Thirteen

The beach was packed by the time Todd and Elizabeth arrived on Saturday. Fortunately, Enid and George had saved them a place near the water where the view was relatively unobstructed. They threaded their way toward the ocean through a jungle of splashy-bright beach towels, toasting bodies, and Styrofoam coolers.

It was another perfect, sunny day. The salty air smelled of suntan lotion and surfboard wax, and there was just enough of a breeze to keep everyone from getting too hot. Farther down the beach a game of volleyball was in progress. Elizabeth watched as a slender girl in cutoffs took a nose dive into the sand after a spiked ball.

“I thought you were never going to get here,” Enid greeted as they plopped down beside her and George on the old chenille bedspread they were using as a beach blanket.

“Thanks for holding some space for us. Looks like you’ve been here quite a while,” Elizabeth noted, as she took in the hot-pink color of Enid’s formerly pale thighs. “If you don’t put some suntan lotion on, you’re going to look like a poached salmon pretty soon.”

Enid sighed, rolling onto her stomach. “The price one pays for beauty. Can’t you see I’m working on getting a tan?”

“More like getting crispy-fried,” joked George, earning a dirty look from Enid over the rims of her sunglasses.

Todd stared out over the waves that rolled in offshore in nearly perfect four-foot green swells. He whistled in appreciation.

“Man, couldn’t be better. Those waves are definitely made to order.”

The judging hadn’t started yet, but a number of wetsuited competitors bobbed beyond the swells, sometimes paddling in to take a wave as it curled into a crest. Elizabeth spotted Sonny Callahan down the beach, near the lifeguard station. The blond sun god didn’t look the least bit worried as he straddled his board, waxing it with slow circular strokes while carrying on a conversation with an animated-looking Lila Fowler. Lila, in her metallic-blue one-piece, her wavy light-brown hair done up in French braids, was practically draped over his board as she feigned a keen interest in surfing.

“Anyone seen Bill?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“Not a hair of his hide,” replied Enid, who was busy smoothing her legs with lotion.

“I think that’s supposed to be ’neither hide nor hair,’” George corrected, slapping her shoulder playfully.

“Ouch! OK. No, I haven’t seen Bill, come to think of it.”

“No one has,” George added.

“Do you think he’ll show?” Sniffing a scoop in the works, Elizabeth dug into her oversize straw beach bag for the pad and pencil she always carried.

Enid shrugged. “Who knows? Bill’s always been kind of a loner. He probably didn’t tell anyone what he’s up to.”

“Maybe you were right, Enid.” Elizabeth giggled. “Maybe he’s really a double agent wanted by the FBI.”

“The wet suit is only one of his many disguises, folks,” George said in a stage-whisper. “Used mainly to smuggle secret information to enemy submarines.”

The four of them giggled at the idea.

“He’d better turn up soon,” Todd remarked. “They’re going to start the contest any minute.”

The judges occupied the lifeguard station, the highest vantage point on the beach. As Elizabeth shaded her eyes to look up, one of the judges, the owner of a local surf shop, raised a megaphone to his lips to announce that any competitor who didn’t have a number by twelve o’clock would be disqualified.

Sonny Callahan strolled leisurely over to receive his number, then proceeded to suit up, bronze muscles rippling under Lila’s adoring gaze.

George glanced at his watch. “Three minutes. Maybe he got kidnapped by a band of crazed pirates.”

“Very likely,” Enid scoffed. “One thing’s for sure—if Bill doesn’t show, he’ll never live it down.”

The crowd waited in suspense, heads craning for any sign of Bill Chase. Elizabeth had all but given up on him when a ripple of applause started up at the far end of the beach by the parking lot, working its way toward her as it grew to a deafening cheer. The sea of bodies parted, and she caught sight of Bill trotting toward the lifeguard station, a gleaming new surfboard tucked under one arm.

“Finally!” Todd breathed. “I was beginning to wonder if my board would ever have a crack at those waves.”

“Your board?” Elizabeth piped.

Todd grinned at her. “My parents gave it to me on my last birthday, but I never got a chance to use it more than once or twice, so I sold it to Bill. He wanted an O’Neill, but he couldn’t afford to buy a new one. That’s how I got the rest of the money I needed for the Yamaha.”

