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Diego had been nothing but a surprise—from his rude first impression to his thoughtful answers in our CNA class project. I bit my lip, worried about how he would surprise me today. What version of him would I get? The guy who’d yelled at me my first day here or the one who was decently nice spoon-feeding me mashed potatoes?
“You can do this,” Mom said, patting my arm. “I can’t wait to hear how it goes.”
That was the sign, her gentle goodbye because she needed to get back to the house in case Dad woke up and needed something.
“I’ll see you later,” I replied, getting out of the car. I reached into the back seat for my beach bag with my beach towel, a water bottle, and sunscreen in case I decided on a second application.
Knowing I was walking toward Diego, I suddenly felt more self-conscious. I’d already embarrassed myself in front of him—mostly because of Heidi. This time, any embarrassment would be all me. And I didn’t like the thought of that.
Mom’s engine revved softly as she drove away, and I continued down the path that went between the two houses, toward the beach. It was a beautiful day—a soft breeze, warm sunshine, and perfectly blue skies with white puffy clouds. The ocean waves crashed, one after another, toward the light brown sandy shore.
Then I saw him, sitting beside two surfboards in the sand. One board lay flat, blue and white, and the other next to it bright orange. He had on dark red swim trunks, contrasting the pale sand. The way he bent over showcased the muscles of his back, shoulders. There was a dark purple bruise on his side. It worried me, until I remembered the football game the night before.
I didn’t know how it went, if Emerson had won. And for the first time, I found myself caring for the outcome of a sporting event.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes traveling over me and a frown growing on his face. “You?”
My chest constricted. We were back to this again. “I can go back home,” I replied, wrapping my arms around my waist and wishing my mom hadn’t bought me a rash guard that showed my stomach. Wishing she hadn’t signed me up for this lesson.
“No,” Diego said. “It’s fine.”
I watched him get up from the sand. “Fine?”
He nodded, then launched into an explanation of where to stand on the surfboard. He placed his feet atop the orange board, placing them square in the middle and explaining something about weight distribution and balance, but it all went over my head.
What was with the ice-out? I thought we had a decent conversation yesterday. And was it really that awful toget paidto teach me to surf? Because I knew he wouldn’t do this for free.
He looked at me expectantly.
“Sorry, what?” I said.
“Step on the board.”
My body was stiff as I placed my feet atop the surfboard, trying to copy what he’d done earlier.
His lips settled together as he gave my legs an assessing look, making me hyperaware that my swim shorts were already riding up, giving a great display of my thick thighs and cellulite. I pulled down at the fabric and waited.
He bent down, his hands inches from my foot. Thankfully I’d painted my toes the night before. “Mind if I...”
Yes, I minded. But I could do anything for ninety minutes. Including being guided by my enemy. “Go ahead.”
His hands were warm on my calf as he guided my left foot forward and gently nudged my right foot so it was parallel to the other. “You want to keep a good center of gravity on the board. Otherwise, you’ll change directions or fall.”
Falling was inevitable as far as I was concerned. “I can barely keep my balance on even ground. With or without a dog.”
He smirked. “Why don’t you lie on the board?”
I watched him for a second. “Diego, we really don’t have to do this. I know my mom thinks I can do anything, but if someone my size can’t surf, I totally understand.”
His eyebrows drew together, and he quickly shook his head. “Size has nothing to do with it.” He counted on his fingers. “As long as you can do a push-up and move your feet on the board, you can surf. My sister Des is about your size, and she can hold her own on the waves.”
Something snapped inside my mind, and I found myself choking on air. “Wait. Your sister’s name is Des?”
He nodded.
“Like Des De Leon?” It was a miracle I was still upright.
Again, he nodded.
