Page 1 of The King Contract
World Surfing Association
2201 Rosecrans Avenue,
El Segundo, CA, 90210
Noah King
23 Bluewater Drive,
Fingal Head, NSW, 2487
Dear Mr. King,
As per our discussion on Tuesday 15 September, please consider this letter an official warning from the World Surfing Association (WSA) regarding your recent conduct.
Several instances have come to our attention that do not align with the standards and behavior expected of all staff and athletes within the WSA. These recent events have raised significant concerns regarding your overall professionalism.
This not only impacts your reputation but the integrity of the league, and I must remind you of the importance of maintaining exemplary behavior in and out of the water.
Further unprofessionalism will result in serious repercussions, as previously discussed. This is a step we hope to avoid, but one that we will implement if necessary.
Should you have any questions, or wish to discuss this further, please do not hesitate to contact me directly.
Sincerely,
Cameron Kennedy
CEO, World Surfing Association
1
MILLIE
I’m going to throw up
Hot and sticky.
That’s how I’d describe the summer on the northeast coast of New South Wales. Some days the air gets so thick, it feels like you’re wading through mud. Mosquitos come out with a vengeance. Thunderstorms roll in across the ocean as the sun sets behind the mountains, and roar into the night. It’s my favourite time of the year.
Whilst it’s not officially summer in Australia for another six weeks, this afternoon’s storm is a clear sign of what’s coming for the next few months. Plenty of humid days, cracks of thunder that make you jump out of skin and the most impressive conditions for an amateur photographer like me.
I’ve followed all the rules; rain protection for my gear, including a lens hood that cost me way more than it should have. I left my phone with my cousin Ellis in case it gets drenched, but she knows exactly where I am in case I’m unlucky enough to get struck by lightning. All that’s left now is to get to my vantage point, the jagged rock face at the southern end of the beach.
The rain’s coming in sideways, but according to my trusty weather app, it’ll subside in minutes. The clouds will break for a short period, and I’ll have ideal conditions tosnap some pictures of the waves against the horizon.
Battling the wind and rain, I march along the wet sand of Fingal Head Beach, clutching the camera around my neck to my chest. I’m wearing off-road sneakers with plenty of grip so I can clamber across the slippery rocks, and I do so with the finesse of a drunk llama. Water splashes up and drenches me, my raincoat proving useless, and I steady myself against the larger rocks, wobbling slightly. Sometimes I wonder what my parents would say if they could see their clumsy daughter climbing moss-covered cliff-faces, balancing between the edge of safety and the water that swallowed them whole.
I know what my aunt would say. She’d tell me to take a risk. Climb higher. I’ve never been much of a risk-taker, but for her, I’d do anything. She’s the main reason I came out here today.
I steady myself on a flat, wide boulder, widening my stance and squeezing every muscle I can to keep from toppling. The rain stings my cheeks and even though the clouds above me are an ominous grey, I can see a slither of sunlight trying to break through.
“Are you crazy?!”
The words sound like a figment of my imagination from the roaring wind, and I spin to face the source, spotting the dark hair of a man hovering in the water near the rocks below.
“What?” I shout.
The man yells something back, but I can’t make it out because I’m distracted by an unblinking pair of eyes in the rock formation below my feet.Is that a stonefish?A surge of water shoots over my shins as I’m staring at it, knocking me off kilter, and I plummet into the water below.
