I spend the next few hours riding wave after wave, taking the occasional break to talk to my brother and to give Ricco a hug when he shows up. When the sun is almost all the way down and nearly everyone has headed home, I drop my board into the sand and peel my wetsuit off my body.
“You staying to paint?” Max asks.
“You know it.” I drop onto the blanket and grab my bag of supplies and canvas.
“Want me to stay?” he asks, looking around. There are still a few straggling surfers, including Jason and Shane, who’ll be here for hours night surfing.
“No, I’m good. I just want to paint the storm that’s brewing.”
“Text me when you get back to your Jeep, yeah?”
“Of course.”
The storm breeze is a perfect mixture of humid with a hint of coolness to it. It has me grabbing the orange and blue paints. My hair whips around my face, so I throw it up into a messy bun and begin painting. The waves are gorgeous. Dark blue with white crests roll into the shoreline. The sun is now a faint yellowish-orange in the background peeking out from behind the now black ocean. I get lost in my painting, until I hear my name being called. When I look up, I find Ricco, Shane, and Jason standing to the right of me, drinking and getting high—a typical night for them.
“Damn, that painting looks like the real thing.” Jason glances from my canvas out to the sea. “One day, when you’re a famous artist, will you still find time to visit us lowly surfers?” he jokes.
“Shut up.” I throw my paint brush at him and he catches it. He lunges toward me and wraps his arms around me. I’ve known Jason’s had a crush on me for a while, but I ignore it. There’s only one guy on my mind—one I don’t stand a chance at being with.
My phone dings, giving me the perfect excuse to pull away from him. And speak of the devil…
Alec: How are the waves?
I type back a quick response: Awesome! I wish they were like this all the time.
I snap a picture of my painted canvas with the ocean in the background.
Alec: Looks beautiful. We should hang it in the hallway.
I smile to myself. There isn’t a picture I’ve painted that Alec hasn’t found a spot for in our home. At this point, it looks more like an art gallery than a home.
I notice it’s already nine o’clock, so I start packing up my stuff.
“Heading out?” Shane asks.
“Yeah.” I stand and shake off the blanket.
“Here, we’ll help you to your car,” Ricco offers, taking my still-wet painting from me.
“Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of carrying my stuff.” I laugh at how crazy my friends are acting.
“We know,” Ricco says, “but did you hear about that girl who was attacked on the beach the other night?”
“No.” A shiver runs down my spine. Sure, the beach is filled with homeless folks, and the city is riddled with crime, but it’s not often you hear of someone being assaulted on the beach where I surf and spend a lot of my time.
“They haven’t caught the guy yet,” Shane says. “But the girl didn’t make it…”
“Damn, well, thanks for looking out for me.” I give the guys a grateful smile. I’m lucky to have so many people in my life who love me and care about my well-being.
We carry all our stuff up, and they help me load everything into my car, refusing to leave until I’m safely inside and driving away. When I get home, I text Max to let him know I’m home safe. Georgia’s sitting at the kitchen table, working on something on her laptop.
“Hey you,” I say, walking over to her.
“Hey! Good night?”
“The waves were perfect.”
Georgia sniffs the air then glances up at me. “Were you smoking tonight?” she asks, disappointment laced in her tone. I hate when she acts like this. For one, smoking weed is common on the beaches of LA. Hell, doing harder drugs is even more common. But also, because I hate the thought of Georgia being disappointed in me, and let’s be real, I’m pretty much a walking disappointment. Sure, I’m in college, but what exactly am I going to do with that degree? No fucking clue. While Alec has known he’s wanted to be a firefighter since he was a kid, and Georgia has always wanted to follow in our mom’s footsteps and do web design, I have no clue what I want to do with my future. I love painting, but the thought of having to do it to earn a living makes me cringe. I do it because I love to do it, not because I need to. And if I had to do it to earn money, I fear I would resent it.