The Only Exception (13 page)

Twenty-one

“Andrea! How’s your knee?”

“Miss Maverick! How have you prepared for your first ASP competition?”

“How do you respond to making it to the semi-finals?”

“Is it true you’re dating Sawyer Hensley?”

“I can answer that last one,” Sawyer comments off to the side to me. I giggle as he presses his lips to mine.

“Alright lovebirds,” McKayla interrupts and we pull apart. “You’re not here to kiss. You’re here to surf!”

“Heck yeah we are!” Sawyer exclaims, charging for our roped off area. The rest of us follow, “us” being McKayla, Grammy, Papaw, Melissa, Julia, Daniel, Eric and Amy, who is here as part of her Christmas break and a few days after. Oh, and Jane, who is currently entangling Amy’s legs in her leash and yipping at all the excitement around her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 28
^th
Annual Pro Curl!” a commentator announces over the sound system. I tune out the rest of his announcements as I pull on my rash guard (White, number 47) and wax my board. Yep. I’m really at the Pro Curl. And I’m really competing.

Actually, Sawyer and I both made the cut. McKayla decided not to, even though she’s good enough to at least make the competition, because she’s not eighteen yet and she’s planning on going to college next fall and giving up competitive surfing, so she doesn’t want to start a pro career now. My qualifying heat was two days ago and his was the day before that. Yesterday was quarter finals and today is semi finals and, if we make it, finals.

This competition is a little different from the ones earlier this summer in that: 1. Everyone is over eighteen. Some years, seventeen year olds make the cut through an evaluation by the Association of Surfing Professionals, but it’s extremely rare. 2. The divisions are by gender only, instead of gender and age. If you’re good enough to be here, it doesn’t matter how old you are. 3. It’s the major leagues. We’re criticized much more ruthlessly, which makes it harder to get a good score, and I’m up against surfers like Carissa Moore, Stephanie Gilmore and Tyler Wright. Carissa is the defending champion of four ASP competitions, and Stephanie and Tyler are each defending champs of one ASP competition. Long story short, I’m a little jittery.

“Hey,” Sawyer snaps me out of my thoughts, crossing from behind his board to sit down beside me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t be nervous,” he commands. “You placed seventh yesterday. You were fifteenth in the Oahu Junior before you stole the top spot. That’s eight places lower than you are right now. You’re psyching yourself out.”

“How can you tell I’m nervous?” I inquire, amazed he can tell all this without me saying anything.

“You were extremely concentrated for simply waxing your board,” he explains. “When you’re nervous, you either smack talk and get really defensive, or you get really intense about everything.” He weaves his fingers tightly with mine. “You’re going to be fantastic. Don’t just sit here and worry. Enjoy it! You’re at the Pro Curl!” I laugh, and he playfully shoves my shoulder. I shove him back a little harder and then he knocks me over, jumping up and dashing away from me. I chase after him, not caring that we probably look really childish right now compared to everyone who’s getting their game faces on. He runs around behind me and picks me up, swinging me around.

“Andrea! Come here!” Grammy calls, holding my iPad. Sawyer sets me down and my stomach aches from laughing. I run over towards her and wave at my dad on the screen from over Grammy’s shoulder.

“Hey! There’s my surfer girl!” he exclaims.

“Hey Dad!” I greet. “Are you at the office?”

“Yes, I am. And you know what’s playing in the lounges right now?” he chides.

“What?”

“A certain surf competition that you might be watching too,” he replies. “Check it out!” He turns the camera around and shows me a cluster of employees gathered in the break lounge of the top floor of his office building, watching the Pro Curl coverage.

“Sweet!” I laugh.

“Good luck kiddo!” he wishes. “When you’re on, we’ll be cheering for you!”

“Thanks Daddy!” I respond. “I love you!”

“I love you too! Call me when it’s over!” He hits the “end call” button and almost immediately, they call my heat for semi-finals.

“Remember what we’ve been working on,” Papaw coaches. “Don’t go for the lien alley-oop unless you really need to or you really feel comfortable. Slob airs, stalefish in combos and alley-oops mostly, and make sure to keep your style clean.” I nod.

