Always Summer (3 page)

For the first time since we left Crescent
Cove, I turn in my seat to face him. “What are wave parks exactly?”
I ask.

“Artificial waves,” Colby says. “They
generate actual waves but in a pool or natural lagoon rather than
in the ocean. It’s like having full control over a swell, creating
any kind of wave you want. You want tubes? You got tubes. You want
double overhead? Okay. You want small waves and offshore winds for
airs, you got it. It’s manipulation of our sport.”

Jace taps his brakes and pulls into the tiny
empty lot at the end of Liquid Spirit’s mega-shop. A black SUV
waits for us. I recognize the guy as soon as he steps out of the
vehicle. Vin was talking to him about how professional the
Drenaline Surf staff was the night we arrived home from the
impromptu carnival visit.

“I have some bad news,” the man says, “but I
have a feeling you’ve already seen it.” He motions his arm out
toward the monstrosity next to our lot.

He walks forward with his hand out. “Miller
Brighton,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, although it’s
not exactly what we’d all hoped for.”

“Jace Hudson,” Jace says. “This is Haley
Sullivan, our PR rep, and two of our surfers – Colby Taylor and
Logan Riley.”

Mr. Brighton loosens his tie and turns
toward me. “We meet again,” he says. “Although, you brought a much
more somber bunch with you this time around.”

He shields his eyes from the blistering sun
and stares across the lot at the competition. He looks about as
defeated as I feel.

“Well, I think it goes without saying, but I
don’t think we should build a second store here,” he says. “They’re
moving fast to build a name for themselves, and being anywhere in
this vicinity is detrimental to a smaller store.”

Jace sighs. “Agreed. I guess plans for a
second store are out,” he says. “So much for growth and
expansion.”

“Don’t rule it out just yet,” Mr. Brighton
says. “There’s a place near Horn Island that may be more ideal for
you guys. It’s an old mechanic shop, but I think a transformation
could happen. If you’re up for it, we can drive back and I’ll show
you the place.”

“Might as well,” I say. I hate that we
wasted our entire morning driving up here in awkward conversation
for absolutely nothing. “Let’s go. I already hate the sight of
Liquid Spirit.”

“Liquid Spirit’s mission is to bring the
sport and culture of surfing to new levels and new communities,”
Logan says from the backseat. “Surfing is not only a sport but an
art form of expression, a discovery of individuality, and an
enthusiasm for adventure. We want to create an environment where
those with a passionate spirit can grow and conquer their
dreams.”

“Generic,” Colby says. “That could be a
mission statement for any surf company on the planet. They want to
spread surf culture, get more eyes on our sport, and cash in. More
visibility means more cash flow.”

If Liquid Spirit wants visibility, they’re
definitely going to get it. It’s not like anyone can really un-see
the massive store and its giant dome-covered wave pool. As much as
I hate it, I know they’ll thrive. Kids who’ve never surfed before
will test the wave pool first. Parents who don’t want to let their
kids into the vast ocean will feel safer here. It’s a monitored,
controlled environment. Surfers will flock to the pool during bad
weather weeks, and those who aren’t against it ethically will use
the control to master air reverses or how to maintain their speed
in the tube. It’s a breeding ground for a new generation of
non-surfers to become the next big names in the sport.

Logan continues his informative speech with
measurements of the wave pool – nearly 1,100 feet in length and 400
feet in width – and how convenient Liquid Spirit is for all of your
surfing and beach-going needs. The wave pool alone will keep them
in business. That’s a never-ending need for surfboards, wax, fins,
wetsuits, and surf leashes.

Jace shakes his head but never looks away
from the highway. “Who do they think they are? Hurley? There’s no
way they can be the next big name in surf sponsorship and
products,” he says. “Who’s footing the bill for all of this? They
literally just came out of nowhere. They didn’t grow and finally
make it big.”

I glance out the window and try to place
myself back on the beach at the Sunrise Valley Tournament. What was
that guy’s name who wanted to sign Topher? They offered him
mega-money, more than he’d ever make with Drenaline Surf.

