Page 35 of The Golden Scoop

I nod, but I don’t let go of the board. I already tried, and it almost slipped out from under me.

“I for sure thought you’d done this before when I planned it,” she says, moving closer to me until our feet brush against each other under the water. “But hey, there’s nothing like your first time.”

I’ll take as many first as she’s willing to give me.

“I bet I’m a natural,” I tease.

“Here’s what you need to learn. First, you pick a wave. Then you want to push toward shore as hard as you can. When you feel it take you without you having to paddle, then you’ll want to stand.”

She mimics the motion without moving. I’m so distracted by her, I don’t think a single word is registering.

“Push your chest up.”

She does, and I thank God for the water already dripping around my face because she’s going to make me drool like a puppy chasing a treat.

“When you’re stable, jump up.”

I clear my throat and give her my most convincing smile.

“I got this.”

“Cool,” she says, getting off her board to hold onto mine. “Lie, and I’ll tell you when to go.”

I do as she says, swallowing yet another groan when her hand wraps around my ankle to pull me down. The wax on the board scratches my chest.

“If you have too much weight on the front, you’ll tip over.”

My body has decided to lose all self-control today. I’ve traveled back in time to my teenage years, and I need her to stop touching me, or I’m not going to make it out if this alive.

I look over my shoulder and see a wave coming. I don’t even give her time to push. I start driving myself forward as hard as I can. The board is sliding from side to side with every swing of my arms through the water. By the time the current pushes me, half my body is already off it. I try to readjust by pulling it back into place, but I overdo it because, just like Emma said, I’m tipping over into the crest.

There’s no slow motion to it. Everything happens extremely fast. The board shoots up from behind me and flies over. I go down face first, salt burning up my nose and throat as I disappear under.

I come back up coughing, dragging in a sharp breath that does nothing to stop the sting. My eyes water, my lungs protest, my chest itches, and for a second, I consider calling it.

Then I hear her.

She’s laughing—not mocking—just… bright. Real. It carries over the sound of the ocean and lands somewhere deep in my heart.

And that’s enough.

I wipe my face and push my hair back, already reaching for the board again. I’m not done.

“I’ll go with you this time,” she says, paddling closer and giving me a small nudge. “You got this. I believe in you.”

I can see the truthfulness in her eyes. That’s all I need. For her to believe.

When she starts moving forward, I do the same. This time, every stroke carries a statement.

I can do this.

For her, I’ll figure anything out.

I watch from the corner of my eyes how Emma jumps up on the board, her head turned in my direction. I push up, my arms shaking trying to keep balance, and once I’m stable, I get on my knees before jumping to stand.

Granted, we’re almost to shore, but the exhilaration still hits the same.

“You did it!” she yells when we’re back on waist-deep water.