Page 59 of Summer Love

I shut the gate again and head down to the beach.

The water’s cold—the way it always is here.

I paddle out past the whitewash, to where the waves haven’t broken yet, and sit up on my board. The horizon’s huge, a washed-out gray. The waves roll in steady as a metronome—small, clean, perfect for a weekday morning.

Luke shows up ten minutes after me. I spot him by the white longboard, the brown curls, and the gold chain catching the light against his wetsuit.

“Still wearing that chain,” I grumble.

“So?”

“One of these days it’s gonna catch on something and rip your head off.”

“You’ve been saying that for years.”

“And you’ve been a dumbass for years.”

Evan comes up behind him, quiet, no wasted motion. We nod at each other. That’s all it takes between us.

We surf close to shore—for Luke. Evan and I box him in without a word, one eye on the waves, one on him. The rule we never say out loud.

Evan catches a clean right, wide open—an easy takeoff for a guy who grew up in the water. Luke paddles at the wrong moment, misses the wave, and swears in Italian.

Between sets, Luke turns to me.

“Saw Summer at the store yesterday.”

I don’t answer. I stare at the horizon.

“She asked me why you’re not on the circuit.”

My fingers tighten on the rail of my board.

“Bullshit. Of course she knows.”

Luke opens his mouth, hesitates. He tries to catch my eye.

“She didn’t seem to.”

She knows.

It ate up Noah’s money, pinned me here. All of Coral Bay knows. Everyone but her?

No.

A wave builds out past the break. I lie down on my board and paddle before Luke can say anything else.

The wave takes me. And for three seconds—the takeoff, the bottom turn, the glide—there’s nothing else.

No Summer.

When I paddle back to the lineup, Luke’s talking weather with Evan. He got it.

Farther out, near the outside peak, there’s Sierra. She’s sitting on her board, facing the open water. Her little braids fall loose around her face. I raise a hand. She smiles back, barely, and turns away again.

We surf another half hour. Nobody brings up Summer again.

I head back up toward the school, shaking the water out of my hair.