In the end, I decide not to say anything about any of it. I don’t want any more tests. No more blood draws. No more machines scanning parts of my body. Today, I’m officially free of all that. My parents are free of all that. For a little longer than usual, at least. Dr. Ahmadi types a few notes on his tablet and stands up. “Okay, then! I’ll run out to give your folks a quick update while you change. And keep the copy of the EKG — you might want to frame it.” He smiles. “We’ll see you in four months. Until then, call us if you’re experiencing any pain, shortness of breath, nausea . . . well, you know the drill. Or call us if you just need to talk.”
I know he means this, and if I thought it would help to unload on anyone, he’d be the person I’d choose. But cardiac surgeons are busy, and the last thing I want to do is get everybody all worked up over nothing. My brain is probably just a little scattered from all the meds I have to take. And I have a normal EKG in my hand that tells me I should be celebrating. So I’m just going to make my parents happy and post this on our fridge under that ridiculous MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT OAK VALLEY HIGH magnet that my dad purchased at the school’s fund-raising auction because he thought it was hilarious.
In my most cheerful, everything-is-fine voice, I echo Dr. Ahmadi with a “See you in four months!” as he slips out the door.
If you surf, having a solid understanding of physics is useful. Waves, after all, are one of the best examples of physics in action: energy (wind) moving through matter (water). And if you can get a sense of the origin, intensity, and direction of the energy part, and how the tides and the type of break interact with it, you’ll have an idea of how the water is going to behave. Before I figured this out, I thought catching waves had more to do with luck than anything else. But now I know why Kai is always going on about “checking the surf report.” Turns out you can apply some science to surfing.
“Let’s go!” I barely stop after finding Kai on the beach when I arrive, eager to get out before the tide changes.
“Hold up,” he says, picking up his backpack to retrieve the ankle leash he promised to bring for me last week. “Let’s swap this for the one you have. So you don’t take anyone’s head off out there.”
Ankle leashes do more than just ensure that you won’t lose your board in the surf. They also protect the other surfers around you, especially the more experienced ones from the amateurs. A runaway board can result in a whole lot of stitches for anyone in its path.
Kai hands over the leash and I lay my board down, squatting while I remove the one that’s already attached. “Thanks,” I say.
“They’re a little tricky. Want me to get it?”
I shake my head. “I can do it.” He stands back in a posture that looks as though he expects me to ask for help at any minute. I line up the two ends of the leash string, tie an overhand knot, and push one end through the plug on my board. Then I attach the cord and fasten the cuff at my ankle.
“Ready!” I say, standing up.
“Huh,” he says. “Usually takes me a couple of tries to get that right.”
I shrug. “I once earned a Girl Scout badge for tying knots.”
He nods and squints at me. “Of course you did.”
I squint back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You just . . . seem like the kind of person who might excel at Girl Scouting.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I mean, you level up fast.” Kai rakes his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“Waves should be good today, right?” I ask, changing the subject. “I saw that the swell interval is supposed to be long.” A longer interval between waves means that each one accumulates more energy and peels longer, which makes for a better ride.
“Take a look,” he says, nodding toward the horizon, where a handful of surfers are already lined up, waiting. I watch one pop up and sail across the face of a wave. “The report helps, but nothing’s better than your own eyes.”
“Looks good,” I confirm.
He nods. “Let’s go, then.”
As we paddle out, I’m having a harder time getting through the white water than I did last week. Although the waves look long and clean farther out, they are breaking hard on the beach. Kai is ahead of me, and I watch what he does, mirroring his movements. He’s paddling strong and sure, propelling himself directly into the oncoming waves. The trick is to generate enough momentum to push through the impact zone without getting rolled off your board. I dig deep into the water, trying to pick up as much speed as I possibly can. The spray stings my face, and now I can’t see Kai at all — he’s lost behind the roiling wall of foam that’s surging toward me. I push up hard on my rails and throw all of my weight forward. White water rushes past as I push, paddle, push, paddle, and then I’m through the worst of it, denying the ocean its first opportunity to screw with my surfing plans today. Now I just need to keep it that way.
Kai twists his head around up ahead to make sure I’m still behind him and gives a quick thumbs-up with his right hand. We join the lineup.
“You okay?” he asks as I paddle up next to him, my eyes taking in the size of the swells. They look pretty damn huge up close and I feel like we are floating in a giant bowl of water. All I can see is ocean ahead and ocean behind and the blue-gray sky up above.
“Yeah,” I say, more confident than I feel.
Kai looks a tiny bit anxious as well, which I know is not because he’s worried for himself. I’ve already seen him surf waves bigger than these. Is he worried that he’s got me into a situation that I might not be able to handle?
His eyes connect with mine. “If you can’t get up, just hang on to your board and paddle back in with the wave.”
Yep, I think. He’s already expecting me to wipe out. Again.
I watch the surfers ahead of us as they race for incoming waves, pop up, and then take off toward the shore. Not one has fallen. I’m not going to be the only one who does, I tell myself.
Another wave sweeps toward us, rising and rising and rising till it begins to cast a shadow over our heads. This is the one.
The one I’m going to catch.
“It’s yours!” Kai yells and, as soon as I hear that, I launch.
Left, right, left, right, left, right. I paddle harder than I’ve ever paddled before and get myself into position, the nose of my board pointing toward the beach. I wait until it begins to lift under me. Now I just need to hang on for the right moment. Which is . . . now.
Now!
I place my hands underneath my chest and pop up, so shocked to be standing that I almost topple off again, like last week. The board wobbles slightly, but this time I regain my balance and then, holy shit, I’m surfing, actually really surfing, on my own, for the first time ever.
The wave that I’ve caught is a big one. Bigger even than it seemed when I watched it gather itself up, before I perched myself near the summit of its rising, racing, liquid surface. It whisks me toward the shore, and I feel as though I’m no longer in the water, but flying above it, like a pelican or a gull. Everything looks, and feels, different from this perspective as the scale and scope of the world multiplies, expanding in all directions. The ocean. The beach. The sky. For a split second, I can even see behind the sand dunes, glimpsing the roofline of pastel-painted storefronts that line the road beyond them. I inhale, filling my lungs with salt air, which has got to be some kind of enhanced, extra-intense version of oxygen, because I’ve never felt more awake and alive. My board rises higher.