“There’s no CEO listed on their site,” Logan
says. “But there’s a contact number if you want to call them.”

Jace laughs, just barely. “No, thanks,” he
says, finally seeming to be back on our side. “I wonder if they
knew we were looking into a lot on that street. If they’ve already
made a move to try and sign Topher, they’re obviously aware of who
we are.”

That’s what scares me. We’re trying to
branch out, but we only have four surfers signed to us, and Colby’s
the most famous of them all – and it’s not always the good kind of
fame with him. What are we doing to grow Drenaline Surf? We can’t
afford a stadium store with a wave pool. If Liquid Spirit builds a
name for itself and decides to open small branches down the
coastline, Drenaline Surf could easily go under.

“If they’re looking to step on the
competition, a wave pool is a pretty genius way to go about it,”
Logan says, sending a sharp pain throughout my body.

“Genius? You think that’s genius?” Colby
snaps.

Oh, here it goes.

“It’s a disgrace to our sport,” Colby says,
matter-of-factly. “Surfing is about being out there, among the
waves, waiting for a perfect set to roll through. It’s about the
uncertainty. It’s about the adrenaline rush. Will you land that
air? Will you make it out of the tube? It’s about how the water
feels splashing against your face, how the sun feels beating
against your skin. It’s a moment in time. It’s uncontrollable and
unpredictable. That’s what makes it perfect.”

My fingers dig into the seat to keep me from
turning around to see his face. It’d be dangerous right now to see
that kind of passion burning behind his eyes. He sounds just like
the guy I met at a boring corporate party in North Carolina. He
sounds like the dreamer I chased across the country. He sounds like
the kind of guy Shark McAllister would have taken under his wing
and made into the best surfer on the west coast.

“No, I get that,” Logan says. “But this is
also a sport. It’s for competition. There is no better training
ground than a controlled wave. You can learn to master things that
the ocean may not let you learn as quickly. There’s less chance for
injury. John John Florence may be incredible, but how often is he
out with injuries?”

The ocean blurs next to us, just a long
strip of greenish-blue haze pouring itself alongside the highway.
I’m glad Topher stayed behind today. I’m not sure what stance he
takes regarding wave pools, but with Logan name-dropping John John
Florence, Topher would’ve probably eaten him like a Great White on
a seal.

“That argument isn’t even valid,” Colby
counters. “John John injures himself going for broke in real waves
of consequence. And he’s mastered it in the ocean. Pipeline is his
backyard.”

“Well, not everyone is fortunate enough to
grow up next to the ocean with places like Pipeline in their
backyards,” Logan smarts back.

Colby scoffs. “We’re from North Carolina,”
he says. “Haley and I are just as east coast as you are, if not
more.”

Jace reaches for the volume on the radio,
says something about loving this song, and drowns out any chance
Logan had to make a comeback.

“It’s not as big as the lot near Sunrise
Valley,” Mr. Brighton says as he searches for the correct key to
this old building. “But I think it has potential to be something,
with the right touch, that is.”

I step back and take in the old mechanic
shop.
Mallard Brothers Automotive
is painted in scratchy,
faded letters over the entrance. The pastel blue paint remains only
in remnants. A thick layer of dust clouds the windows, much like
the back bedroom of Shark’s house.

When we step inside, I can’t help but wonder
how long this place has been out of service. It has probably been
on the market for a while, and no one bothers to keep it up. It
looks as though someone came in, pushed a broom around to pretend
it’d been cleaned, and then vanished without actually doing any
real work. Dust particles glisten in the air around us, exposed by
the sunlight trying to force its way through the dirty windows.

“Well, it needs some work,” Logan says from
behind me.

“You think?” Colby counters. He brushes past
me and turns to face us. “This place is too small. There’s no way
to fit Drenaline Surf’s typical inventory in here.”

“He’s right,” I say, walking beyond Colby to
look further into the building. “Even if you could fit everything,
it’d just stretch back outside of the cashier’s view. You’re
opening the store up to a lot of easy theft.”

