Caught Inside

Chapter Eighteen

"Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." – 1 Corinthians 15:57

For a moment, Alana felt weightless. Her feet lifted slightly off the wax that coated the deck of her shortboard. The next instant, when she reached the bottom of the wave, her feet made contact once again as she bent her knees to absorb the impact.

A sheen of offshore mist drenched her face, causing temporary blindness. Alana could still see by touch, however, as she reached out with one hand to steady herself. With her knees still bent, she drove up towards the middle of the wave and emerged from the crashing whitewater. She was still a little unsteady on her feet because of all the speed she had acquired from her drop. As soon as she spotted a patch of open water, she raced up and slammed her back foot into the tail of her board, creating a quick snap that brought her speed down to normal.

All that took place in a matter of seconds, but to Alana's trained mind, it seemed to go slower. Her senses took in the churning whitewater, spraying mist, and limited room for error all at once. She barely had to think about her next maneuver—it just happened. The section in front of her broke; she raced up and over it with a magnificent floater. The shoulder of the wave became mushy and fat; she twisted her hips and turned back towards the pocket to maintain speed. All in all, she had a total of four of five sweeping turns before riding off the wave and into calm water. She had milked it nearly all the way into shore, making that the first successful score of the heat.

Alana didn't even realize how much adrenaline was pumping through her veins before she paused to look back at the beach. As soon as her eyes alighted on the crowd, she placed a hand against her chest, as if to calm her racing heart. Did I really just do that?

Swiveling her head back towards the ocean, she saw her competitors bobbing up and down in the lineup, all three of them yet to catch a wave. Alana laughed out loud, the only kind of relieved laugh that comes from a surfer who just succeeded in pushing the envelope on a big wave. She whooped again and began paddling towards the lineup. I hope you liked that one, judges!

Minutes later, she—along with everyone else in or watching the competition—discovered that the judges had loved it. Alana was rewarded with a 9.8, giving her the highest single-wave score of the morning. No one, not even the guys in the following heats, could surpass her score. She successfully advanced through Rounds 1, 2, and 3, followed by the quarterfinals, and then straight through the semis. Maya, unfortunately, lost to a girl from the opposing school in the quarters.

The adrenaline from Alana's first wave stayed with her for the rest of the competition. She received multiple congratulations on shore from teammates and strangers alike. She felt some satisfaction, too, at watching the other competitors' heats and realizing they were overly cautious in the water. Where Alana had gone for the biggest wave of the morning, the other girls—and most of the guys—tended to stick to the smaller waves. Even then, they didn't pull off as many maneuvers as Alana had. No one else even came close to taking such a big risk as she had.

Now the finals were right around the corner. Alana had dealt with the pressure all morning, but the moment when it finally mattered was here. She gripped the rails of her shortboard and swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach. Placing first was more important than ever, and she wanted it badly, much more than usual. The thought of a potential sponsorship made her woozy.

"Remember," Cole said as he observed the waves, his arms folded across his chest, "you still have the highest single-wave score of the event."