(DISCLAIMER: Lords of Dogtown does not belong to me, and neither does the music. Only Danger does.)
"We were laughing in a daydream; with the world beneath our feet.
And the sun shined on the water, where the skies and the ocean meet.
We were spellbound; oh, spellbound.
We were listening down a rainbow, as the leaves fell to the ground,
whispering as we tumbled, and the wind laughed at the sound.
We were spellbound; oh, spellbound.
We were spellbound; oh, spellbound.
We were children in the garden, where the flowers kiss the sky;
And the birds sang out in wonder, as the day went sailing by.
We were spellbound; spellbound.
Oh, spellbound; spellbound, oh."
-Daydream, Robin Trower
Chapter 1: Danger in Dogtown
She sat, the brown paper-wrapped whiskey bottle pressed to her lips, deep in thought. She had come so far; and yet, it felt as if she'd gone nowhere. Her latest trek had been from Texas to California, her only possessions a plain, lime green and hot pink surfboard strapped to her back, a switchblade, and very little money in her pocket. On top of that, she'd just spent her last cents on this bottle. She travelled alone, with her random liquor to keep her company and the clothes on her back to keep her warm; this consisted of a pair of plain, black board-shorts, a neon blue tank top, a pair of white-and-black-striped 'arm warmers', which were essentially the sleeves cut off a tightly-fitting, long-sleeved t-shirt with some elastic sewn into the top to hold them up on her arms, and a plain, old, ratty, black zip-up sweatshirt to cover it all.
She wasn't sponsored, she wasn't a professional, she didn't even compete; surfing was simply her way of letting go. And she could let go well, someone would later tell her. She'd seen some of the local guys from around here skate or drive by and glance at her, but to her unusual luck, no one had yet given her trouble. Perhaps, it was because she quite resembled a boy herself, or at least, she thought so. Her platinum-blonde locks, recently sheared, fell to her chin in ragged, razor-hacked, straight pieces; her shocking-green eyes pulsed with an intensity build upon anger and determination; and the hoodie, well, it was good camouflage for her non-boyish assets. Her hair always hung in her face, and her voice for the most part did not give her away, for she seldom used it.
On this particular summer morning, her back pressed to a pylon underneath a seedy-looking pier, she watched four young surfers paddle out into the froth, after at least an hour of being harassed by what appeared to be older, more-experienced riders. It felt kind of odd watching, like an intruder on something sacred, but hey, outta sight, outta mind... she was well-hidden. The more active three took turns charging each wave, careful not to ruin each other's swell, and the fourth just kind of bobbed around in the water there, sitting on the surfboard and occasionally yelling.
She went unnoticed for a while, a silent watcher of the younger group, but the silence was broken when, to her horrendously-quickly changing luck, one of them spotted her. He'd been paddling back to shore, and their eyes had locked, though she did her best to try to break that eye contact and make it seem like it had been a coincidence, nothing more.
He wasn't anything special; not muscular nor very fit, but scrawny, with wavy blonde hair a bit longer than hers and sharp-looking features to his face, almost vulpine. His face was graced with a scowl. He appeared to be both the youngest and shortest of the group. She got to her feet and made to walk away; maybe, he was just looking in her general direction by coincidence, and hadn't actually seen her propped up there. She turned to move, but her original luck had definitely run out. She was found out.
The short kid pulled himself from the water as quickly as he could, carelessly tossing his board onto the sand, marching up the thin strip of beach where she stood, grabbed a large handful of her hair, and pulled it back. Hard. "Oi!" She yelped.
Her neck was straining as the kid looked at her face, the artery pumping quickly in her neck. Her tongue was like a pile of wet gauze in her mouth; unable to make a sound, she tried to appear as calm as humanly possible whilst in this uncomfortable position, practically bent over backwards. She could've reached for her blade, but her entire body froze, being held in such an awkward position. She stared up into the blue, cloudless sky, attempting not to give herself away.
"What're you doin' here, dude?" He practically hissed, sizing her up. Mistaking her for a guy, she wagered.
"Drinking. What's it look like?" She answered in a low, crackly voice, avoiding eye contact as he tried fairly hard to gather it.
"Don't look like it. Looks like you're fixin' for a dip." After this, she unknowingly gave herself away not by her voice, but by the hoodie she wore. The weak zipper unzipped slowly of its own accord, sliding down to reveal her green tank top. It wasn't a great-for-hiding-your-chest top, spaghetti strapped with about two inches of flat abs exposed below. In addition, it was pretty low-cut, as it had been something she'd pinched from a trash bag on a curb somewhere along her journey. She had only a triangle bikini top under it, and it didn't help her situation any that the shorts she wore hung low on her waist, thanks to being slightly too-big. Her secret was out.
He released the death grip on her hair in mild surprise as her senses came back to her, and she swung the bottle in his direction, dangerously close to his head, close enough to make him let go - but not close enough to actually hit him with it. She reached for her blade in her wax comb pocket, but thought better of it; she had no intention of having a run-in with the local law enforcement of Venice, California for any reason, any time soon.
A second boy clambered from the waves, heading in their direction. She turned to leave, but the blonde she had inconveniently met beforehand grabbed her hood, yanking her back. She considered slipping out of the hoodie, all she'd need to do was unzip it the rest of the way and slip her arms out, but decided against that course of action, slightly-curious as to what this new person had to say.
