Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,70

should be such a no-brainer, right? Go to the comp. Screw the last-minute party invite to buddy up to people I don’t know or care about. But what happens if I do all that and don’t advance past the first round of the comp? It would all be for nothing.

But the thing that really kept me up was the other part of the what happens if question. If I skip the party, what will Dad do to me when Mom’s not home? It’s bad enough when I set him off randomly—forget doing something on purpose. I can’t even fathom what would be waiting for me at home this afternoon. Mom’s likely to give the I’m disappointed in you speech and the angry how could you embarrass us by not showing up speech, but when it’s just me and Dad—which is inevitable—what will he do? Sure, I can handle being cussed out, and yeah, usually his violence is erratic and who knows what will really set it off, but this scenario is premeditated. It’s an I know I’m gonna piss you off beyond belief when you’re standing there without your trophy daughter to show off scenario.

After a night of no sleep, I still don’t have any answers on how bad it would be.

The one thing I do know is that I’d regret skipping out on the comp for the rest of my life.

And that’s my answer. Maybe that’s kind of what Mama Watson was talking about.

While I spent the night panicking over what to do, my parents were up late yelling. That’s working in my favor now, as they’ve slept late instead of getting up and running errands this morning. There’s no way I could go through with this if I had to talk to them right now. I’d be freaking out too much. Of course, I’m counting on the note I leave on the counter to work in my favor, too:

Good morning! I know y’all have a busy schedule before the brunch. I’m headed out to wash the Jeep and take care of a few things myself. See you later.

Love, Grace

Everything’s loaded and ready. I back the Jeep out of the driveway with the lights off and hope to God they don’t hear it. I don’t turn the lights on until I’m out of our neighborhood.

I hope the note buys me the time I need. I’m heading for the comp. I’ll be on the waves—where I belong—when the brunch starts.

I speed down the highway, wishing Ford was here with me. The image of him paddling away from me … well, it hurts. I’m wrapped up in my own world the entire ride to the comp. I pull into the crowded parking lot emotionally exhausted. Lack of sleep equals shaky Grace. My body’s humming like it’s filled with a thousand bees, and all I can do is move at the speed of their wings.

The place is packed—people of all ages milling about unloading their cars, teenage girls carrying their boards. If that wasn’t enough of a reminder that today is anything but normal, the tents and banners are reassurance that yes, today is the Day. That yes, I skipped out on my parents. And all the people here, in groups or as families, make the ache in my stomach that much bigger.

Being alone around crowds of people is way worse than being alone by myself.

I munch my second bagel and slurp the last of my coffee. Then I take a deep breath and pray my first real prayer with all my heart.

Mama Watson’s God? Everything’s screwed up. I’m screwed up. I need your help. I’d really appreciate it, you know? This is weird, talking to you like this, but Mama Watson seems so sure of you. And if I could have anybody in the world on my side, well, it seems like you’d be the best option. Um, thanks.

I hold back on making the sign of the cross. Not sure about that. And while it felt a little awkward, my heart feels lighter, like it’s floating in a little puddle of hope.

I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder, unload my board, and walk to the sign-in tent. There are about ten other girls in line already and I fall in behind them. It seems like several of them know each om know ether from other surf comps. A few of them look familiar, but I feel way behind the curve. Like I should have been doing these my whole life,