Can't Get Enough [Wattpad Featured Story]

Chapter Two

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it." – 1 Corinthians 9:24

It was on. Cole knew he had to bring his game if he wanted to beat Alana. There was no "going easy" on her—when it came to surfing, she was undeniably the best. Cole loathed her for it. It wasn't easy being second best to a girl, especially if that girl happened to be Alana Walker.

Suddenly, movement in the corner of Cole's eye brought him back to the present. He noticed a bump rapidly approaching from the horizon. Bringing one hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, he realized a set was coming. He glanced over his shoulder and began paddling. Dang it. Alana was farther outside than he was, in perfect position to catch a set wave. Meanwhile, Cole was stuck with one of the inside waves, which had irrefutably less power and force to launch him into an aerial maneuver. And if he wanted to pull off, say, a frontside air reverse, then a junk wave obviously wasn't going to cut it. He needed to go big and he needed to go powerful.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when the wave in front of him suddenly stacked up. No one else had even tried to paddle for it, except for one beginner who ended up falling off his board in the process. Cole was caught off guard when the wave suddenly hit a bump of backwash and began to curl over.

He had a split-second decision. Though he knew he was too much on the shoulder, after a hasty deliberation he decided to just go for it. He kicked and paddled as hard as he could until he felt the wave launch him forward.

He popped up to his feet in one smooth motion. He heard the foaming whitewater as it churned behind him, splashing over his heels and the tail of his board. He made a quick S-turn before twisting his hips and carving a long, drawn-out cutback. This brought him back to the pocket, the power source of the wave, just in front of the roaring whitewater. Using the little speed he had, Cole drove down to the trough of the wave and dug his hand into the water. He spotted a small backwash wave heading straight towards him, and that's when he knew he had a shot at beating Alana. Sure, he had a small wave, but it would stack up when it hit the backwash like it did before. This would set him up beautifully for an aerial.

Cole shot across the glassy blue-green surface of the water and raced back up the wave towards the lip. Just after the backwash slammed into his wave, he bent his knees and jumped into the air, grabbing the rails of his board in the process. The force of the backwash colliding with his wave created a sort of choppy launch pad, sending him hurtling into the air. But he had misjudged the takeoff, and Cole knew he had to make a fast rotation or he wouldn't land it. He had gone too far out and not far enough up.

The maneuver was over in a matter of seconds. Though he twisted his upper torso as he soared through the air, he had achieved much less lift than desired. The result was an awkward, fumbled landing: he strained to keep his balance as the nose of his board slammed into the wave, sending him hurtling backwards. His arms pinwheeled while his knees buckled.

It was a complete failure. Cole hadn't even done as much as a 180, but he was trying his hardest not to wipe out anyway. He ended up doing an awkward backflop into the water, and milliseconds later the rest of the wave slammed into him. He was sent tumbling through a murky, foaming whirlpool.

When he finally ruptured the surface, spluttering, Cole yanked on his leash to pull his surfboard towards him. He climbed on with a scowl etched on his face, hoping against hope that no one had seen his epic fail—especially not Alana.

But he didn't have to worry about her—she was currently stroking into a large set wave. It was a beauty: nothing but six feet of pure, sea-green water stacking up like the Red Sea. Alana dropped into the wave like an angel of the sea, gliding along the wall of water without the slightest fear. She raced up and teased the lip before cruising back down, her gaze never once leaving the blue-green shoulder in front of her. She bent her knees and pumped her legs for speed until she was a good distance from the pocket. Then she twisted her hips and made a long, slow cutback towards the whitewater. She continued to carve beautiful lines across the surface of the wave until her ride began to close out. Her final maneuver, the attempted frontside air reverse, was done in what seemed like slow motion.