27. Summer
Summer
The sun drops below the horizon; the sky turns from orange to violet.
Someone lights a bonfire on the beach. The flames climb fast, fed by driftwood and old crates.
Smoke curls up through the smell of the skewers and sausages Luke’s grilling.
He’s grumbling because people keep trying to help themselves before anything’s cooked.
The sand’s cooler under my sandals. String lights flick on along the surf school building. Kai sits down near the fire with a ukulele. He starts playing something soft, eyes on the flames, like no one else is there. People gather. Blankets get spread out.
Harper’s sitting next to me on a driftwood log. Maya’s on her left, legs crossed in the sand. Miles comes back with cups.
Flip circles the fire.
Tighter and tighter circles, nose to the ground, tail going. Nobody’s paying attention to him—except me, because I know he’s up to something.
By the time he snags a string of sausages, it’s too late.
He nearly takes Luke out on his way past and gallops across the sand toward the skatepark. The sausages drag behind him like a war trophy. Three kids tear after him, shrieking.
“Big guy, reigning world champion of petty theft,” I say, laughing.
Across the fire, Jace sighs. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and takes a sip of beer.
“Don’t know him,” he says to no one in particular.
Noah’s still in the sand, flat on his back, a beer parked beside him. His cigarette glows in the dark.
The noise dies down. The conversations settle.
Jace stands.
He plants himself in front of the fire, facing the crowd. The flames light his face, deepen the shadows under his cheekbones, catch the green of his eyes. His hands are in his pockets. He’s not smiling.
“Thanks, everyone,” he says. “Thanks for coming out and pitching in. For eating too much, for trying your luck at the raffle, for letting your kids sink during the beginner lessons.”
A few laughs.
“Thanks to everyone who helped. Yumi, Luke, Miles, Sierra, Kai, Maya, Evan, Noah, and everybody else.”
His eyes sweep the crowd, pass over me, don’t stop.
“This school…” he goes on. “My grandfather started it. He built this place with his own hands. He put the first boards in the water before Coral Bay was even a surf spot.”
He breaks off. His jaw tightens.
“My father took over. He—”
His voice cracks on the word father. The fire snaps. Nobody speaks. I squeeze my cup between my fingers.
Jace breathes in, breathes out, looks at the sand. Miles gets up, puts a hand on Jace’s shoulder, and turns to the crowd.
“What Jace wanted to say is that thanks to all of you, the school isn’t going under this year either. Thank you, everyone!”
He lifts his cup.
“And if you don’t win anything tonight, just remember—what matters is that you drank with dignity.”
“Noah lost,” Luke calls from the grill.
A hand rises out of the sand.
“Not true,” Noah says.
Laughter, then applause. Jace steps back, nods to Miles, and disappears into the building.
I don’t move. It’s not my job to go after him.
Sierra takes over.
“Thanks, Miles. And now—the raffle!”
She holds up the jar full of folded slips. People crowd in closer.
“First prize: a one-hour private surf lesson with the instructor of your choice, courtesy of Walker Surf School!”
She draws number 81. A woman raises her hand, laughing.
“Next up: an artisan Italian salami from DeLuca’s.”
“Soppressata,” Luke corrects.
“A soprassina from DeLuca’s,” Sierra continues, unfazed.
Luke opens his mouth, then gives up. Sierra draws. A man in a Hawaiian shirt speaks up, delighted.
“And next, a free haircut at S?ren Johansen’s salon—our new stylist!”
A few whistles from the crowd, somebody claps. Sierra draws—number 178.
A bald guy holds up his ticket. Cracking up, he runs a hand over his scalp, then hands the gift certificate to the woman beside him.
“And now, listen up… special prize: a ride around Coral Bay in Officer Evan Carter’s patrol car!”
Laughter. Evan, leaning against the building, crosses his arms and shakes his head with a resigned half-smile.
Sierra draws.
“Number 72!”
Dylan leaps up and waves his ticket over his head like he just won an Oscar.
“Yes! Sirens on?” he asks Evan.
“No.”
“Come on—sirens on!”
Evan rolls his eyes. Dylan spins in a circle, arms wide, and bows to the crowd.
Nineteen and the ego of a movie star.
Sierra’s smile widens.
“And now, the biggest prize of the night. A surfboard from the Walker collection.”
The chatter fades. A log pops, and heat climbs into my cheeks. The fire, probably.
“Number 17!”
Around me, people check their tickets. Slips unfold, murmurs, then the first sighs.
On autopilot, I pull mine out of my back pocket and unfold it: 17. That damn number again. I crush the ticket in my fist.
“Number 17?” Sierra repeats.
Harper looks at my clenched hand.
“It’s you...”
“No.”
Harper stands up and shouts, “Over here!”
Fifty heads turn toward me.
I’m going to kill her.
Sierra beams at me.
“Summer! Come get your board!”
I don’t have a choice. I get up and cross the crowd with everyone watching. My sandals sink into the sand with every step.
Jace is back. He’s standing by the empty rack, the yellow board in his hands.
I stop in front of him. My fingers find my pendant. The little gold wave is cold.
He holds out the board. Our hands brush. He’s already turning away.
“Congratulations,” he says without looking at me.
He walks off as the applause breaks out. The yellow board is heavy against my hip.
I carry it to the yard. No one follows me. The music grows muffled.
The gate creaks when I push it open. The moon lights the yard, the pale walls of the house. I lean the board against the fence.
Don’t turn it over.
I don’t turn it over. The yellow paint is rough, cracked by the salt. The red ribbon trails in the grass.
Two days before the end of everything.
I shut the gate again and head back to the fire.
Harper catches me before I make it back to Maya.
“You okay?”
“I’m great.”
Her blue eyes settle on me without pushing. But I know she’s figured it out.
“Cool,” she says. “Because you told me earlier you know how to surf. And now you’ve got a board.”
“I said I hadn’t surfed in six years.”
“And I said your body doesn’t forget. Tomorrow morning, we go.”
It’s not a question.
“I’m not sure...”
“No worries. Here, seven a.m., with your new board.”
I hunt for a reason to say no. Nothing. Worse: I want to say yes.
“Can I come too?” Sierra says, appearing behind Harper.
She’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Harper.
“The more the merrier, mate,” Harper says with a smile.
Sierra smiles too—a softer smile.
Interesting.
“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow. Seven a.m. I’ll be there.”
“Perfect,” Harper says.
And she heads back to the fire, sure of herself, barefoot in the sand. Sierra watches her go.
Noah’s snoring in the sand. Flip’s curled up against him, his snout smeared with grease.
And me—I just won the board where I first kissed Jace Walker.
Tomorrow, I’m going to surf.
Nice work, Summer. Another victory.