TUCKER
Ijust about scrape through the first three rounds.
Surfing isn’t like a race or something. You score by catching waves then the judges take off your top and bottom scores and give you an average.
There were waves I absolutely should have nailed but all I could think about is Ryan and Amber, and the text I don’t even remember sending while I was wasted.
I can’t even read the water around me. The one thing I’m good at and I can’t even get that right.
Surfing isn’t just about riding a board in the water. It requires more than that. You need balance, sure, but you also need to know how to distribute that balance and make split-second decisions about how you use your weight to work against what’s coming your way.
See a wave and you’re going to need to turn. That’s obvious to anyone. But turn too much and you’ll end up head on with the wave, which you definitely do not want. That’s the quickest way to wipe out.
I was never great at math, but surfing is more akin to math than anything else. It’s performing calculations without thinking and reacting without a second thought.
More than all that, though, surfing is the one place where I feel at peace.
Of course, during comps there are people shouting, maybe a few chants or airhorns if the crowd is feeling douchey.
And there’s the noise of the water -- waves curling and water crashing.
But when I’m out there, I don’t hear any of that.
Normally it’s just me, my reactions, the board and the water. Complete and utter peace.
Normally, that is. This comp isn’t your regular old comp. Not only do I not have my head in the game, but this is also the one that could potentially change my life if I win.
I don’t think I took the time to understand the gravity of the situation until now.
This could be my big break, but I’m too focused on real-life problems to make the most of it.
Yeah, I got through the other rounds, but that wasn’t the plan.
The goal was to win the other rounds so I can show the scouts what I’m made of.
Now I need to win the whole thing to even slightly be in with a chance of being spotted.
And also, the most important thing: Fuck Ryan and Fuck Amber.
I’m still way too riled up. I need to calm down if I’m gonna have the faintest of chances.
I sit down on the beach to wax my board and gather my thoughts before the finals. The beach is packed. People are everywhere. I want space and quiet but that is no doubt going to have to wait.
When I reach for my can of soda, which is completely flat by this point, I notice an absolutely behemoth of a man coming towards me.
The dude is jacked. Like, seriously jacked. Even his throbbing veins have muscles. The only break in his physique I notice is when I spot a tribal barbed wire tattoo. Classy. And shit.
“You that Braddock kid?” He speaks.
Kid? Fuck you, I’ve got a kid on the way.
“Yeah. Tucker. Sup?”
He sits down next to me and stares out at the waves.
“You sure picked a good day for comp, eh? Hey, so, I’ve been watching you. You’ve got talent that’s for sure. I’ve seen some of your other comps as well.”
Oh crap, is this the scout?
“But the thing is, you’re doing terribly today. You’re better than this. I’ve seen your videos online and you can barely keep the right posture today.”
I’ve blown it. I have well and truly blown it.
“Yeah, I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I say back.
“Uh-hmm. I getcha. Sometimes it’s hard to focus when the world wants to pull you down, eh?”
Either this guy is psychic or he’s pretty good at spotting mopey loners by themselves. It’s probably the latter, actually.
“Pretty much, yeah. Hey, I’m not normally this chaotic. I’m normally very dependable when it comes to surfing. This is legit the first bad comp I’ve done. I’ll be better in the future, I promise.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you will. And if you’re looking for something to give you a little edge, relax a bit but feel invincible, I got what you need. The good shit, too. None of that mass-produced crap.”
Not a scout. Just a ballsy dealer looking to make some scratch.
“Ah. It’s like that. I appreciate it but I shouldn’t be doing … that stuff while I’m surfing. Molly and shit like that is too harsh for staying upright.”
It was true. Too much bouncing is great for parties, not so much for full body control when I’m on a board.
“Pfft. Molly. I don’t sell the baby stuff. I meant some snowflakes but if you’re not looking to enhance or use the winning stuff, that’s fine. Sorry I bothered you. I’d heard you were into hardcore shit. My mistake.”
The big guy gets up to leave but I grab his arm and pull him back down.
“Hold up. You are saying you can help me win?”
I know this is a bad idea but fuck it. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose because of something out of my control.
“I can’t, no. But my powder will. Part coke, part muscle relaxers so you won’t feel that hard pull when you tense, 100 percent focus. The cops ain’t even got a name for my shit yet; it’s that new.”
Fuck it. What have I got to lose?
“Okay. I’m in. How much, and how long’s the come up?”
“Good man. $200 and 15 minutes.”
“What the hell? What’s it made from unicorn horns?”
“Haha. Good one. Nah, it’s premium. If it’s too rich for your blood that’s fin--”
“No, I’ll take it.”
I pass the man a rolled-up bundle of notes I had in my wallet, then he leaves a small baggie filled with white powder on the floor. He gets up, without saying goodbye, and wanders off with my money.
This shit better be good.
I carefully empty the contents onto my finger then press it to my nose. With one quick, but subtle, snort, it’s gone.
30 minutes pass and then my name gets called.
I spot three babes in bikinis as I walk up to take my shot.
“‘Sup ladies,” I say as they giggle. “If any of you are looking for some fun later, hit me up after the show. Bonus points if you all wanna come together.”
Sure, it’s a little crass, but hey, I’m a single, handsome man looking for my next mistake. Mistakes, if I’m lucky.
