Chapter Two

Spencer's POV

Sports Illustrated named me the 'ideal surfer' and the 'future of surfing". I was their cover story for their May issue. They did a run-down on my profile: long blonde hair that falls into baby blue eyes, tan, lean athletic build of about 130 pounds, and a serious attitude to top it all off. Several tabloids tried to get me to do interviews with them, and when I refused, they tried to do a little research of their own. They somehow managed to find out about me and her, but rumor has it, they got sued…probably the work of her lawyers. Anyways, several magazines and countless other papers have stated that this is the biggest surf tournament of my career. Like I didn't already know.

So now I'm waiting for all of it to start, while my nerves send my heart into hyper drive. Today is an unseasonably cool day for Huntington Beach, California in late May: 71 degrees. The dim sunlight is fighting to break through the low, thick gray clouds. A light cool breeze ruffles my already messy hair. I walk down to the water and slip my hand in. The water is just warm enough for board shorts and a rash guard. Satisfied, I stand up so I can go change.

As I'm walking, six reporters swarm me like angry bees. All of them are holding microphones close to my face and shouting incoherent questions. One reporter steps in front of me. He's wearing ripped jeans and an old Raife Davies t shirt. I cringe. The reporter puts his microphone in my face and asks, "How do you remain so stoic before the biggest competition of your life?"

I think about his question for a moment and remember my racing heart as it beats hard in my chest. "Ha, if only you knew, buddy. Now excuse me." I push past him and walk into the red and white striped changing tent. I close the flap behind me and let out an exasperated sigh. I change out of my jeans and black Nor Cal shirt, and into signature my surf gear: a simple black bikini, navy blue board shorts and a white rash guard with my number 42 on the front, and my last name on the back. I put on my aviator sunglasses and strut back to the Hurley tent. Off to the side is a beautiful dark red seven foot surfboard leaning against a table. On both sides are the logos of Hurley, Nor Cal, O'Neil, and Adidas, all of which are my sponsors. I rest the board on my lap and wax every inch of it, making sure there is no chance I'll slip off during the competition. I do a check over on the board. The wax is all good, as are the fins. I stand up, stretch, and look at my cell phone; 23 messages, all wishing me luck.

I look around the beach. Hundreds of people are settling down to watch the tournament. A band a hundred yards away are dancing and jumping around the stage, entertaining screaming fans. A short distance away from the Hurley tent, a hot dog vendor is handing over two hot dogs to a young couple. Right by the beach, the other surfers are lining up, getting ready for the first heat.

"AIDEN DENNISON LOVES SPENCER CARLIN!" My head snaps to my left and I see my best friend enthusiastically waving at me. I smile and wave back as the wind suddenly gets stronger and the clouds completely block out the sun. I frown. Strong winds can be good or bad. They can make the waves bigger, but that's not always a good thing.

I walk down the beach to relax a little before the first heat. As I get closer to the band I saw earlier, a wave of realization and anxiety hit me as I hear the singer's voice.

Shit! No no no no no! Why is she here?