Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,38
don’t fix things, then not only will our friendship be screwed up but it’ll practically guarantee I can’t keep guys away from her, hence breaking the Deal-with-the-Dad. Good-bye girl and good-bye future? No thanks.
“I thought we were friends hanging out at a bonfire,” I begin. “I get that you don’t want to date me. It’s cool. For reals. I’m way past it. But you don’t have to rub my nose in it. ’Kay? And Damien? Grace, I’m no expert, but you could do way better. Besides, you’re training. You don’t have time to get involved with someone. It’ll just distract you from the comp.”
She stops swinging her legs. “Sorry for the stuff I said about Anna. If you want to date her, that’s your business.”
Really? That’s how she’s going to play this? Talk about Anna and not even mention Brianna? The other day, Grace’s eyes were about to bore a hole in me. She was totally jealous.
I say, “Are you even listening? I don’t want to date her, or anyone for that matter. I don’t even want to call her. She sounds like she’s got her hands full, right?”
Grace laughs. “She’s such a ho-bag, and you could do way better.”
I take a long look at her, then take another bite of my taco and think about Brianna. Things with her are less complicated. Maybe more fun.
I stare at the bag with the unopened tacos, then switch my gaze to Grace before checking out the waves. “I know.”
fifteen
Failure seldom stops you. What
stops you is the fear of failure.
—Jack Lemmon
It’s been over a week since our heart-to-heart. It’s crazy, but ever since Ford basically said he didn’t want me anymore, I can’t stop thinking about him.
I watch the ocean roar, curling in perfect corduroy lines toward the coast. Waves are hella good today. Perfect sets. And Ford is standing next to me as we watch the ocean crash toward us.
It’s not a beginner day. The wind whips my hair around. Today, Turmo feels like a wild place, and I’m a wild thing coming home. Ford zips my wetsuit, which sends a million little tingles down my spine. I whirl around, forgetting everything but the way I feel right now. The way I’ve felt the past few days. Yeah, we talked and made our peace. We said all the right words, but all the right words in the world couldn’t erase the unspoken tension we constantly juggle or ignore. It’s like h fleacethe only way to get past this wasteland of words-not-said is to pull him to me and kiss him. Just do it already and release the tension. I want to pull his face down to mine, and lean in until his lips are so close we’re millimeters apart.
Something snaps and I realize what I’m doing. I step back and clear my throat and futilely try to throw some distance between us. I say, “Better get the boards waxed. Don’t want to miss out on the surf.”
Ford pulls at the collar of his wetsuit. “Um, yeah.”
Confused, I bend down to work on my board. I say, “Are you ready for the Pumphouse?”
“I was planning on surfing the Point today.”
I pop up to standing in a flash. “I’m not ready to surf the Point.”
“Yeah, you are. C’mon, it’s not the same when we surf different breaks.”
I take a deep breath and look at fierce waves blasting the Point; the sets are never-ending. Thanks to some crazy weather, the waves are freakin’ epic and everyone’s out today. “I don’t know.”
Ford checks out the surf and grins. He reaches over and gives my shoulder a quick rub. That’s it; all he has to do is touch me. That spot his hand touched feels hot, like every inch of my skin is dry tinder, ready to catch fire.
He says, “I do know, and you’re ready. Don’t you need to practice the big waves for the comp? What is it, like four weeks away?”
I duck my head and wax my board. It’s like his touch scrambled my brain, my heart, my existence.
“Look, Grace. It’s not like you have to surf the Point. It’s just I know you can totally kick butt out there.”
“I wish I knew. I’m gonna sit on the shoreline and watch for a while. If I’m feeling brave, maybe I’ll paddle out. I need a moment to psych myself up.” I hug myself, unsure if I’ve got what it takes.
Ford’s eyes linger on me for a moment before he attaches his leash.
“Remember it’s a