Page 110 of Summer Love

He flips me off without looking at me. I smile.

Heading back along the boardwalk, we pass the lodge and the surf school. The yard is empty; the VW bus is parked crooked, covered in dew. Out in the water, two still figures.

Maya and Jace, sitting on their boards, facing the open water.

The sun is starting to break through, the waves small and clean, and the light slides across the surface like a sheet of gold.

Maya turns toward the beach and waves us over.

“Hey!” she shouts. “You coming?”

I shoot Noah a questioning look.

“I don’t have a board,” he grumbles.

“There are thirty right over there,” I say, pointing at the racks.

We head inside. I pull a wetsuit off the rack. Noah grabs one too, pulls it on, fights with the zipper in the back.

“Hold on.”

I step behind him, pull it all the way up.

The wetsuit is a little too tight across his shoulders and chest, but he doesn’t say anything.

He takes a board from the rack—a white longboard, wide and stable. I take the yellow one. It’s where Harper put it after the wipeout, wedged between two shortboards. I never came back for it. I pull it free, tuck it under my arm, and don’t look at the tail.

From the water, Jace sees us coming. He paddles toward shore, Maya behind him. He smiles.

Not at me—at Noah. A brief smile, almost surprised. He doesn’t even look at me.

Noah stops at the water’s edge. He looks at the waves, the board, his feet.

“Now what?” he murmurs.

“You get wet,” Jace says.

Maya takes me, Jace takes Noah—makes sense.

Off to the right, Harper and Kai glide across bigger waves, in a world of their own.

Maya is a good coach. Calm, precise, encouraging without being condescending. She sets me up on the board, fixes the spacing between my hands, reminds me to keep my elbows tucked when I paddle.

“¡Vamos!” she shouts, shoving the back of my board at the right moment.

I paddle, feel the wave lift me, and I pop up. The take-off is clean. My feet find their spot, my knees bend, and I glide. The wave runs out of steam and I jump off into the water.

When I climb back on the board, Maya gives me a thumbs-up.

“Good. Again.”

A little ways off, Jace is working with Noah. I watch them between waves, sitting on my board, my legs in the water.

Jace holds the rail of the board with one hand and steadies it while Noah tries to get into position. He pushes at the right moment, no hesitation—a motion done a thousand times. He doesn’t say much, gives short, direct instructions.

“Lower. Hands flat. Look ahead, not at your feet.”

Noah paddles badly—arms too wide, shoulders tight, water spraying everywhere. The wave passes under him. He swallows water, coughs.