Page 51 of The King Contract
“Huh?”
Noah squints. “I asked if you were ready.”
Nope. Nope.
Not ready, won’t ever be.
Fuck my life.
He narrows his eyes at me as if he can hear my spiralling thoughts. “I know we’re fake-dating, but you don’t have to pretendeverything.”
“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” I snap. “Even if it’s only the basics, I’ll look like an idiot.”
Noah grins. “The best surfer out there is the one having the most fun. Who cares if you look foolish?”
“Says the professional surfer who’s been doing this since he was three.”
“Two.”
I dig my nails into my palms as another wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.
“We’re in the whitewash today,” Noah says. “Nothing else. We’re going to get you comfortable with the board and your body in the shallows.”
“And hope someone snaps some videos of me eating shit to help improve your reputation?” I offer, gritting my teeth.
Noah smirks. “Think of that sweet, sweet cheque I’m going to write for you.”
I exhale a dramatic breath.Yes.That’s right. Remember why you’re doing this. Think of Ellis and Winston and the freedom you’ll have at the end of the summer. You can look like a fool for that.
On the sand, Noah takes me through the motions of surfing, which I would normally find mortifying, but I somehow ignore whoever might be watching, desperately trying to grasp his instructions. I can take information and apply it well. I’ve always been able to. Maybe I’ll be able to do it with surfing too.
Over and over, he shows me how to go from my stomach to my knees and topopup onto my feet as I’m catching the wave, keeping my weight low for balance. We practice on the board, and I wonder how one is meant to get these steps to work once the safety of the sand stabilising the board is no longer there.
“We don’t need to practice this anyway,” I spit, pushing my hair out of my face. “I’m not standing up.”
“Mmm, yes you are,” Noah argues.
I glower at Noah. “You said we were getting me comfortable with the board today. Strap on the ankle, whitewash. Baby steps, remember?”
“We didn’t come all this way to stand next to a board in the water,” Noah replies. “You’ve got to at leastattemptto stand.”
“I’ll look like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time,” I argue, my heart pounding. “If anything, sponsors are going to be given the ick when they see how uncoordinated I am in the water.”
Noah doesn’t seem fazed by my angst. He continues to smile his perfect Hollywood teeth smile, as he starts to lift my surfboard.
“I can’t do this.” The words come out sounding like a desperate admission.
Noah stops and lowers the board, standing in front of me with narrowed eyes. “Is this legit fear or are you being a baby?”
“Legit.”
Noah’s eyes soften. “Is this because of your parents?”
I shake my head. “No. Everyone thinks because they died in the water, I’m afraid of it, but it’s not true.”
“What is it then? Is it from when you fell in, and I pulled you out? It makes sense to be afraid to go back in.”
“I don’t like waves,” I say hurriedly. “I’m good with flat water, but big waves scare me.”
