In Waves | ✔️

16 | tidal

Nate shakes out the sand from his hair like a wet dog as we walk, and I dust the back of his shirt off. The feel of his jutting shoulder blades makes my stomach do a backflip, which then spins into cartwheels when he returns the favor and brushes the sand off my back, moving my hair aside. My entire body erupts with goosebumps.

If I could hire someone to play with my hair 24/7, I would. It has to be one of the best feelings in the world. Sometimes I'm tempted to book an appointment at a salon just to get my hair washed by someone other than myself. I wonder if it's a normal thing that girls ask guys to do in relationships. It better be.

We stop near the shore, and I instinctively step back as a wave rolls in, careful not to wet my feet. The moon and stars hang from an inky sky, their faint glow barely enough to illuminate the vast ocean ahead.

The unbroken expanse of black slate that extends beyond the horizon makes me uneasy. I focus on the flecks of light that manage to splinter the waves, the effervescent white foam that carries on them, the bubbles that gurgle and pop in the sand. A tiny crab scuttles past, and I find myself smiling at its carefree movements. Until a gush of water sweeps it off into the sea.

I suppose when you're that size, all waves are tsunamis. Yet another reason to avoid the coast: drowning in a tsunami. That has to be one of the worst ways to go.

"It must really suck," Nate says next to me, and for a moment I think he might be reading my gloomy thoughts.

"What must suck?"

"Living in a beach town and not liking the beach."

I watch him watching that black slate of ocean with admiration. "I've got the art of evasion down to a T. If I don't come here, this town is just a town."

"Man, I've got my work cut out for me, don't I?" he says with a chuckle. "Maybe our lessons should be at night so it looks like snow and I can trick your brain into liking it."

A laugh trills out of me. "You're insane if you think I'd ever get in there at night."

"You said it looks better like this."

"The beach, not the ocean."

Nate considers me. "Why're you afraid of it?"

I consider him right back. "You're not afraid of anything about it? Drowning, riptides, sharks? The list goes on. Being a surfer can't make you immune."

His eyes flicker with something I can't pinpoint, but he just scratches his nose and sits on the sand. "No it can't, but surfing as long as I have, those things you're afraid of just turn into things. Surfing outweighs them all."

I join him on the ground, crossing my legs. "How long is long?"

"My dad had me on a board before I could walk," he starts. "He'd sit me in front of him and paddle around these small waves I thought were massive, and I fucking loved it. I wanted more. So he'd take me into real rough waves and give my mom heart attacks. Then when I got older, I used to steal his board and take it out in the middle of the night so he wouldn't find out. Then I eventually got my own board, and I'd just spend hours in the water on that thing. With or without my dad teaching me, I couldn't get enough of it... still can't. You'll get it, too. The surf bug."

"You think? Seems like I'd have to be a surfing toddler to get it."

Nate gives a smiling sigh. "That unhealthy obsession I said you're going to develop? That's what it is. You'll get it, and those things you're afraid of are just gonna be things."

"I'm holding you to that."

We watch a few waves lap onto the sand ahead of us before I feel his eyes on me. "So, you never answered my question up there."