Clash Read Online Free Page B

the waves grab at her calves and try to pull her back to sea with them. She even caught a glimpse of a sea turtle as it poked its head out of the water before stroking away.
    This was a first for Jenna. She had never actually been in the ocean before. Its endless expanse made even the biggest lakes she had seen at home look puny. Like the intense sun, a few rays of hope warmed her heart.
    Maybe I could learn to like this place, she thought, daydreaming.
    She didn’t notice the two girls coming in from the surf until they were almost right on top of her. For a moment, Jenna was dumbfounded by the shock of seeing a girl her own age, dressed in a cute bathing suit, tanned and rising up out of the water . . . with only one arm.
    Then she remembered seeing the TV reports about a girl from Hawaii who was on her way to success as a pro surfer until she lost her arm to a shark. She’d also heard about the girl’s miracle comeback. Gotta be the same girl, Jenna thought.
    “Hi,” the blonde girl said. Jenna smiled shyly.
    “Hi.” Jenna felt her face turn as red as her hair as the girl and her friend’s eyes traveled to the red mosquito bites that covered her body.
    “Looks like some skeeters got to you,” the blonde girl observed.
    “Yeah, they attacked while I was asleep,” she said. “Terrorists.”
    Both girls grinned at her. “Did you have a fan going?” the blonde asked.
    “Fan? No . . . why?”
    “If you set a fan up to blow on you, you won’t get bit,” the dark-haired girl explained.
    “That’s news to me,” Jenna said. “Good news.”
    “Yeah,” the blonde nodded. “It’s a trick most locals know about — hotels should tell you guys that stuff.”
    “Oh, I’m not visiting. I live here. Well, I just moved here.”
    “I’m Malia,” the dark-haired girl said, offering a wet hand to Jenna.
    “I’m Bethany,” the blonde girl said, then grinned. “I’d offer you a handshake, too, but I’m holding my board, so there’s none to spare.”
    Jenna dusted the sand off her hand and shook Malia’s hand. “I’m Jenna. Thanks for the tip about the fan. I would’ve needed a blood transfusion if I had to go through this for another night.”
    Both Bethany and Malia laughed.
    “Well, see ya later,” Bethany said.
    “Yeah, see ya,” Jenna said.
    And with that, the two surfers jogged up the beach toward a woman who appeared to be waiting for them.
    Jenna watched from the shoreline as the girls buried their faces in towels and pawed through an ice chest.
    She noticed the tourists lounging on their cheap grass mats turning their heads toward the girls, pointing and talking among themselves.
    Then she saw one of them, an older woman in a bright fl oral print bathing suit and floppy beach hat, pull a camera from her beach bag and wander over to the girls who were busy stuffing slabs of fruit in their mouths.
    Jenna couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could tell that a request for a photo was in the works.
    Not long after the photo opportunity, more cars pulled up to the beach. Most had surfboards stacked on top or poking out of the rear windows or truck beds. A group of teenage girls piled out of two of the cars, laughing and greeting each other. The Hanalei Girls Surf Team — an unofficial mix of young girls of the same general age, who lived in the same area, attended the same schools, and most important, surfed together — collected their towels, small ice chests, and surfboards, and waved at the adults who had given them a ride.
    The resourceful girls had phoned around and discovered that Bethany and Malia were at Kalihiwai getting some waves and that it wasn’t crowded for a change. This was Bethany’s gang, the group of girls who had been her friends since childhood. These were the people who knew her and liked her before and after the loss of her arm. These were the girls who stood with her, who understood her, who accepted her for who she was and would be her friend if she went on to be