Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,73

and pull a bit of wax out from the ankle of my wetsuit. My board probably doesn’t need any more wax, but it couldn’t hurt. It gives me something to do—an outlet for my nerves. I rub the wax over it in a hard circular motion until it’s nothing but a nub.

I glance over at Ann, Super Girl. She’s standing quietly, waiting for the horn to let us know we can paddle out. Nerves of steel. She glances over at me; I’m still staring at her. She flashes a smile and says, “Good luck.”

My stomach flutters. I say, “Yeah, you too.”

The horn blares and w blares e both jump. I laugh awkwardly. She’s all business. She swings her board in the air and races toward the water. I snap to attention and follow her, feeling foolish.

By the time I’m paddling out for the big showdown, the acid in my stomach’s lurching around like ocean waves. Win or lose, the impending doom of going home has me freaked out. And then I can’t let go of the fact that Ford’s not here. I really am going it alone.

I make it to the waiting area a few yards behind Super Girl. We eye each other and exchange tight smiles. There goes the signal. I paddle my ass off to make it first to the incoming set. But all the worries rolling around in my mind haven’t let go.

I try to ignore them and drop in first. Well, craptastic. Timing was off. I’m at the bottom when all the water’s going up, which means I get sucked up the free escalator ride to the top, knowing I’m going to get pitched forward and pummeled when it crashes.

I cringe as my board and I fly over the falls and tumble down below. There goes valuable time down the tubes. The full force of the water slams me around and I curl up, trying to protect myself.

Stupid me. Holding back. Getting nailed by the damn wave. Crashing. Like in my relationship with Ford.

For a split second everything becomes clear. Life is like surfing. You hold back scared—you miss the ride. That simple.

I finally get spit out of the wave, jerk my board toward me, grab it, and paddle hard. I’m not crashing anymore, anywhere. No holding back.

I skip the next wave that comes my way. Not that I can cherry-pick, but I probably only have time for one solid ride, which means I better catch a kickass wave. The second one passes and I get antsy. It’s the third one rolling my way I want. I can feel its energy.

I zero in on the sweet spot and catch it. I drop down the face. Pull my bottom turn. Carve a couple of times up and down, getting a feel for the ride, and then I go for it.

The 360. For all the times I didn’t.

For me.

I attack the lip. My board goes vertical and begins the spin. I move my feet as the board and the wave do their thing. I lean back as the board almost finishes the rotation, slide my foot forward, grab the tail, and push down a little so my nose doesn’t plow under. And just like that, the maneuver’s over.

Awwww yeah!

I pump my fist in victory. But my ride’s not over—I pump my legs to gain speed. I slip up the face of the wave, pull a floater, and boost some air before I exit. I paddle back to try to catch one more ride, but right as I begin to go for it, the air-horn blasts and I bail.

As I cruise back to shore, I wonder if that ride was en-ough. What does the UCSD coach think? Would a second-place finish catch his eye? I also wonder what Ford’s doing, and what’s going to happen when I go home.

Super Girl and I make it back to shore at about the same time. There’s a bunch of guys on the beach cheering for us. We look at each other, not knowing the outcome. I look around in search of a friendly face, feeling alone and smiling so big it hurts.

My heart pumps faster—Ford’s barreling at me. He doesn’t slow down. As soon as he reaches me, he flings his arms around me, picks me up, and spins us until I’m dizzy and laughing.

When my feet hit the ground, I say, “You made it.” Because I’m the Queen of the Obvious.

“You were awesome! I almost had to do a double take