To Sally
for always believing in me and my visions
We are the voices for the voiceless, and we tell their stories. We—because I couldn’t do this without you.
KATE
“Hey, Piper,” I call out as I rummage through the huge mess of mail and junk that’s been piling up on the kitchen counter for God knows how long. “Have you seen my new leash. I just bought it, and I can’t find it anywhere.”
“You getting kinky on me, Kate?” my best friend since high school says when she emerges from her room.
She saunters into the kitchen with a smirk on her lips, and I laugh and shake my head. “It’s my new leg leash.”
Her eyes widen at the same time her smile grows. “I always knew you had a hidden sick side.”
“I’m serious.” In my search, I grow frustrated. “This place is a disaster, I’m surprised we can find anything.”
“It’s not that messy.”
A couple of magazines fall onto the floor as I continue to dig through the random piles that are spread all over the kitchen and living room. “Do you even read this shit?” I ask when I pick up a random cooking magazine. “You don’t even cook.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t aspire to”—she snatches it out of my hand—“one day.”
“I’ve known you since my sophomore year of high school and not once have I seen you cook.”
Perching a hand on her hip, she says, “It wasn’t my fault that my parents hired housekeepers and chefs to do the cooking. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn some day.”
Growing up in West Palm Beach was a trip. On my side of the intracoastal, there’s a certain level of affluence, but when you cross the short bridge over to Palm Beach, you’re in a world of opulence. That was where Piper grew up.
We are different in many ways, but alike as well. She was over the snooty sense of entitlement at the private school and begged her parents to transfer her into a public school out of Palm Beach, which was when our paths crossed.
Aside from Piper, I don’t have a lot of girlfriends. My main hobby is surfing; it always has been, which is why most of my friends are guys. It’s easier that way—drama has a shorter life span with them than with girls who seem to feed on it like they need it for survival.
“Found it!” I grab the plastic bag and pull out the new leash for my surfboard before shoving it into my backpack with my wetsuit, zipping it up, and slinging it over my shoulders.
“Dinner tonight?” she asks.
I give her a hurried, “Sounds good,” as I get my board and rush out of the condo we share.
When we decided to come to the University of Miami, it was a no-brainer that we’d be roommates. Aside from her messiness, she’s an easy person to live with. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a cleaning staff to pick up after her like she did back home.
It’s unfortunate for me too.
Miami traffic is a nightmare, and when I finally make it to the beach, the guys are already in the water.
After I pull on my wetsuit, I wax down my board, attach my new leash, and paddle out.
“Where you been? Waiting for your nails to dry?” Brody teases as I swim up to him.
“Don’t even come at me with that.” I sidle next to his board and sit up. “It’s crowded out here today.”
“Swells are amped,” he says. “Come on.”
I spend the next hour or so catching waves that break perfectly. After a while, I grow frustrated with having to fight for each wave with the number of people out here and decide to swim in for a breather.
After setting my board aside, I sit in the sand and take a gulp from my water bottle as I look out into the ocean. It’s the end of October, which means most of the tourists have been swapped for the local surfer crowd. Travelers flock to the shore in the summer, but the waves are the best during this time of the year.
Brody catches a decent ride before he and a few other guys paddle toward the shore. When they hit the sand and start walking my way, I spot Micah and his long, bright blond hair. He’s out here often with Brody, but it’s the guy with shorter sandy blond hair who catches my eye.
“You got one of those for me?” Brody asks when he flops down by my side, and I toss him an extra bottle of water.
“What’s up, Kate?” Micah greets as he sets his board aside and takes a seat in the sand.
I give an acknowledging nod but quickly turn my attention to his friend when he complains, “What’s up with the fucking newbs out here today?”
He runs his hand through his wet hair, spiking it as he does and sending droplets of water off the ends to land on his broad shoulders.
“Kate, this is my buddy, Trent,” Micah says, and I flick my eyes up to his friend’s, hoping nobody saw that they were just on his chest.
“Hey.”
I smile. “Hey,” I offer in return, feeling like a total dimwit. No one gives me a double glance, so I brush off the paranoid thought that, somehow, they can see the stupid butterflies that have me frazzled.
“We need to get out here at sunbreak. I have to get in some decent practice before next weekend,” Micah says, and Brody agrees.
“Eight days and counting,” Trent notes about the surf competition in Deerfield Beach.
“Exactly. There’s not a lot of time left.”
Brody crushes the bottle of water as he chugs the rest of it. “Let’s not waste it, man.”
The two of them get up, grab their boards, and head back out, leaving Trent and me alone. That damn tingling in my belly annoys me, mostly because I’m not the type of girl who gets stupid with guys, and yet, here I am, stupidly gazing at him.
“That yours?” He eyes my board.
“Yeah.”
“It’s clean.” He then looks over at me. “I almost mistook you for a bunny.”
My jaw drops slightly, and he grins.
“You offended?”
“That you assumed me to be a bunny? Yeah. Majorly offended.”
When he hears the annoyance in my tone, his grin breaks into a full smile and he laughs under his breath. I despise bunnies—the girls who flock to the sand in hopes of getting noticed. They’re trite and far from who I am. Or are they? Right now, I’m a little lost in his unique eyes, which are two different colors: hazel and blue. The blue isn’t very vibrant, though, which makes the difference not so noticeable.
“How long have you been surfing?”
I break my stare and glance away just in time to see Micah catch a killer wave. “Since I was old enough to ride a bike. My dad taught me.”
“You from around here?”
“West Palm Beach,” I tell him. “You?”
“Tampa.”
“That sucks.”
He shoots me a side stare and then agrees. “No shit. It’s nice to finally have some decent waves.”
I’ve never been to Tampa, but everyone knows the west coast of Florida blows for surfing. The water is hot and flat.
“Are you at the University of Miami too?”
He nods.
“What are you studying?”
He gives me a perplexed look, and I press, “Your major?”