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Malia-Tarni
“Come on already, MT!” Summer moans, tugging me through way too many people. Strangers bump my arm, barge my shoulder, elbow my boobs and I’m sure some creep even touches my ass. He’s damn lucky to still be breathing, and Summer knows it. It’s probably why she’s leading me through the crowd so quickly. It would be awful to be kicked out before school’s even begun because I stabbed someone in the throat with a HB pencil. A sharp one.
“I really don’t want to do this, Sum,” I complain.
“Hush. When you decided to come here with me, you agreed to give everything a go so that we could have an authentic college experience!”
“Ugh. We’re at uni, not college,” I grumble, completely ignoring the promise I made to placate her into letting me tag along to SCU.
“Not here. The Americans call university ‘college’ so suck it up buttercup and start collecting freebies.”
“But I don’t want what they’re offering.” I frown as an overly preppy blonde thrusts pamphlets and condoms right in my face. I turn my nose up in disgust. No thank you.
“But it’s free! So you take it. Load up.” Summer reaches out and takes the STI pamphlet and the condoms, stashing them in the SCU tote we were all given as part of our welcome pack.
Freshers’ Fair – or god only knows what they call it over here – is my idea of hell. There’s stalls set up everywhere advertising clubs, societies and sororities. I’m absolutely one hundred percent not interested in joining any—
“Oooooh, look MT! There’s a surfing club!” Summer grabs my arm and does an excited little jump. Damn, she’s found my weakness. “Let’s just check it out real quick!”
Before I can say a word, she’s pulling me over to a stall that’s been set up from a longboard instead of the standard issue tables that all the other clubs are using. I kinda like it, but I’m not telling Summer that. She drags me right over to the stall and stares expectantly at the guy behind the board, obviously waiting for some sort of sales pitch or something.
The blond guy behind the table grins at Summer, looking every bit a surf god – just without that awful, clichéd long hair. No, this guy’s hair is short on the sides but just long enough on top to run your fingers through. And it glistens like gold in the sun in a way which is quite mesmerising.
“Well?” she demands. He raises a brow but doesn’t reply. He has the most striking ocean blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and they’re currently sparkling with mirth. “Aren’t you going to pitch your little club to us?”
She pops her right hip and rests her hand on it like a true diva. I internally cringe at her behaviour. We’re just so...different.
“May I take a leaflet please?” I say, pointing to where the tide times are printed. It’s always useful to have a copy.
I’ve surfed since I could stand, although admittedly I did start on a bodyboard. Once I could handle that though, I shifted to a longboard and have never looked back. Since I was a pre-teen, I hit the waves at least four times a week. My parents didn’t care, so long as I was gone and out of their way. I’ve ridden everything from a five foot two fish to a ten foot two gun, but my nine foot six, single fin, custom made woody will always be my favourite. It’s perfect.
The ocean calls to me, bringing peace I’ve never really known. Until today. Out there, with the roar of the waves, it’s too loud to hear anything but my own thoughts. And sometimes I can’t even hear them, which is a bonus. No, a blessing.
I had to save like crazy to have my woody shipped out here from back home. It’s due to arrive anytime now and in the meantime I’ve been renting a mini mal from one of the local beach hut places, but it’s not the same as having my own.
The blond surfer club guy gives me an appraising look but doesn’t hand the leaflet over.
“You surf?” He raises a skeptical brow.
“Obviously. Why else would I be at your stand?”
“Does your friend surf?”
“No,” I say, just as Summer tries to flirt and claim she surfs ‘a little’. Which is total crap. She can’t surf to save her life. She doesn’t even like getting wet. Beaches are for lying on to tan in Summer’s opinion.
“Well, why is she at my stall?”
“She’s with me.”
“Is she? It looked like she pulled you over here.”
“Whatever,” I scoff, annoyed. “Are you giving me the tide times or not?”
“Don't you want to sign up for the club?”
“I can surf without belonging to some little club. What’re you gonna do? Stop me using the whole ocean?”
“That may be true, but if you want the tide times, you’ll have to leave your details.” He grins at me mischievously like he has some ulterior motive, but I don’t have the energy to try to figure out what that might be. I shake my head and huff at him.
