“Quick question,” Oliver said as he scanned the horizon. “What is the shark population like around here?”
I blinked at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
“I don’t know.” He laughed nervously. “No. Yes. Maybe? Sharks?”
I sighed. “There are no sharks here.”
“Do you mean ‘here’ as in the ‘Pacific Ocean’ or . . . ?”
“Okay, yes, there are sharks in the Pacific Ocean somewhere but I don’t think—”
“Could you be a little more specific about the word somewhere?”
“Oliver,” I said. There was the flinch again. “If Patrick Swayze saw a shark, what do you think he would have done?”
“I also didn’t see this surf lesson involving that question.”
“Patrick Swayze would punch that shark in the nose,” I answered for him. “And that’s what I will do for you, okay?”
“For me?” He put his hand to his chest and pretended to be flattered.
“I told you, I’m a loyal friend. Kicking therapists, punching sharks, whatever it takes.”
“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s do this.”
“Great,” I said. “Now let’s see what you’re made of.”
“I bet that’s what the sharks are saying right now,” Oliver muttered, but he paddled out behind me.
He had strong arms, it turned out, and the waves were flat enough that it wasn’t too hard to get past them and out to a few bigger swells. “What do you do if the waves are big when you’re paddling out?” he asked when I pointed that out.
“You turtle,” I replied, then held on to the sides of my board and flipped it over just as a slightly bigger wave crashed over me. The board protected me from the wave and I waited until I felt the whoosh of the water recede before I turned over and came back up. “See?” I sputtered, wiping my hair out of my eyes. “Like a turtle. Your board becomes a shell to protect you.”
“Pretty cool,” Oliver said. He looked impressed.
“Lucky for you, these are baby waves.” We continued to paddle out and when we were far enough, I hopped off my board and went to swim next to him. “Do you remember what we practiced on the shore?”
“Yeah, it happened, like, three minutes ago.”
I just smiled. “It’s amazing what you can forget when a giant force of nature is rushing toward you.”
“That’s . . . really reassuring, thanks.”
“I like to provide a dose of realism,” I said, then watched as a wave started to build about fifty feet away from us. “You see this wave?”
Oliver craned his neck to look over his shoulder. “What wave? Is that even a wave?”
“It will be. And it’s going to be your wave.”
Oliver just looked at me. “You’re serious.”
“Like a heart attack. I’ll give you a shove. Now, just before the wave hits you, start paddling. Paddle like”—I had a burst of genius—“like a shark is after you, all right? Just go until you feel the wave pick up the board, then use your arms to pop up. Easy peasy.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Tell me again why you do this for fun?”
“Because it’s awesome!” I told him as the wave came closer. “Are you ready?”
“No! Yes!”
“Go go go go go GO!” I gave the tail of his board a shove just as the wave started to crest, and Oliver began to paddle furiously, his hands going in and out of the water at an impressive speed. “Faster!” I yelled as he started to cruise away from me. “You can do it! Stand up, stand up!”
“What?” I heard him yell, but then he let out a shout, like a battle cry or a victory sound, and I watched as Oliver . . . did nothing.
“Stand up!” I yelled. “You can do it!”
I heard him yell something but I couldn’t hear him this time, and I climbed back up on my board just so I could see a little better. He was laughing at least, his hair wet across his forehead as he literally lay on top of his board until it ground into the shore and got stuck in the sand. I caught the next wave, taking advantage of the white water so I wouldn’t have to paddle too much and wear myself out, and rode it in to meet up with Oliver.
“That was so cool!” he yelled when he saw me.
“You didn’t even try!” I laughed, falling off my board and righting myself before I was completely submerged. “You just stayed there!”
“No, what you just did. You made it look easy!”
I wiped the salt water out of my eyes (Visine was my friend, lest my parents think that my red eyes were a part of a raging pot-smoking habit) and looked at him. “What happened? There was no actual surfing!” I teased.
“I decided to take it easy my first time,” he said. “Also, that shit is hard.”
I grinned at him. “Round two?”
“Race you.”
We paddled back out.
Three tries later, Oliver managed to get to his knees, but wouldn’t let go of the edges of the board. By the fifth time, he was standing. “YEAAAHH!!!” I screamed as I rode in just behind him. “You did it!”
“I fell, like, two seconds later,” he said, but I could tell he was proud. His cheeks were flushed, and whether it was from pride, embarrassment, the cold water, or the hot sun, I couldn’t tell.