Page 149 of Summer Love

But Dylan goes again on the next one, too early, too far inside. He gets swallowed by the whitewater and loses ten seconds climbing back on his board. The clock’s running. The good waves go by.

He comes out with a mediocre score and the look of a guy who knows he blew it.

I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Your surfing’s good, Dylan. It’s your head that’s screwing up. You pick your waves like you’re scared there won’t be any left.”

He nods, deflated.

Another one of my students, Tess, goes in the next heat—fifteen, quiet, focused. She does better. No win, but a solid finish. She waited, picked her waves, surfed with her head. The complete opposite of Dylan.

Five hours standing in the sand, and my thigh starts to throb. It doesn’t like me staying still that long. I shift my weight to the other foot and watch Avery pose for a selfie with a ten-year-old who holds out a marker for her to sign her board.

My sister’s sixteen. She wins competitions. She travels. She does what I was supposed to do—what I always wanted to do.

I’m so proud of her.

But watching the way she reads the waves, the sureness of her stance, the ease of her aerials, a thought crosses my mind: what if I tried.

Not the pro circuit—that’s done. But an amateur contest. Just one. There are contests all up and down the coast. I know the format, I know the waves. I know what my leg can still take, and what it can’t anymore.

My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I pull it out too fast.

It’s not Summer. It’s Maya.

Flip threw up next to the bar. He chased Captain again. This time he almost got him.

I grunt. Flip’s not the news I’m waiting on.

What about Summer?

The reply comes in ten seconds.

You’ve got her number.

Got it. Maya’s not going to play go-between. She’s right, and it pisses me off.

I put my phone away.

“Who was that?” Avery asks, reappearing beside me, a towel over her shoulders.

“Maya.”

“You made a weird face.”

“I didn’t.”

She stares at me with a smile I don’t like at all.

“Does it have something to do with Summer Hayes?” she presses.

“Not at all.”

“You’re a really bad liar, Jace.”

“And you’re a nosy little weasel, Avy.”

She bursts out laughing. Mom shakes her head.