As soon as I found out I was staying, Papaw and I really upped our game with training and I started working out to build up my legs again after my knee surgery. For about four months now, I’ve been perfecting my hardest moves and practicing the Lien alley-oop, an extremely tough and high-scoring aerial during which a surfer gets four or five feet off the wave and performs a 360° rotation alley-oop while holding her heel-side rail with her left hand. For an alley-oop, a surfer turns and launches off the lip of the wave with the board pointing slightly back and then rotate around to point forward while in the air, landing right on the top of the lip.

The heat begins and three other surfers and I paddle out. I clear my mind of all thoughts of Carissa Moore and all the other pro surfers I’m up against and pretend I’m still just battling it out with Sally Emerson and McKayla. A few waves roll by and I get ready to make the drop on the next one, a monstrous hill of water that’s going to break perfectly. Just as it starts to foam a little bit at the top, I pop up and make a clean bottom turn to get me in good position for a 360° carve, followed up by a layback. The wave curls over perfectly for an nice little barrel ride, then I kick out.

As I sit up on my board back in the lineup, I hear the commotion on the shore. I ignore them, and get ready for my next wave that comes about a minute later. This one is big enough that I build up some speed and pull an alley-oop, landing back on the perfect spot of the lip and swerving back up to the top for a vertical backhand snap. With a few more carves, I kick out.

I pull out eight more good waves and the horn sounds. As I paddle in, they announce the standings of the heat, but I can’t hear. Sawyer, however, heard and runs towards me as I trudge through the shallow waves onto shore. “What?” I call to him, dropping my board and taking off my leash.

He picks me up and swings me around. Setting me down, he grasps my shoulders and shakes me back and forth excitedly. “You won your heat!” he exclaims. “You’re first in your heat!” My mouth drops open as I grasp his arms and Mac comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

“I’m what?” I ask incredulously.

“You’re first in your heat and fourth over all,” Sawyer informs. “What did I tell you! You’re almost guaranteed a spot in finals!”

“Almost guaranteed,” I repeat. “Not guaranteed.”

“You are only below Carissa, Steph and Tyler,” he counters.

“Yeah, and they could guarantee I don’t place,” I argue.

“Enjoy it. You are fourth at the Pro Curl.”

I lay back and relax until the heats are over. Sawyer ends semi-finals in fourth and only one person, a girl named Lacey Meinel scores higher than me, so I finish the round in fifth. Right from there, I start run back towards the water and wait for signal to begin the race. “Annie!” Sawyer calls, jogging towards me. “Remember: You’ve got this. You’re every bit as good as they are. You just have to show it.” He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Good luck. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I reply, turning around. The horn sounds and the five finalists dash out into the water.

Out in the lineup, I watch as Carissa and Stephanie paddle battle for the first wave. Their rivalry from past competitions seems to be their weakness. They get too focused on beating each other and forget about the rest of the field, which might be good if they’re not worried about me. Tyler heads out as soon as they get back, Lacey soon following. I just wait, and it pays off. A wave better than any we’ve seen so far in the final builds up behind me and I get in prime position, popping and snapping the lip immediately. I do a 360° carve, then a 360° shove-it to show off my control of the board, finishing with a layback. I kick out to cheers on the beach.

A few more good waves come my way and I pull similar combos, but even without knowing the scores, I know there is no way that waves like this are going to get me first. Not over this crowd of competition. I pull another wave and throw in a Stalefish air, and another with a slob air reverse.

This still isn’t going to get me a professional surfing competition win. Just as I start to go for another wave, I remember what Sawyer told me.
“You’re every bit as good as they are. You just have to show it.”
Suddenly, I know what I have to do.

A stellar wave rolls in and as I pop up, it starts to feather a little bit. Whether being confident or stupid, I make a quick bottom turn and launch a good five, maybe even six feet off the wave, grabbing the rail with precise timing and whipping my tail perfectly into a full 360° lien alley-oop. As I glide back onto the surface of the wave, I shout with excitement and clidro a bit, going up for a vertical backhand snap, a layback and a 360° shove-it just for fun. One final slash sends up a wall of sea spray behind me and I kick out, unable to wipe the grin off my face as I let myself fall backwards off my board.

