“Hey,” she says, “I’ve seen you out here a few times. You go to Redondo?”
“Nah, Maritime Academy. We don’t have a team.”
She clucks her tongue. “Bummer. I’m Alix. With an I. Not an E.”
“Hi, Alix with an I,” I say. “Lovette. You cut back at seriously the perfect time.”
“Thanks. Got lucky on that one. Sounds like you know a good wave. You doing any of the opens?”
I shake my head. “No way I’d be ready.”
“What about the All Wave Junior Open? It’s a five-series local competition hosted by different local shops and bars. The third one was a few weeks ago, but the next one’s not till February. Watermans is hosting. You should sign up.”
“Yeah, maybe.” That’s a definite no.
“Cool, maybe we’ll compete!”
And like that, she jogs off.
Disappointment slouches my shoulders forward. I feel heartbroken, and then those words come up again: “Do you love the ocean more than Me?”
Do I love the created thing more than the creator? “No, of course not,” I say out loud, kinda angry that the thought keeps popping up. I open my Bible-study journal to an empty page, one verse across the top: “You shall have no other gods before me.”
“Really?” I say to the sky. He knows I love Him more than anything. He knows. To prove it, I leave the ocean right then, thirty minutes earlier than usual.
* * *
School’s back to normal—uneventful like most weeks. Well, except for Jake. Is it okay to be attracted to someone even though I know we won’t date? My heart boxes my ribcage every time I see him in the hallway, so I U-turn whenever I see him coming my way. I don’t think he notices, and luckily, he’s no different than before our Friday-night swim. Still friendly, still hanging out with me and my friends. This week it feels like he’s been part of our group forever—a party of six from the beginning—and we’ve always had these seat assignments at lunch.
* * *
The following week, the steady “uneventfulness” has a mini hiccup. I go to bed like normal on Tuesday, but I’m woken by a bird chirping. I sit up in a panic. How am I gonna get a bird out of my room? Then I remember that’s the sound of Kelly’s texts.
You awake
I write back, I am now
I lie back down and try to calm my breathing.
Her next text chirps: JAKE HAS A GF!!!
Had, I start to write, but before I hit send, she interrupts with another chirp.
I can’t believe he led me on
This worries me.
I turn the volume down and write, He led you on?
A softer chirp: HE WENT TO POETRY NIGHT
Oh right. That was tonight.
How was it
Horrible. My future husband has a gf
Future husband? I stare at her text.
She writes, Hello?
I finally type, What did you say?
Stuff. I can’t believe he would dump me like that.
Dump? Whoa. Brakes, Kelly. You know you weren’t dating, right?
The text bubbles are repeating. She’s writing a lot about them not dating. Oh dear. Finally it comes through.
We could’ve been! Eventually! And then when was he planning on telling me he had a gf?
Oh, Kelly. So many texts. So many birds, I think sleepily.
I decide not to fight her on Jake’s girlfriend/ex-girlfriend status and instead send her a hug emoji before silencing my phone. Maybe I’m the one who’s wrong.
If Jake didn’t tell Kelly he was broken up, does this mean he got back with Hannah? He told me they talked “every day.” Maybe they were in the process of working things out. I know I shouldn’t care, but I flop away from my phone like I’m turning my back on the possibility.
I see Kelly’s final text in the morning when I wake up. Maybe pastor brett should talk w him
* * *
The rest of the week, Kelly’s quiet at our lunch table. Her eyes, usually ogling at Jake, are glancing around at everything and everyone else. Every time he opens his mouth, no matter what he’s saying, I can sense her looking at me, wanting me to return the look so she can lift her eyebrows to communicate, Can you believe he would say that?
At youth group, she pulls me into the front row to avoid Jake, and I do my best to be a good friend. Pastor Brett’s sermon is fifteen minutes long, but I only remember one part, like he saw a highlight reel of my life last weekend while planning his talk. He says, “I know that when people hear things like God saying He’s jealous, they think He’s some drunk guy at a bar talkin’ ’bout His woman, being like, ‘Don’t touch my property, yo.’ But it’s not like that. God’s jealous because God knows He’s the best thing for you, and He loves you too much to let you chase after things that are nothing but counterfeits in comparison. The world’s makin’ it rain with counterfeit hundred-dollar bills. Who wants a crisp hundy if it’s fake? The world’s hundies are yesterday’s undies.” Everyone groans at his bad pun. “Yeah, that’s how God feels, too. So it’s a good jealousy. Not a human jealousy. What’s God jealous for in your life? Who’s stealing His number one spot?”
I think of the ocean. I think of Jake. I’m not letting either take your number one spot, I silently say to Jesus, double-pinkie swear, and to prove it, I don’t look back once at Jake to say hi or “sorry my best friend’s being weird.” But I also volunteer to close the group in prayer, and I secretly hope Jake notices. “See? I’m not ‘just a lot of don’ts,’” I want to say as I finish praying. But instead, I settle for “Amen.”
* * *
I still go to work as usual, but I’ve stayed out of the ocean for two weeks, and I’m miserable. I don’t want to chance Mom seeing my wet hair and assuming I’m having sex with some guy she thinks I’ve been dating for a year and a half. I can’t bear the guilt of that lie. And plus, ew, so embarrassing.
By Thursday night, even my coworker Kim notices. “What’s up with you?” she asks while slicing tomatoes.
“Not much.” I pretend I don’t know what she means and immediately feel guilty. “No, that’s a lie. Just, you know, stuff.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” she says, but lets me be.
* * *