The Mermaid's Secret Read Online Free Page B

like this, you have to be all-in or go home.
    All-in.
    I paddle slowly at first, so I won’t be too far inside when it breaks. I look over my shoulder and see that I’m in pretty good position. This is it. This is my wave.
    Two hard strokes build my speed, and when I turn my head this time, Jay is barreling down the line toward me, his bright yellow board aimed my way. If I don’t get off, he’s going to hit me, and hit me hard. If I drop in on his wave, I’ll be breaking the cardinal rule of surfing and I’ll never hear the end of it. In this crowd, drop-ins find their tires slashed when they get back to the parking lot.
    I have to put the brakes on. I slide my knees underneath me and pull up on the rails of my board to stop my momentum. The wave passes under me and Jay zips by.
    Now I really am too far inside. I spin around on my board just in time to see the next wave head-on. It will break right on top of me. In the entire hundred million square miles of ocean, this is the worst place to be. I gulp some air, push down the nose of my board, and try to duck dive, but I don’t have enough speed. The wave catches my board and flips it over. I’m spinning head over heels. I lose all sense of up and down.
    I’m in an underwater cyclone. My ears pop.
    I need air.
    I open my eyes to a whirling mass of white water. The pain in my lungs rises to my head, my throat. I kick hard, but go nowhere. I need air so badly I open my mouth and suck in seawater. This is drowning.
    Just when I don’t think I’m going to survive another second, my head breaks the surface and I cough out water. I cough so hard my body convulses. But I’m still in danger. Thoughts pass without a beat between them. Inside crash zone. Get on board. Get out.
    I rely on my hands to find my ankle, grab my leash, and pull my board to me. I slide on top of it as waves materialize before me. I paddle and duck dive through countless waves. Desperation drives me.
    When I make it to the lineup this time, I’m panting from exhaustion. My nerves are shot.
    Jay is the first one to return from his ride. “What’s the matter? Set too small for you?” he says.
    I don’t speak because I don’t trust my voice. I grab the rails of my board to steady my jittery hands.
    Jay laughs. “Paddle home, girl.”
    Tyler gets to the lineup next. Then Freddie and Josh. They’re all smiles and adrenaline from their amazing rides.
    In the lull between sets, everyone’s conserving energy, except Jay, who can’t keep his mouth shut. Sick waves and hot girls are his only topics of conversation. Every once in a while he looks my way, just to make sure I can hear how he rates all the single girls on Ne’Hwas, based on body and face hotness. As if it’s up to him.
    â€œI’d give Jess a five. Five and a half, tops,” he says.
    Tyler laughs.
    â€œI’d give you a ten, Jay,” I say, casting him a fake smile. “As in, IQ points.” I know it’s not my best work, but my energy’s low and I need to stay focused.
    Now I’m in the primo spot in the lineup, which means I should have first dibs on the next set. In surfing, positioning is everything. You’re constantly moving, paddling in for the smaller waves, out for the bigger ones. Keeping up with the tide. Traveling up or down the shore as the waves shift. A sandbar here, a dead spot there. It’s a game of cat and mouse, always jockeying for the sweet spot, which is a small and elusive thing.
    These guys don’t give up the sweet spot for anyone. Especially a girl. They take the best waves for themselves. They’re takers. Just like Trip Sinclair.
    When the next set appears on the horizon, the chatter stops and everyone gets focused. I decide I’m going to take the first wave, no matter what. It’s not the best strategy. The first wave is always the smallest, the least shaped, but no one else will go for