Pulling a perfect Lien alley-oop has sparked something in me. If I can do one, I can do two, right? I only have two waves left, and I decide to make them count. In the final two minutes of the competition, I pull not one, but two more waves with perfectly executed Lien alley-oops.

Before the scores are even announced, my entire entourage engulfs me. Even Jane gets in on it, wrapping my ankles in her leash. “Choka,” Papaw compliments. “You did wonderfully.”

“Thanks,” I reply, turning back to the announcer’s booth. Sawyer wraps his arms around my waist and stands behind me while we wait for the scores.

“And we have the results,” the announcer states. “In third place, Stephanie Gilmore.” A crowd to my left cheers and congratulates Steph, who stands at the front of the pack. “In second place, Carissa Moore.” Another crowd cheers, this time on my right and as they cheer, I notice Sawyer’s grip get just slightly tighter around my waist. “And finally, the first place winner of the Pro Curl is,” the announcer begins, checking the score chart. “Andrea Maverick with a total finals score of 27.5!”

My hand automatically flies up to cover my open mouth in disbelief. I turn around to look at Sawyer. “Did he really just say what I think he said?” I inquire.

“Andrea Maverick, you are officially a Pro Curl champion,” he confirms with a proud grin. I just shake my head and laugh as he picks me up and swings me around. Setting me down, his sparkling blue eyes meet mine and he gently grasps my face in his hands. “I told you you could do it,” he says, fitting his lips to mine. I smile through the kiss and pull away after a second.

“Now it’s your turn,” I tell him. He smiles wide and runs for his board.

My success is apparently contagious. Sawyer pulls several brilliant airs and some sick carves and performs well enough to earn himself second place in the mens’s division. We talk to a lot of reporters between the score announcement and the award presentation. I walk around in a bit of a daze, before and after my name is called and I get my trophy. Both Carissa and Stephanie congratulate me and I them, then the entourage and I head back to my house.

After starting a campfire in my backyard, we let Jane loose and just stand around talking. As I stare up at the stars, I pose the question “Could this day be more perfect?”

“I can only think of one thing that would make it better,” Daniel replies, looking, not at me, but at Amy, who is by his side.

“What’s that?” Amy inquires.

Daniel doesn’t say anything. Then, all of a sudden, he leans in and kissing her by surprise. I smile at McKayla as her mouth drops open and she glances at me. Amy giggles as she and Daniel pull apart.

“Yep. This day is officially perfect,” she agrees.

Sawyer laughs and holds my hand. I lean my head on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

The next day, I wake and check my email, per Papaw’s instruction. Apparently, quite a few sponsors wanted to talk to him about me after finals last night.

I scroll through a few unbelievable offers from sponsors (it appears Vitamin Water and Rip Curl like me a lot), then suddenly click the wrong tab on the side on accident. Before I switch back, though, Mr. Clarke’s email from a few months ago catches my eye.

“Dear Miss Maverick,

Earlier today, I received my finalized class lists. You seem not to be on any of them. I recall you saying you would be back unless something drastic happened before you left. I expect a five page narrative essay on what happened, so as to have an answer when Miss Carver begins to question me.

Sincerely,

Mr. Clarke.”

I ponder this for a moment, then decide the sponsors can wait a little while. I switch to a writing program and let the little black cursor flash at me for a moment as I wonder how to begin. Well, I suppose I should start from the very beginning. It all started the day I left, when Amy told me about her camping trip.
A high pitched shriek pierces the silence of the back hallway of Allerton High.
That’s really where it all started.

Late that night, I finally finish the story after going back and forth from my narrative to sponsors, schoolwork, meals and back. Satisfied, I type out a reply to Mr. Clarke.

“Dear Mr. Clarke,

I sincerely apologize for my lack of explanation and the time it took me to respond. I have explained everything to Amy, so I don’t believe she will be a problem, however, in case others ask questions, here is the narrative essay you asked for. Sorry, I ran a bit over five pages. It was a 200-page kind of summer.