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I already have an idea as to how I can get far out enough in the water without drowning, but I’m not sure I have the guts for it.
Stalling, I crouch down and place my left hand in the water. Instantly, the wispy blue lights erupt from myhand and reach out under the water, further than I can track.
Yeah, there’s no way I’m swimming out that far. I splash my hand a bit in the water. “Here, boy,” I whisper.
Nothing happens.
Well, it was worth a shot.
My stomach curdles. I know what I need to do, and it’s making my anxiety peak.
Turning away from the water, I make my way to the Surf Shack, again careful not to get too close. I scan the small building for cameras but find none. I aim for the small, fenced-in area around the back. The fence is high – eight feet at least, but it has no barbed wire or anything jutting out from the top.
A smart person would have thought to bring something to clip the fence links.
Since I’m not a smart person, I kick off my shoes so that I can fit my socked toes into the chain link fence holes. I start to climb. The wires dig into the underside of my toes, and I hustle to get over the fence.
I try to use my hands to hold my weight as much as possible. I don’t look like a cat burglar, but I make it over the top. I let myself drop onto the other side.
Landing, I still for a breath, waiting to see if there are any alarms. When there are no death lasers, attack sharks, or blaring sounds to alert the town that I’m a dirty, rotten thief, I start looking at the boards.
It only takes me a second to realize I’m a complete idiot.
The boards are chained together. Of course, the owners wouldn’t trust a flimsy fence with thousands ofdollars of equipment on a deserted beach. Unlike me, they are not idiots.
I mentally kick myself as I feel along the chains, testing whether they are locked up tight. Tommy wasn’t very committed to Sarah; maybe he wasn’t too committed to his job, either.
It’s a long shot.
Walking down the row of chained-up boards, I start to feel discouraged until I finally find a board that isn’t chained up. On closer inspection, I can see why. It’s broken, missing a small part of its back end.
Gingerly, I feel along the broken side, hoping it isn’t broken from a shark bite. It’s only a moment later when I realize something else about the board.
This is the same board I used the other day.
I’m livid.
That two-timing, good for nothing, Tommy found the board – the board I paid for. And he didn’t make any attempt to contact me and return my money.
Well, now I have much less guilt about what I’m doing. I’m just taking back what belongs to me.
Fuelled by indignation, I lift the board and push it up the fence, reaching up as far as I can on my tippy toes to let it fall to the other side.
I’d love to say that I’ve found my groove in thieving, but of course, I’m not tall enough, so the board just falls back down and hits me in the head.
I have no career in this industry.
Chewing my lip, I settle on Plan B. I lean the surfboard up on the fence and start to climb. Once I’m at the top of the fence, I reach over and start pulling the board, lifting it to the other side.
I let it drop down into the sand and quickly follow. Assuming I don’t drown, my feet and hands will be sore tomorrow. I slip my shoes back on before dragging my not-really-stolen board back to the water.
The rain is still coming down, but I know my clothes will only weigh me down if I slip from the board and end up fully submerged in the water. And so, I strip down to my bra and underwear, leaving my clothes and shoes in a heap far from the water so that the waves won’t take them, even if the tide continues to rise.
I gasp as I touch my toes to the water. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s still frigid. A nice warm rain would help with the cold.
The rain is not warm.
Picking up my board, I try to psych myself up. I’m scared – scared of being pulled under the water again. The tug in my arm feels much stronger now.
