LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      *

      For some reason I thought Jade would guess, like she’d smell the sea on me, or know my still-wet hair had been somewhere other than the shower. But she didn’t. She dropped her old army bag by the bus stop, leant against it and lit a rolly.

      “D’you go surfing this morning?” I asked. It was always a good opener. A way to get Jade talking.

      “Nah. Nothing going on. Not worth bothering with.”

      “Right. Course not…” I couldn’t help smiling. She raised an eyebrow, checking me out with a deep stare that made me feel uncomfortable and good at the same time.

      “Something funny?” she said.

      “No. No, not really.” I sniggered. Stupidly, childishly. In my head I was picturing what her face would be like if I was to say, “Actually the surf was okay. Small, but pretty good.” But I didn’t; I just laughed.

      She reached out a foot and pushed my leg with her boot. “What’s the joke then, Sam?”

      “No joke. I’m just… happy.”

      “Expecting a good mark for your physics homework?”

      I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the grains of sand still clinging to my scalp.

      “No. No, I haven’t done it yet. I was going to do it first thing, but… I didn’t have time.” I cracked up again.

      She blew a whoosh of blue smoke at me. Her eyes narrowed. I could almost hear her mind ticking away, trying to figure me out.

      “Why you so interested in me surfing anyway, Sam? You always ask.”

      I shrugged. “Just chatting.”

      “You still not going to have a go?” she said.

      “Maybe, one day.”

      “Maybe? One day? Really? One day might never come, Sam. No point in waiting.” She looked away, towards the sea. And I thought, She’s actually keen for me to do it. For all her acting cool, she was trying to persuade me.

      “What’s so good about it then?” I said. “Tell me.”

      “If I told you how good it was, you’d be doing it first chance you got.”

      “Try.”

      “Can’t. It’s one of those things that’s hard to put into words, like. You only know by doing it. If you don’t go, you won’t know. That’s what surfers always say. It’s true too.”

      I thought back to that morning. All that getting up and getting cold and knackering myself. All for those few seconds I’d spent standing on a wave, riding and gliding on water.

      I had gone; I did know.

      “Yeah, that’s probably right. Hard to put into words,” I said. “Like dancing about architecture.”

      Jade flicked her dead roll-up away. “What?” she said, frowning like I’d said something in Japanese.

      “This old singer Mum likes was once asked to describe his music, and he said talking about it was like trying to dance about architecture.”

      She took a deep breath, ready to make some piss-take comment. But she paused, thinking.

      “Right,” she said, nodding. “I get that. But you’ll never know, will you?”

      I grinned a bit more. I couldn’t help it.

      “It’s going to be a great day, isn’t it?” I pointed at the blue sky. She stared at me, wary.

      “You know, Sam, you’re not just a kook. You’re also weird.”

      

      

      UNLESS THE SEA was flat or totally messed up by wind, I went surfing. Every day, pretty much. Weekends were good. As long as I helped out with Teg, and spent time helping Grandma with shopping, it was cool for me to go. But I did most of my real learning on schooldays.

      I had the same routine: wake in the dark, bolt a sandwich I’d made the night before, neck coffee, cycle like mad, surf for an hour, race home, change, get to the bus stop. And then act with Jade like I’d crawled out from under the sheets two minutes before, which was a hard thing to do as I was always buzzing like a bee with the high of it, a high that didn’t leak out of my muscles till mid-morning, when I’d almost fall asleep in class.

      I got good at it – not surfing, that took time – but the whole routine. Whitesands was my choice surf spot; a half-moon of golden sand, backed by dunes and rocky hills. A cool beach, always, but in the light of dawn, with a mist on it and the sun coming up, it was something special. I was struggling to even remember London.

      Whitesands was near enough for me to get to, but far enough that I knew Jade and the others wouldn’t go there. There were better spots nearer to where we lived.

      Sometimes I’d get there and it wouldn’t be breaking, or low tide, so all the waves closed out, smashing straight on to the sand, with no chance of a ride. But I never turned around and went home. I’d sit on the huge, rounded rocks on the edge of the bay, watching the sea change, grey to blue. I’d get a little lost in my mind then, feeling kind of stoned, like round the campfire with Jade and the others, just looking at the sea, waiting for the waves to start breaking. Surf or no surf, I never got tired of the place.

      Most times though, it was working. Sometimes I’d spend the whole time paddling, being ripped around by vicious currents, or have a whole hour of fun just getting battered. I got held down a few times, but never for long. I tried that Jade trick of counting, but I never got to more than a few seconds before the wave let go and I could come back up. That day, when I’d rescued the dog, it had been worse than it looked. Or maybe I was just getting used to it now, and knew what to do. What I’d been afraid of to begin with began to be normal.

      Some days I got a total of two rides, other times I lost count. But whether it went good or bad, I got to understand how waves broke. Waves that were fat and friendly and slow, others that had a nasty, fast edge. Ankle-snappers

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