Page 101 of Summer Love

Kai nods.

“Good.”

Evan gives a thumbs-up, says nothing. He takes off on the next wave, rides it all the way in, then paddles back into position.

I settle back onto my board. The sun’s still low, raking across everything, carving long shadows on the sand. My eyes drift toward the beach.

Flip’s asleep on the sand, muzzle resting on his paws. But he’s not the one I’m watching for.

It’s Summer—just to make sure she’s not doing something stupid.

Like yesterday.

Yesterday I was more scared than the day of my accident. And that day, I watched myself die.

She was underwater. Four waves in a row. I watched her disappear, and for a second I thought it was over. That the ocean was going to take Summer from me, after everything else.

Even if she walked out on me. Even if she cut me off after our night together. Even if she never came to see me after my accident. Six years, and I still care about this girl.

Pathetic.

I paddle out toward open water so I’ll stop looking at the beach.

“That your brother over there?” Evan says.

I turn around. Noah’s standing on the sand in front of the surf school, in shorts and a T-shirt. He’s staring at the water, not moving.

He’s up early…

I don’t go in. If I paddle toward him, he’ll turn around and leave. It’s been like this for years—I come closer, he backs off.

Noah goes into the gear room. He comes back out two minutes later with a foam longboard under his arm and a wetsuit pulled up to his waist. I stare at him, not believing it.

On the beach, he sets the board down and works the wetsuit the rest of the way up, fumbling with it. One sleeve twists, the zipper sticks. Then he grabs the board, walks into the water, and starts paddling out.

“The hell’s he doing?” Evan says.

“He hasn’t surfed since Dad’s paddle-out,” I say, my voice rough. Fourteen years.

Noah paddles toward us—badly. Too far back on the board, lifting his arms too high out of the water, paddling crooked and drifting to the left. When a small wave comes at him head-on, he almost flips.

Kai and Evan watch him in silence.

Flip’s on his feet now. His tail’s whipping back and forth. He takes three steps toward the water, stops, sits, and waits.

Finally Noah reaches us, red-faced, out of breath.

“You’re even worse than Summer…” I say.

“Shut up.”

It’s harsh. But it still sounds like us.

I smile at him.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Noah blinks. He looks away and grips his board a little tighter.