Chapter Three

My mother wanted to take me to the hospital, but I said no way. She could see how I was feeling and tried to be nice. When my dad came home he slammed into the told-you-so lectures. I loved my father, but he could be a pain in the butt sometimes. I finally told him to go to hell and stormed out of the house.

I biked to the headland and sat high above the sea, facing west. The sun was going down and the sky was beautiful. Below, at the mouth of the river, some guys were surfing. I knew all about the river current here that could pull swimmers out to sea. But tonight, the tide was high and there was no danger of that. From here it all looked so graceful, so easy. I was jealous of the surfers, and I hated myself for being such a loser. And then Tara appeared, walking up the headland toward me.

I touched my nose and it hurt. I knew Tara surfed. I’d watched her putting on her wet suit in the parking lot. I’d seen her grab her board, run across the sand to the ocean and paddle out. She was new at it but she could ride waves. She was also beautiful with her curly brown hair, freckles and funny T-shirts. It seemed odd that she was always alone when she arrived, and she kept to herself. Not once had I gotten up the nerve to even say hi to her on the beach. I sure as heck didn’t want to talk to her now. But I sat there frozen.

I just stared out to sea, hoping she’d walk on by. But it wasn’t going to work out that way.

I knew she had stopped but I didn’t turn.

“Ouch,” she said. “How’d that happen?”

I took a breath and half turned toward her. “A wipeout. I got nailed by the board.” I didn’t tell her it was only my first wave, my first real attempt at surfing.

She knelt down beside me. “It got you on the nose?”

“Yeah.”

“And the black eye?”

I didn’t know I had a black eye. I didn’t know that was the way it happened. Get socked in the nose hard enough and a while later you have a black eye. “Oh great,” I said.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Waves can be brutal.”

So can life, I wanted to say. “How do they do it?” I asked, pointing to the surfers below.

Tara was now sitting on the grass with me. Our feet were dangling over the edge of the cliff. The sky was on fire as the sun began to set. At least when it was dark no one would notice the black eye.

“No one just gets in the water, catches waves and rides. It takes a lot of practice. A lot of wipeouts.”

“Can you imagine what I would look like by my third day of trying to learn?”

Tara laughed. “When people ask about your eye, don’t tell them. Let them make up their own stories. It’ll be much more interesting that way. Let me look.” Then she leaned toward me. I could smell the sweetness of her and I felt paralyzed. She was looking right into my eyes. “That’s amazing,” she said.

“What is?” I asked.

“By tomorrow morning, you’re gonna look like you had a fistfight with a gorilla.”

“And lost.”

“Gonna try it again?”

“No way,” I said.

“I’ll teach you.”

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I guess it was my pride. And I was sure she was just feeling sorry for me.

“Yeah, right,” I said sarcastically.

“What?” I could tell I’d hurt her feelings. Now I knew just how big of an idiot and loser I really was. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else.

I got on my bike and rode the grassy path back to the road. It was the beginning of summer and already I was wishing it was over.

The next day was Sunday. At breakfast my mom stared at me. “You sure we shouldn’t go to the hospital? What if your nose is broken?”

“It’s not broken. Besides, I’m not going to wait around for hours in an emergency room all day.”

“He’s right,” my father added, oddly coming to my defense. “Besides, it’s no big deal. I’ve had worse than that. It builds character.” He was smiling. I think he was secretly proud of me. A black eye meant I was becoming a man. I could take the punishment.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I just feel like hiding for a while.”

“You can’t hide, Ben,” my mom said. “It’s summer. You need fresh air.”

My father cleared his throat. “Well, I was talking to my boss about getting you a summer job in the plant.”

Working in a factory that made cardboard boxes sounded like a death sentence. I knew that anything I said now would be the wrong thing. Luckily, my mother agreed with me. “I don’t think Ben should do that.” She paused and looked at me. “He’s still a boy. He shouldn’t have to grow up yet.”

“When I was his age...” my father began, but he was cut off by my mother.

“We all know about what you did when you were his age, dear.”

That was the end of that conversation. The job at the box factory would hang over my head all summer unless I found something to do that would keep me out of the house. And I wasn’t sure my mother’s small victory was going to save me altogether. My old man would keep alive his dream of getting his son a job at his factory. And if he had his way, that would be the end of my so-called life.