argument? There’s no way I’m apologizing. The words “cold-hearted B” are freshly etched in my mind. Those three little words pretty much add all the fuel I need to continue my fire. The only other person who’s ever called me a bitch was my dad. Using the first letter doesn’t soften the blow. It gives me something to use when I need ammo to win my next argument with Ford.
I pooch my lips, give a quick raise of the eyebrows, and pull my mouth up to one side. Whatev. I’m here to surf, not play footsies. Everything I’ve worked for is going down tomorrow and the last thing I need is more crap from Ford or my parents. I still haven’t completed more than one page of one Ivy League essay app yet. Not gonna happen. I categorically refuse to go to college out of state. I just have to figure out the right timing to break it to them, when they’re ready to be rational and listen.
Ford parks a shiny new longboard a couple of feet from me and doesn’t even say hey.
Two can play that game. I ignore his new toy, give him the slightest nod, and then turn away to focus on the next set coming in. He follows suit. Thank God there’s actually one rushing at us. It’s a competition now. I pop back around and lie down on my board, ready to paddle with everything I’ve got. When it’s a couple of feet behind me, I dig deep into the water with forward strokes, feeding off my anger, and propel myself forward as hard as possible. It’s a paddle battle, but I’m in a better position to catch the sweet spot. I grin as my board gets pulled up into the top of the wave and watch Ford float over the top.
I laugh, enjoying the blast of ocean on my heels, as I make my bottom turn and pull a couple of cutbacks. I zip across the face, gain momentum, and then catch a little air off the backside before making my exit. A little spray, a little show to let Ford know I can do fine on my own.
I paddle past him as he carves on his own ride. He pulls a floater and then does some fancy cross-stepping before managing to hang five like it’s a breeze. Showoff. I pull my board up on the outside of Assclown’s group. Not close enough to have to fight them for waves, but just on the outskirts where I can kind of pretend I’m with them … if I want.
Ford paddles over and settles in a few feet away from me. He says, “Nice ride.”
I give him a curt “Thanks.”
Silence. Tension.
I decide to make the next move. “So, new board?”
Ford nods. “I’ve been eyeing this for a while. Jake at the surf shop let me borrow it for the day. I’ll probably buy it. It has a good feel.” He hesitates. “Wanna try it?”
That’s the ultimate peace offering, but I won’t let myself forget our argument. He didn’t even call to apologize. Besides, I have the comp to train for, which means I should stick to my board. I say, “Nah. Thanks anyway.”
His face falls. So I add, “I’ll take a rain check for after you buy it. Gotta stick with mine until the comp tomorrow.”
His forearms flex as he grips the board, and my eyes travel up his torso. My cheeks burn, embarrassed to be wishing I could see his washboard abs.
He says, “Yeah, right. How’s your afternoon been?”
My eyes take in his dimple and lock with his eyes; I realize he totally knows I just checked him out. I blush and look away, wondering if Brianna checks him out like that and if she realizes all the other things to love about him—like how smart or funny he is and how thoughtful he can be.
He kicks his board over to mine, the distance between us fluctuating with the gentle slopes of the ocean. I breathe in and remind myself that I should be mad, that I am mad. It’s the principle of the matter.
He touches my thigh. “Grace?”
I sigh and look at him. “Yeah?”
“I really wanted to come out and pretend like everything’s okay. It took me two beaches to find you. But I can’t pretend we haven’t fought anymore than I can ignore the fact that you hurt me. What you said about me not watching out for you enough at the Point