The second guy looked as if he could do some damage to a person. Sun-streaked brown hair in tight, crazy curls, considerably flatter than it would've been if he'd been dry, muscular-yet-stocky build, caramel skin...
"Jay, who's this dude, you know 'im? I ain't never seen him around here before." This kid was a real winner, she thought, noting his slight Spanish accent and that hint of some unshared joke layered in his voice as she was wheeled around. He was smiling, and it mildly caught the girl off-guard. She wasn't expecting this playful undertone to the exchange, given the first person's reaction to her being there.
"She's a chick, Mad Dog, and I dunno, she didn't tell me who she is. OR what she's doing here by herself, lookin' like a guy."
Damn him, did he have to give her disguise away to every-freaking-one he knew?
"Oh," Tony began, his face falling, eyes glancing down at her chest.
"You don't need to know who I am, or my business here. All you need to know is, I love whiskey and surfing," she shot back, taking another swig of said preferred drink and decidedly re-zipping her sweatshirt.
By now, the remaining two had made their way out of the water and over to the slowly-growing group.
"Tony? What're you guys...?" The tallest one with the longest, blonde hair half-way down his back, turquoise eyes, and a thinner build stopped mid-sentence and mid-step in surprise at the glare she shot his direction. This business of crowding around her like some sort of zoo attraction was starting to piss her off.
"This one here says she likes whiskey and surfing, Stace. You think we should let 'er rip and see what the real deal is?" Jay was asking.
She used the opportunity of conversation between the supposed-friends to glance at the other kid, the only one who hadn't spoken yet.
Grungy brown, shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, skinny, short, grubby-looking... not much to work with in the way of persuading him to move out of her way so she could pass unnoticed by the others and make her escape. He looked like he'd just crawled out of a dirt pile, despite having just come from the waves. She noted she hadn't actually seen him do anything more than paddle out on his board, shouting randomly at Jay and the other guys when they were about to be wiped out by a wave.
During the current conversation, Jay failed to keep a firm hold on the girl's hoodie, and she soundlessly walked away, really slowly. She got about two feet when Tony grabbed the back of her sweatshirt, not bothering to go for the hood. "Where do you think you're goin', chica? You love surfing so much, you're gonna surf. Get out there."
Why was he sneering? He closed the space between them, wheeled her around, and gave her a shove forward, but she caught herself before she endured any real embarrassment.
"Fine." She tossed her now-empty bottle down and stalked determinedly toward the water.
She stripped off her hoodie and her detached sleeves, tossing them carelessly into the sand, giving up on the disguise and clambering out into the rough surf. She only went under once, narrowly keeping herself from the harsh riptide that swept through the area and could potentially suck a person over under the pier. She came back up spluttering, the salt water running disgustingly out her nose. She wiped her nose on her wet arm to clear her face before grabbing the next swell. This time around, her moves were confident and smooth, with a bit of her own personal flair flitting through in certain moments.
At the very end of her run, she was about half-way through a rapidly-collapsing pipe when the water began crashing down around her. At the last possible moment, she folded herself in half, bending low on her board and speeding out the other end, ripping off with a half-flip. After charging a couple more swells with no great disasters, she paddled back toward shore. The dark-haired guy was cheering a little, and the curly-haired one elbowed him in the side, causing him to topple over easily as she stalked through the shallows to the shore and back the way she'd come.
"Damn, you sponsored? What's your name, anyway? You shredded those waves." The one she assumed was called 'Stacy' shouted, seemingly in-awe as she stepped out of the foamy water and onto the sandy beach once more.
"Danger. No, I'm not sponsored, and yes, I could kick your ass, so don't even try making fun of my name." She made herself clear as she stepped closer, taking on a defensive stance with her hands balled into fists at her sides, as if she'd need to hold off the group immediately.
"Whoa, for sure…" Stacy trailed, putting his hands up, playing offence as he took a large step backward.
"Don't doubt that. This chick can shred. I'm Sid," answered the dark-haired one, eying her up and down whilst offering his dirt-smudged hand, covered in dried brine. She unclenched her fists, looked down at it with mild disdain, but didn't shake it. She raised a single eyebrow at him, and he dropped his grubby, little hand.
"Heh, never mind him... he's a little… off. I promise, he showers. Sometimes," Stacy half-laughed. "My name's Stacy."
"So, you new around here? You got a nice ass, by the way," 'Jay' said stupidly.
She reached over before he could react otherwise, punching him square in the stomach as hard as she could.
"Yeah, I am. And that's payback for pulling my hair earlier. You got nice abs, by the way," she shot back, walking off, zipping her retrieved hoodie over her wet clothes, surfboard tucked under her left arm. "See you guys 'round - good luck with that bruise, sucker." She smiled wickedly.
"Dude... you okay?" She heard Stacy ask Jay with a snort, not looking back at the group.
"Hey fuck you, man…"
"Yo!" Tony shouted as she rounded the corner. "Hey man, party at my house tonight, the loud one on Cherry. If ya wanna come."
She looked back and tossed a peace sign in their general direction. Going on her way, she shouted, "right on, I might be there."