They cast me another smile that I’m sure means they’re interested.
I dance by some rowdy dudes drinking and throw up a bullhorn sign with my hand. Naturally we all start screaming “YEAH!”
In this moment, I am the man. I am the king of surfing. The best surfer in the world, and I know whoever the scout is, they’re going to love me.
I rip my shirt off and toss it into the crowd. Next, I get on my board and paddle out to the starting position.
I can feel the music pulsating through me. Each time the crowd roars, it’s like I’m getting larger and larger. Larger than life itself. This is my time.
The horn blares to signal I can start. I stand upright on my board and casually throw my arms open. A little bit of showboating never hurt anyone.
Whatever I’m on, it’s working. I can feel every ripple in the water with hyper focus. I swear I can hear a wave form. I read the water, and yes, it’s wave time baby!
I turn my board and ride it with the precision of a scalpel. The crowd ignites. They didn’t know it, but they’re here for me.
Another wave, another perfect catch. My moment has come. Everything has led to this.
The water suddenly starts swirling beneath me. I can hear the low rumble of a wave taking shape. This one is big. No, this one is bigger than I’ve ever faced. This is the one. This wave will cement my legacy.
The water grips the board tightly and I quickly adjust my footing to compensate. I wrestle control of the board and like the star I am, manage to ride it onto the wave.
I can see everything. The beach, the crappy light-up scoreboard, those girls from earlier. I’m so high I’m practically a bird.
I’m at the crest and suddenly my left foot is hit by a rough splash. I lose my balance and veer too far to the left. This is it.
This is where it all comes crashing down just like everyone expected.
My whole upper body rocks. I’m going to fall. Game over. No. Not today.
I manage to thrust my chest back into a parallel position. I look like I’m doing a standing sit up. And with a swift change of fate, I’m back in the right position, and able to sail down the other end of the wave back down to the water level.
The crowd absolutely pops. It’s like thunder hitting the same point five times in a row. I can hear everything, even this far from shore, I can hear them losing it.
And with that, my time in the water has come to end. I surf -- instead of paddle -- back to shore and pick up my board, the crowd still in ear-rupturing applause.
“That was great!”
“I thought you were done for!”
“Way to ride it, dude!”
I will take any and all the compliments I can. This is my safe space, where I rule everything and everyone. I am finally at peace.
I walk off to a quiet corner, shove my board into the sand and sit down. A wave of relief washes over. I’ve done it. Despite everything, I’ve done it.
“You Tucker Braddock?” a voice calls. It’s not the big guy. In fact, I have no idea who this guy is. He looks old.
“Yeah, dude, that’s me. The one and only.”
“Come with me son.”
I get up and walk with this old dude. I don’t know who he is, but he’s got a lanyard with something on around his neck, so I guess he’s an official or something.
We cross the beach to the other side and stop near a host of mobile toilets.
“My name’s Gus. You, okay?”
“Gus! I am fucking great! Better than ever in fact.”
“Good. Go in there and piss into this.”
Oh fuck. Oh no.
“Hey c’mon, Gus, I barely know you, you gotta buy me dinner before I’ll piss in front of you,” I say. Gus’ face tells me he’s not amused.
“Just piss in the cup so we can get this done with.”
“I don't need to go right now, though.”
“It’s fine. Just go in, sit down, think of running water.”
I take the cup out of Gus’ hand and enter the toilet.
Fuck. Not like this. C’mon. Not like this.
Despite what I said, I take a leak into the cup.
I’m not even sure why I’m doing this now.
Maybe I could just punch him and make a run for it.
No, that’s worse. Wait, no. The guy said the cops ain’t found this drug yet. Maybe it won’t show?
I exit the cabin and pass my piss-bottle to Gus. “There you go my man, don’t down it all at once.”
Gus raises an eyebrow before taking out a white strip and dipping it into my piss. Almost instantly, it turns a bright green.
“I’m afraid you’re out of the competition. Green means there’s banned substances in your system.”
“No, that can’t be right. It must have been my inhaler.”
“It’s not your inhaler, Sir.”
“No but, I worked my ass off for this. I traveled across the country. You can’t just--”
“You broke the rules. You’re out.”
Before I can plead my case, he’s gone, straight through a group of people within earshot with their heads down.
With nothing else to do, I throw my board at the people with bowed heads. “Here you fucking go.”
I can see Gus returning with what looks like more officials, but I don’t have time for that. I run off the beach and straight to my rental.
I floor the gas and head straight back to my hotel room with the plan of escalating quickly. Fuck all of this. I should have won. I should be the best there is.
I kick my door open and throw my things on my bed. I grab the phone and bark an order for a bottle of whiskey.
A few moments later, it's here. I say nothing when I open the door and snatch the bottle out of whoever-it-is’ hand. I stalk back to my bag and pull out my socks.
Inside is a baggy. I take a chug of whiskey and down two Xans. I grab my other sock and unravel four Mollies. Again, whiskey, straight down, all four. Another sip to make sure everything went down okay and another sip for good luck.
I sit for another minute before downing the last few drops. The bottle heads straight for the wall.
I try to grab the phone to order more but I can’t seem to pick it up. With the palm of my hand, I smash everything off the table.
“ARGHGHGHGGHGHG! FUCK THIS SHIT!” I say, before collapsing to floor as darkness consumes my vision.