Elizabeth recalled seeing Todd and Bill huddled together in the corridor at school the week before, and it suddenly made sense. That was when Todd had told her he was getting the motorcycle.

“That still doesn’t explain why he was missing for practically an entire week,” said Enid.

“He swore me to secrecy—otherwise I would’ve told sooner. He cut school so he could practice on the new board.”

“Look at him go!” George roared as Bill crouched into the first wave. He was just a hairbreadth behind Sonny.

To those watching from a distance, Bill seemed one with board and water, cutting a zigzag through the glassy curl as effortlessly as an ice skater doing figure eights. Sonny was good, too, but if Elizabeth had been a judge, she would have awarded more points to Bill for that wave.

Bill and Sonny remained neck and neck for the next couple of hours. There was no denying that Sonny was fast and clean, but in Elizabeth’s opinion Bill had the better style.

He danced through the waves with a lightness and balance that even Fred Astaire would have envied, she scribbled in her notebook.

Still, it was only her opinion. Some judges, she knew, favored power and speed over grace and style, so there was no way of guessing who had racked up more points.

She could hear Lila Fowler talking to someone behind her.

“No question about it. He makes Bill Chase look like a chimpanzee on skis. Did you see the way he cut in front of Bill just now? Oh, did I tell you he invited me out to a party afterwards?…”

A few of the other surfers with less experience had dropped out by the time the judges were getting ready to call the contest to a close. Dink Halstead limped up the beach after wiping out on some rocks. There was a thin trickle of blood on his cheek.

“I’ve had enough,” he called to one of his friends. “Let David and Goliath battle it out. It’s their show anyway.”

Finally it was time for the judges to tabulate their points and announce the winner. Elizabeth held her breath as the voice over the megaphone blared the names of those in fourth and fifth places. Sonny and Bill were just now straggling in, looking exhausted as they peeled off their wet suits.

“In third place, with one hundred and eighty points, Gary Wallace.…”

A sprinkling of applause, and then the crowd held its breath.

“In second place, with two hundred and thirty points”—the megaphone squeaked, the shrill note scraping along Elizabeth’s nerves like fingernails on a blackboard—“Sonny Callahan. And the champion with two hundred and thirty-six points—a close call, folks—is Bill Chase.”

A wild cheer erupted. A number of Bill’s fans surged down to lift him, enthroned atop his board, onto their shoulders. The normally low-keyed Bill raised a triumphant fist, grinning from ear to ear. Winston Egbert jammed a hastily woven crown of seaweed onto Bill’s head. A dark-haired boy Elizabeth didn’t recognize was busy pouring a can of beer over him as well. Bill snatched the can before it was empty and took a long swig, streams of foam dribbling down his face.

“You should call your article ‘Rocky of the Deep,’” Enid suggested, contentedly munching on the hero sandwich she’d brought along.

“I’ve already got a title,” said Elizabeth, holding up her note pad so they could see what she’d written: “Chase Is One.”

“Clever,” remarked Todd. “Very clever.”

Sonny Callahan was engaged in a furious argument with the judges, a display of poor sportsmanship Elizabeth was quick to make note of. His golden aura of confidence had been tarnished. Even Lila seemed to have lost interest. She had joined the crowd that hovered about Bill, and she was congratulating him as if she’d known all along that he was going to win.

Cara spotted Elizabeth and her friends and rushed over.

“Where’s Jessica?” she wanted to know. “I’ve been searching absolutely everywhere for her. Didn’t she come with you?”

“Jessica couldn’t make it,” Elizabeth replied. “She’s sick today.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing too serious. Just a raging case of poison oak.” Elizabeth didn’t add that it was a result of getting lost in the woods the day Jessica had sneaked off with Scott.

“Gee, that’s too bad,” Cara remarked. “I know how much she was looking forward to this. Now she’ll have to miss the party and everything. Is she really bummed out about it?”

“I’d say she wasn’t too happy.” Elizabeth suppressed a tiny smile, remembering Jessica’s howls of rage when she discovered that the pesky little rash that had been plaguing her all week had erupted into a volcano of swollen, red blisters. Elizabeth was surprised at herself for not feeling sorrier for Jessica than she did, but she couldn’t help wondering if Jessica didn’t deserve it after all.

She recalled their mother’s bewildered look as she shook her head over Jessica, wondering aloud, “I simply can’t imagine where on earth you could have picked up such a thing.…”