Jace sighs louder than necessary, but he
knows we’re right. The layout of this building won’t work without
overhauling the entire thing – not to mention that it needs a deep
scrub because there’s still car oil residue on the concrete
flooring.

“Okay, so what if we don’t do things like
the original Drenaline Surf?” Jace asks. He walks past me, studying
the layout and building plans in his head. “What if we take that
wall down and move it back, so we can make a board showroom over
here?”

He points to the open space out to the left
that was probably once a small lobby or waiting area. I can’t
imagine much else other than a vending machine, a few chairs, and a
bedside table fitting in there.

He walks over to the ancient front counter.
“We can revamp this and leave it here,” he says. “And this area to
the right – we’ll use it for a smaller display, maybe surfboard
accessories since the showroom is the main focus. Stick the wax,
leashes, whatever over here. Sort of like a ‘last minute items’ to
go with your board.”

“And what about the entire back part of the
building?” Colby asks, still not seemingly sold on anything that
Jace is pitching us.

Jace smiles this Vin Brooks kind of smirk
that makes my heart twinge in a somewhat awkward yet nostalgic
way.

“That’s the best part,” he says, too slyly
for even my comfort level. “What if we don’t turn this into a
second store? What if we turn it into a custom board shop? Shark
always wanted his own line of surfboards. We can do it here. We can
use that entire shop for an actual board shaping shop.”

Colby walks over to the counter and looks
around, like he can’t quite wrap his brain around everything just
yet. “Okay, so the idea is borderline genius, but you’re forgetting
the most important part of that plan,” he says. “We don’t have a
board shaper, and most shapers want their own business, not to work
for another company. At least not long-term. They’ll use you as a
stepping stone until they can branch out.”

Jace shakes his head. “Not if we hire
someone internally who wants to do it just for Drenaline Surf,” he
says. “And I already know who’ll do it for us.”

The atmosphere in Drenaline Surf is dismal
the next morning, even though Jace’s plan was well received by Joe.
No one is really talking about our deepest fears, though. We all
know what Liquid Spirit and its wave pool and corporate status
could do to us. Joe said it himself when Jace gave him the details
of our trip up the coast. This could drive us out of business. It’s
that simple.

Jace scribbles on the notepad in front of
him, trying to create a cheat-sheet for paying invoices. I may just
be the girl who talks to the media so our surfers won’t slip up and
say something stupid, but all that time I spent wasting away while
Vin did payroll and paid bills is finally coming in handy.

“Okay, I think I’ve got this one,” Jace
says, clicking through the screen to pay the T-shirt vendor.
“Invoices are easier than payroll. Hopefully I’ll have the hang of
all this before we have to train Alston on how to do it for the
other store.”

I step aside and glance out at the front
counter. A.J. is in the middle of the room, making the rounds and
speaking to customers. He’s a natural at this management thing,
even if he doesn’t believe me when I tell him. Emily speaks with
her hands, pointing to things on the screen, and probably
overwhelming Alston with an overload of information. I should’ve
let A.J. train him, but I feel like they’d spend more time talking
than working. Topher and Miles were out of the question – they
don’t take the cash register nearly as seriously as Emily does.

My eyes draw away from Alston’s training
session when Colby walks through Drenaline Surf, speaks quickly to
A.J., and then heads in my direction.

“Everything okay?” I ask, as soon as he’s in
earshot. “It’s not like you to show up here without a demand for
your presence, and even then, there’s usually some sort of scene to
go along with it.”

Colby laughs. “Only when Vin was here,” he
clarifies. “I was actually hoping I could steal you away for a bit.
I need to talk to you about some things – fixing my image and
stuff. You know, PR-to-surfer kind of stuff. Think you can break
away for lunch?”

I glance over my shoulder at Jace, but he
waves me along and says he’s ‘got this.’ I grab my bag, let A.J.
know that I’ll be back, and make my way out onto The Strip with
Colby. He drops his shades back over his eyes and doesn’t say a
word until we’re secured in his truck.

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and
Topher?” he asks immediately. He cranks the vehicle and adjusts the
air conditioner. “Of all people, I thought you’d tell
me
.”