Just My Luck by Jennifer Honeybourn

Author:Jennifer Honeybourn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

Twelve

I don’t know what I was thinking, scheduling surfing lessons with Ansel the night after Nalani’s party. The sun has barely brushed the sky when I pull up beside my brother in the Ho‘okipa Beach parking lot. He’s unloading his surfboard from his truck.

“Tell me why we couldn’t have done this later in the day,” Hayes grumbles. He’s beside me in the passenger seat. His eyes are closed and he’s pale, so he’s clearly feeling the effects of last night’s poor choices. We practically had to carry him out of the party.

Maybe it’s evil of me, but I’m a little bit glad that he’s not feeling well. The idea of Hayes being tossed around by the waves—and potentially tossing his breakfast—brings me great joy.

“It’s less crowded first thing in the morning,” I say. “And the wind is usually lower.”

“Come on, Hayes. Get it together!” Will says from the backseat. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is going to be great.”

Hayes does not look convinced. He closes his eyes, making no move to follow us out of the van.

I hand my brother the coffee Will convinced me to stop for after I picked him up. Extra-large vanilla macadamia nut, Ansel’s favorite.

“Please, just be nice,” I whisper to him.

“I’m always nice,” Ansel replies.

That is not even a little bit true. And, judging from the scowl on his face, he is in a mood.

Will comes to stand beside me. His hair is in its usual pompadour. He’s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that’s molded to his body, highlighting his athletic frame and the ripple of his biceps. I suddenly feel very warm.

I threw on a long-sleeved white T-shirt over a turquoise bikini. My hair is tucked underneath one of my brother’s wide-brimmed surf hats.

“You must be Ansel,” Will says, holding out his hand. “Thanks for agreeing to this. Marty says you’re the best.”

Ansel studies Will before finally taking his hand. “You bring boards?”

Will nods. He leads us around to the back of the van and pops open the door to reveal the two electric-blue surfboards he rented, laid out on the folded-down rear seat.

“I hope these are okay,” he says. “I haven’t done a lot of surfing, so I didn’t really know what to get.”

“They’ll do,” Ansel grunts. He glances at the clunky black dive watch strapped to his wrist. “Let’s get started.”

Will raps his knuckles on the passenger-side window and startles Hayes awake. “Get moving.”

Hayes groans, but he rolls out of the vehicle. His eyes are bloodshot and he stinks of alcohol.

We each grab our surfboards, tucking them under our arms. The board Ansel lent me is nine feet long and neon green, so bright that you could probably see it from space. It was his first board and he used it for years, so it’s pretty thrashed. It looks so used, especially in comparison to the beautiful boards Will and Hayes are carrying, and I’m embarrassed, even though I know Will probably hasn’t even noticed. And if he has, he doesn’t care.

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