Dawn, secret spot. My mate, Tom getting a few hi-tide beach thumpers before the rest of us even got changed.
It speaks of promise: it’s a sunny day, its uncrowded, the lines are clear, the waves clean- and we have no deadline. We’re going to surf till we’re rinsed through. Photo: Chris Vick
Editor’s note: Chris Vick is a young adult fiction writer who hails from the UK. His most recent novel, Kook, chronicles a teenager’s search for love and meaning in a simultaneous relationship with a girl and the ocean. “Fifteen-year-old Sam has moved from the big city to the coast – stuck there with his mum and sister on the edge of nowhere,” the description reads on Harper Collins’ website. “Then he meets beautiful but damaged surfer-girl Jade. Soon he’s in love with her, and with surfing itself. But Jade is driven by an obsession: finding and riding a legendary huge wave no one has ever ridden. As the weeks wear on, their relationship barrels forward with the force of a deep-water wave – into a storm, to danger … and to heartbreak.” Below is an excerpt from the novel.
Mum’s face was a right picture when I turned up with the board and suit.
There was a row. Course there was. But I was determined. “It’s not safe,” she said.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Your father drowned at sea.”
“Mum, we live by the sea. On the edge of the moor. The edge of nowhere. There’s nothing else to do…”
Mum chewed her lip.
“Look,” I said. “If he’d died in a car crash, would you stop me learning to drive?”
“No.”
“But you’d want me to be careful, right? I’ll be careful. Safe.
I promise.”
She gave in eventually, but only after I’d made a bunch of promises.
Never alone. I had to be with people who knew what they were doing.
Never when it was big or dangerous.
No going off surfing when I should be doing homework or helping in the house.
I reckon she thought I’d try it for a bit and then lose interest, as soon as I realised I wasn’t any good.
I told Mum the night before I started that I was meeting some surfers who were giving me a lesson before school. So that was broken promise number one.
I got up in the dark and sneaked downstairs. I’d laid it all out the night beforeboard, wetsuit, rash vest, towel, board wax, bananas and a flask of coffee for fuel. The whole thing had to run smooth. I had to be in the water super early, surf for an hour, race home, get changed and get to the bus stop in time. And then make it look to Jade like I’d just got up, before asking her if she’d been surfing. Just like every morning. There was a chance I’d run into her at the beach, and if I did, I’d fess up. But if I could, I’d keep it a secret till I’d at least had a good crack at it. If she was surfing, she’d most likely be on the reefs, so with a bit of luck, she wouldn’t see
me.
And what would she think if she did? What would she say?
It was hard to guess.
All this went through my head as I cycled with the wetsuit half on, up to my waist, and the board under my arm. The bike was old and only had three gears, so I stayed in the middle one as I couldn’t change. I was wobbling and rolling like a drunk man, and how I got to the beach without falling off I have no idea. Jade had made it look easy.
I could still see stars in the western sky, but behind the moors the edges of the clouds were burning with light pinks and oranges. I hit the clifftop at Gwynsand, not even thirty minutes after I’d crawled out of bed. I felt like half of me was still there I was so groggy. I couldn’t see much of the water, and I couldn’t hear any waves. But Rag had given me the forecast, and like he had promised, there were lines of breaking white water bumping over a sand bar on the low tide. I dumped the bike and my bag and walked down to the beach and over the sand to the sea.
There was one surfer already out there, a thin guy on a really long board. Seeing him gave me this sudden wake-up call. I felt stupid, a real pretender, like I’d been in a dream and just come round. What was I doing? Really? But there didn’t seem much sense in turning back. That would have felt even dumber.
The sand was cold under my feet, but Rag had said the water would be warmer than the land. He was right, it was. I waded in, lifting the board over the tiny waves till I was chest deep. I climbed on, but even though the board was big, and even though it was calm beyond the shore break, the board rocked and slipped like a horse that didn’t want anyone riding it. Once I did get on, the paddling bit wasn’t too hard. It was only when I got out to where the surfer was and I tried to sit on it that it went back to being a horse-with-attitude.I stretched my legs wide and eventually got balance, but if I leant too far forward or back, the board dipped. I leant the other way when it did, but that started the board rocking, or for no reason I started leaning sideways, and I lost balance and fell in. Then I had to go through the hassle of climbing back on and doing the same thing all over again. Lots of times.
The surfer just sat there, with his arms folded, watching. He looked a lot like Jesus but with long, dreadlocked hair and beard. A knackered Jesus, with brown leathery skin and watery eyes. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t offer any help either. Eventually I got on and stayed on, and he turned away, and looked out to sea. I did the same, and in silence we watched as the last smudge of dark blue evaporated and night turned to day.
When the waves came I had a go, but they kept running under me before they broke. So I paddled in a bit and waited for one that had already broken. I gripped the end of the board and held on.The slippery horse was suddenly stable and solid, and I got on to one knee, then to my feet and stuck my arms out like a tightrope walker. I rode that wave for all of two seconds before its power fizzled out, and I fell sideways into shallow water.
It was clumsy, awkward, and it lasted a moment. But my skin was on fire and I was grinning like I’d hit the jackpot. I’d stood up. On a surfboard. On a wave. I paddled back out. It was just a ride on white water. But it was totally unlike anything I’d ever done. Not like riding a bike, not like sledging.
Carried along by water. Rushing energy. Filling me up.
The surfer was grinning, ear to pierced ear.
“’Ow was that, dude?” he said in a thick Cornish accent. “Awesome,” I replied.
“Learning?”
“Yeah, that was my first wave. Ever.”
“It gets better. Stick with it. Good luck.” He leant forward, paddled his board, till he was smoothly riding on a bump of water that wasn’t even near breaking, and was gone.
“Awesome,” I said, again, to myself. And waited to get another one.
I did too, but I fell off quick, tumbling in the shallows. Then I got one that was a bit bigger, and lasted a bit longer.
And after that I sat further out, waiting for the larger waves. The ‘larger’ ones being all of knee-to-thigh high. But even so, it was stupidly good fun. I loved it. I got another.
Then another.
And another.
Kook is available on Amazon and at Barnes and Noble.
