home to Aus, already pregnant, to wait out the last few months of his service. He was killed when the helicopter he was in was shot down by enemy fire.
Mum never knew him, but his parents made sure they were part of her life. When she was old enough, she spent a few summers in San Diego with them. And because her dad was an American, it was easy for her to get dual citizenship. But she’s never spent enough time in the States for her own kids to qualify for citizenship. Her history is my connection to America.
“You don’t have to decide today,” Marta says, but I recognize that tone. She’s going to be pushing this idea. “In the meantime, I’ve already got an immigration lawyer looking into what it will take for you to gain citizenship in time to be considered for the 2028 USA team.”
I look between Archie and Marta. Things are moving really fast. “We’re sure the Aus team won’t want me?”
“Not gonna happen, Dex. Put it out of your head. You surf for America or you don’t surf in the Olympics.” Marta’s bluntness shouldn’t surprise me, but I look to Archie to shut her down anyway.
He sucks in his lips and tilts his head to the side, likesorry, bro.“Look at the Aussies coming up behind you.”
When I drag my eyes back to Marta, she meets me with anI told youexpression.
