soon. Even though the water is somewhat calm today, I still get the fear of an unseen rip coming underneath me and taking me and the board far out to where no one can reach me.
Not to mention sharks. They’re real and I try my hardest not to think about them.
“You’ll know,” he says.
Right. Like the ocean is whispering its fucking secrets to me. I’m not Ariel!
“Not these waves,” he says, “next ones.”
I feel the board rise up, the sun filtering through the water and turning it a glowing aquamarine. It’s not that deep here, and with the water so clear I can see the sandy bottom interspersed with the occasional rock that catches my eye. Is that a fish? Something worse?
“Focus on the tree!” Charlie says and out of the corner of my vision I see him treading water, being taken in closer to the shore with each pass of the waves.
I take in a deep breath and steady myself.
“Now!” Charlie yells. “Paddle, paddle, paddle!”
I stick my hands in the water and start moving them as fast as I can, which isn’t very fast. I can beat an egg a mile a minute, but this is a total body workout, my shoulders and triceps working overtime as I try and keep up with the wave.
“Up, up up!” Charlie’s now yelling.
I’m not sure I agree. I’m ahead of the wave now but it doesn’t feel right. Still, what the hell do I know? Unsteadily, I push myself up onto my knees, trying to keep my balance and do that final, terrifying step to my feet.
“Focus on the tree!”
My head snaps up but instead of seeing the tree like I should, I see Logan, walking along the beach and staring at us with a disapproving expression.
Great.
That’s all it takes for me to completely lose my balance.
I tilt to the left and hit the water just as the wave crashes on top of me. I’m swirling, the water rushing past my ears, the sand sweeping over my face. The board goes in another direction, still dragged by the surf, the band tugging hard at my ankle until I’m sure it’s going to snap.
I swim for the surface and burst through as the bottom scrapes against my knees and I’m swept up on the shore.
I quickly wipe my eyes with one hand as I stagger to my knees, the next wave crashing behind me, and pull out the giant wedgie from my butt with my other.
“Ron!” Charlie is yelling from behind me and I can hear him splashing to shore. “Are you okay?”
But I don’t turn around. My eyes are glued to Logan’s. He’s standing right in front of me, the ocean licking the tops of his bare feet as they sink into the sand, staring down at me with an expression I can’t read.
Then he sticks his hand out. “Here,” he says and I hesitantly put my hand in his. He hauls me up to my feet, his hand gripping my elbow. “You better free your ankle before the next wave yanks you back.”
I nod, my head dizzy, my sinuses full of salt water, and he steadies me while I lift up my ankle and quickly undo the Velcro strap. I wrap it a few times around my hand and pull the board in to me.
His hand on my elbow still remains, his grip warm and firm against my wet skin. This is the closest I’ve been to Logan in the last two weeks. Even though I’ve been working steadily, he’s only come into the restaurant three times to check on how things are going. And by “check on,” I mean look around and make a grunting sound. I can’t tell if he’s been impressed with my performance so far or the exact opposite. My caveman deciphering skills only go so far.
Other than that, we’ve both managed to avoid each other. Sometimes I’ll catch him at the bar after work, but that’s when I just head straight back to my room. Once or twice I’ve run into him on the grounds and he’ll usually nod me his greeting. While I’ve managed to slip into a nice, gentle routine with my days here, and have gotten to know the staff pretty well at this point thanks to Moonwater’s camp-like vibes, Logan and I haven’t grown any closer.
That’s probably a
Not to mention sharks. They’re real and I try my hardest not to think about them.
“You’ll know,” he says.
Right. Like the ocean is whispering its fucking secrets to me. I’m not Ariel!
“Not these waves,” he says, “next ones.”
I feel the board rise up, the sun filtering through the water and turning it a glowing aquamarine. It’s not that deep here, and with the water so clear I can see the sandy bottom interspersed with the occasional rock that catches my eye. Is that a fish? Something worse?
“Focus on the tree!” Charlie says and out of the corner of my vision I see him treading water, being taken in closer to the shore with each pass of the waves.
I take in a deep breath and steady myself.
“Now!” Charlie yells. “Paddle, paddle, paddle!”
I stick my hands in the water and start moving them as fast as I can, which isn’t very fast. I can beat an egg a mile a minute, but this is a total body workout, my shoulders and triceps working overtime as I try and keep up with the wave.
“Up, up up!” Charlie’s now yelling.
I’m not sure I agree. I’m ahead of the wave now but it doesn’t feel right. Still, what the hell do I know? Unsteadily, I push myself up onto my knees, trying to keep my balance and do that final, terrifying step to my feet.
“Focus on the tree!”
My head snaps up but instead of seeing the tree like I should, I see Logan, walking along the beach and staring at us with a disapproving expression.
Great.
That’s all it takes for me to completely lose my balance.
I tilt to the left and hit the water just as the wave crashes on top of me. I’m swirling, the water rushing past my ears, the sand sweeping over my face. The board goes in another direction, still dragged by the surf, the band tugging hard at my ankle until I’m sure it’s going to snap.
I swim for the surface and burst through as the bottom scrapes against my knees and I’m swept up on the shore.
I quickly wipe my eyes with one hand as I stagger to my knees, the next wave crashing behind me, and pull out the giant wedgie from my butt with my other.
“Ron!” Charlie is yelling from behind me and I can hear him splashing to shore. “Are you okay?”
But I don’t turn around. My eyes are glued to Logan’s. He’s standing right in front of me, the ocean licking the tops of his bare feet as they sink into the sand, staring down at me with an expression I can’t read.
Then he sticks his hand out. “Here,” he says and I hesitantly put my hand in his. He hauls me up to my feet, his hand gripping my elbow. “You better free your ankle before the next wave yanks you back.”
I nod, my head dizzy, my sinuses full of salt water, and he steadies me while I lift up my ankle and quickly undo the Velcro strap. I wrap it a few times around my hand and pull the board in to me.
His hand on my elbow still remains, his grip warm and firm against my wet skin. This is the closest I’ve been to Logan in the last two weeks. Even though I’ve been working steadily, he’s only come into the restaurant three times to check on how things are going. And by “check on,” I mean look around and make a grunting sound. I can’t tell if he’s been impressed with my performance so far or the exact opposite. My caveman deciphering skills only go so far.
Other than that, we’ve both managed to avoid each other. Sometimes I’ll catch him at the bar after work, but that’s when I just head straight back to my room. Once or twice I’ve run into him on the grounds and he’ll usually nod me his greeting. While I’ve managed to slip into a nice, gentle routine with my days here, and have gotten to know the staff pretty well at this point thanks to Moonwater’s camp-like vibes, Logan and I haven’t grown any closer.
That’s probably a
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