back to watching garbage TV and eating dry cereal.
Over the course of the morning, the shop filled until there was a line out of the door. Zeke kept checking in with me every so often, and even bought me a cappuccino and a cookie from the cafe downstairs. It was hilarious really, all his polite attentions, because he still hadn’t said a word to me about his status as a renowned surf champion. Not one word.
In arranging the signing at my shop, was this his way of telling me? I didn’t get it. Did he think that would impress me? It didn’t seem like him at all. But then how well did I actually know him?
I guessed he could also just have been embarrassed—having to tell a girl something like that would be pretty major. Like saying, “Listen to how cool I am.” It would sound show-offy, to say the least. Then I figured out that actually Zeke probably didn’t have anything to do with choosing the venue at all. He was on the Billabong Surf Team and I worked in the Billabong concept store. Where else in Newquay would one of their champion surfers hold a meet-and-greet signing event?
Twelve o’clock came and I couldn’t wait to ditch the shop for lunch break. It was boiling in there, with the hot breath and body heat of tourists and Zeke’s adoring fans. I grabbed my spare kit from the storeroom and went down to the beach for a surf.
I only caught two waves, as the wind was blowing the surf out and making it choppy, but when I was up I pulled a few head dips, which is where you lean over and stick the top of your head right into the wave face. It sounds stupid, but it’s actually pretty lush.
There is something healing about the ocean. I’d always known about it, ever since I was a little kid when I’d goopen-water swimming out past the breakers after a bad day at school. I had known it even through all the pain and hassle with Daniel, but I didn’t want to be healed then. I just wanted to keep picking at the scab, making myself feel worse and worse until even Kelly despaired of me.
I looked to the north end of the beach and I saw a jet ski and behind it a surfer who appeared to be flying above the water. I paddled a bit closer and spotted another one. It was Zeke and his brothers, surfing hydrofoil boards, which were unheard of in Newquay. Hydrofoils were a Hawaiian invention and were ridable in even the choppiest conditions, as the board was suspended two feet above the water, with a strut attached to a small plane beneath, so that they harnessed the energy of the deeper part of the wave and the rider didn’t get affected by any choppiness on the surface. It looked impossible. Four long lenses were trained on the Francis brothers, and I knew the photos would be all over the newspapers the next day.
I caught a wave to shore, sat on the beach and looked out to sea.
The surf was junky, but thousands of people were in the water. After five minutes or so, I saw a big crowd of people and cameras gathered around a surfer who was walking out of the mush and on to the beach, with a hydrofoil board slung under his arm. Zeke. So now he was doing a photo shoot.
I had to get back to work, so I tried to box around the crowd but Zeke spotted me.
“Iris!” he shouted.
The red-haired girl, Saskia, was there in bare feet, high heels poking out of a designer handbag. Perhaps she was his girlfriend.She was definitely into him. She kept looking at him adoringly. But then if he had a girlfriend, wasn’t he way out of line for taking an interest in me? Maybe he wasn’t interested in me. He might have just wanted to be friendly. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d made a move on me.
Saskia walked over to me and said, “Do get in the picture, babe.”
A) I hate being called babe, and B) I hate having my photograph taken.
“I’m sopping wet,” I said. “Anyway, nobody cares about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
What was that supposed to mean? Had Zeke said something to her?
Zeke came and put his arm around my
Over the course of the morning, the shop filled until there was a line out of the door. Zeke kept checking in with me every so often, and even bought me a cappuccino and a cookie from the cafe downstairs. It was hilarious really, all his polite attentions, because he still hadn’t said a word to me about his status as a renowned surf champion. Not one word.
In arranging the signing at my shop, was this his way of telling me? I didn’t get it. Did he think that would impress me? It didn’t seem like him at all. But then how well did I actually know him?
I guessed he could also just have been embarrassed—having to tell a girl something like that would be pretty major. Like saying, “Listen to how cool I am.” It would sound show-offy, to say the least. Then I figured out that actually Zeke probably didn’t have anything to do with choosing the venue at all. He was on the Billabong Surf Team and I worked in the Billabong concept store. Where else in Newquay would one of their champion surfers hold a meet-and-greet signing event?
Twelve o’clock came and I couldn’t wait to ditch the shop for lunch break. It was boiling in there, with the hot breath and body heat of tourists and Zeke’s adoring fans. I grabbed my spare kit from the storeroom and went down to the beach for a surf.
I only caught two waves, as the wind was blowing the surf out and making it choppy, but when I was up I pulled a few head dips, which is where you lean over and stick the top of your head right into the wave face. It sounds stupid, but it’s actually pretty lush.
There is something healing about the ocean. I’d always known about it, ever since I was a little kid when I’d goopen-water swimming out past the breakers after a bad day at school. I had known it even through all the pain and hassle with Daniel, but I didn’t want to be healed then. I just wanted to keep picking at the scab, making myself feel worse and worse until even Kelly despaired of me.
I looked to the north end of the beach and I saw a jet ski and behind it a surfer who appeared to be flying above the water. I paddled a bit closer and spotted another one. It was Zeke and his brothers, surfing hydrofoil boards, which were unheard of in Newquay. Hydrofoils were a Hawaiian invention and were ridable in even the choppiest conditions, as the board was suspended two feet above the water, with a strut attached to a small plane beneath, so that they harnessed the energy of the deeper part of the wave and the rider didn’t get affected by any choppiness on the surface. It looked impossible. Four long lenses were trained on the Francis brothers, and I knew the photos would be all over the newspapers the next day.
I caught a wave to shore, sat on the beach and looked out to sea.
The surf was junky, but thousands of people were in the water. After five minutes or so, I saw a big crowd of people and cameras gathered around a surfer who was walking out of the mush and on to the beach, with a hydrofoil board slung under his arm. Zeke. So now he was doing a photo shoot.
I had to get back to work, so I tried to box around the crowd but Zeke spotted me.
“Iris!” he shouted.
The red-haired girl, Saskia, was there in bare feet, high heels poking out of a designer handbag. Perhaps she was his girlfriend.She was definitely into him. She kept looking at him adoringly. But then if he had a girlfriend, wasn’t he way out of line for taking an interest in me? Maybe he wasn’t interested in me. He might have just wanted to be friendly. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d made a move on me.
Saskia walked over to me and said, “Do get in the picture, babe.”
A) I hate being called babe, and B) I hate having my photograph taken.
“I’m sopping wet,” I said. “Anyway, nobody cares about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
What was that supposed to mean? Had Zeke said something to her?
Zeke came and put his arm around my
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