Page 79 of Catch a Wave
“Half hour’s good,” I say.
Once the door shuts behind Kai, I let out a long breath. Mavs waits a few beats to make sure we’re alone, and then she says, “Well, that went well, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. It went great.”
Mavs smirks over at me, and then her face breaks into a full smile.
“Looking for Shaka?” she says. “What was I thinking?”
Her laughter fills the garage, and I join her.
“Beats me,” I say, drawn to her like filaments to a magnet.
I pull her into my arms and kiss her forehead.
“Want tolook for the dogwith me now, while Kai sleeps?” She winks up at me.
“I’m all about the hunt.”
KALAINE
(ONE AND A HALF YEARS INTO OUR RELATIONSHIP)
Stay true in the dark and humble in the spotlight.
~ Harold B. Lee
Surfers call it dawn patrol. It’s when we hit the waves before the sun is fully up. In the gray-blue light of pre-dawn, we pull into the parking lot at Banzai and wordlessly don our wetsuits at the backs of our respective trucks, cars and vans.
We greet one another with a dip of the chin or a smile. Sometimes a few people talk on their way to the water. But we’re all focused, and here for a reason. The surfers willing to get out of bed to ride before the day gets rolling are serious about surfing. And today, we’ve had a swell that even hit the news. When these kinds of storms at sea come our way in the form of massive waves, people travel from around the island or even fly into Honolulu to come ride.
Bodhi and I have been waking early every day for months to hit the waves before he heads into my dad’s shop to shape boards and serve customers. Every morning, I drive my little red VW Beetle over to Bodhi and Kai’s apartment—a back house on myuncle’s property. And then the two of us jump in his truck and drive to whatever spot is breaking best.
Kai joins us occasionally, but his passion for competing seems to be waning, so he’s not always eager to trade sleep for time in the ocean. Whereas, Bodhi and I are only getting hungrier for bigger waves in more exotic places. Many nights, we’re snuggled together on his couch or mine, trolling the internet to watch videos of people surfing around the world. Mostly these days, it’s Nazare in Portugal, Mullaghmore Head, Ireland, or Belharra, France. We’re dreaming up a European surf tour and talking with our coaches and sponsors about what it will take to make it happen.
I ride my last wave in, carry my board up the sand, and tug my wetsuit zipper down my back. My eyes are on the water, watching Bodhi weave along a wave and turn into the perfect off-the-lip before he rides toward shore, hops off his board and turns to paddle out for another.
Surfers dot the waves here at Banzai Pipeline, even at this early hour with the sun just cresting the hills across the road. Five lifeguards man the tower next to the path leading to the beach. Their Sea-Doos line the sand close to the shorepound. Being a lifeguard on the North Shore means constant diligence, especially in waves as big as the swell rolling in today.
I’m drying my hair with one of our towels when Bodhi comes up behind me. He drops his board in the sand, steps in front of me and slips his arms around my waist. Then he shakes his head like a drenched dog, spraying me with droplets of saltwater.
“Hey!” I shout, but I’m smiling.
He rests his cheek right up against mine. His skin is cold even though the water stays relatively warm here in Hawaii.
“Mmmm. You’re so toasty, Mavs.”
“You’re like a disobedient puppy.”
“Train me.” He tilts his head back and wags his eyebrows mischievously.
My smile grows. He’s still so flirtatious, and the feelings he elicits from me haven’t dimmed in the slightest over the past year of him living on Oahu.
Bodhi leans in and kisses me. Then we grab our boards and our beach bag and haul everything back to Bodhi’s truck. Bodhi straps our surfboards onto the roof racks. We do a quick surf change into our shorts and shirts.
Bodhi turns to me. “Are you ready for today?”
“Sure. Are you?”
