Dawn and the Surfer Ghost

  Maggie Blume lives a few blocks away from Sunny and me. Her dad is involved in the movie business, but Maggie never acts stuck-up about it. Once in a while she’ll mention that “Tom” or “Winona” was over for dinner the night before, but she won’t make a big point of saying that it was Tom Cruise or Winona Ryder. Maggie has a little brother named Zeke, who has been in a few commercials. The Blumes’ house is huge and sprawling, and they have a pool that looks like a tropical lagoon. I guess they’re rich.

  Maggie has very short hair, cut in a punky style with a long tail hanging down the back. Sometimes her mom lets her dye a red or purple or pink streak in it. Her hair goes with her clothes, which are pretty wild. She likes to wear big black boots and leather jackets over vintage dresses (from the 1950’s). Maggie likes really loud rock music. But she’s not punk or anything. She’s a very nice girl, and a good student. She happens to love ghost stories, too, almost as much as Sunny and I do.

  Jill Henderson has dark blonde hair, almost brown, and deep brown eyes that remind me of chocolate. She’s quiet and self-assured, and kind of serious. Jill lives in a small house in the hills with her mother, who is divorced, and her older sister Liz. The Hendersons have three dogs that they love dearly. Their names are Spike, Shakespeare, and Smee, and they are all boxers with funny, ugly faces.

  That day at our meeting, Jill was telling us how Smee likes to chase the cat next door. “It makes Mrs. Banks so mad,” she said, “so I try to keep him away from her precious Tinkerbell. But once in a while he gets away from me, and you should see how they run through the bushes. I actually think Tinkerbell enjoys being chased, but there’s no way to convince Mrs. Banks of that.” Jill grinned.

  Just then the phone rang, and Sunny answered it. “Hold on,” she said, after listening for a moment. She put her hand over the receiver. “Who wants to sit for Clover and Daffodil next Tuesday at eight?” she asked.

  “I will!” I said. Clover and Daffodil are the two girls who live next door to me. They’re lots of fun to sit for.

  Sunny arranged the job and hung up. “Dawn, you and I had better be careful about taking too many jobs,” she said. “We’re going to be pretty busy with the children’s program.”

  “I know,” I said. “But Clover and Daffodil are no trouble. And I’ll be back from the beach in plenty of time.” Sunny and I had just gotten involved in a special children’s program at the beach. It takes place on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, and most Saturdays, and it’s mainly for kids with working parents. The program is a lot of fun, and it’s perfect for us, because a bus takes the kids — and us — to the beach right after school. That way, we don’t have to worry about rides to the beach for surfing lessons. (We have some time to ourselves after we help with the kids.) I’m enjoying getting to know the kids. Actually, I already knew three of them. One, Stephie Robertson, is an eight-year-old girl who has asthma, and the other two are brothers named Erick and Ryan DeWitt, who are real terrors. Erick is eight, and Ryan is six, and together they can truly be devilish.

  “We’ll have to make sure to separate Erick and Ryan tomorrow,” said Sunny. “They behave much better when they’re not acting as a team.”

  “Good idea,” I said, remembering a sand throwing fight they had started last week. I dunked another piece of broccoli into the dip and smiled. The We ♥ Kids Club might be different from the BSC, but the members of both clubs share one important quality: they understand kids and love to baby-sit. I felt right at home.

  I had been thinking of Stacey a lot lately, ever since I found out how much fun surfing could be. I remembered when my friends in the BSC came to California, after we won a lottery. That was back when I lived full-time in Stoneybrook. Everybody had a great time, and Stacey spent practically the entire vacation on the beach, learning to surf.

  I had started that letter to Stacey during study hall. I should have been studying for an English quiz, but I was having a hard time concentrating. That day, after school, Sunny and I would be going to the beach to help with the children’s program. And afterward, we had planned to practice our surfing. I could hardly wait.

  When the last bell rang, I ran out to the courtyard to meet Sunny. I sat on a bench in the sun as I waited, and thought how different my California school is from Stoneybrook Middle School, the school my friends back in Connecticut were attending that same day.

  SMS is a perfectly nice school. It’s an old brick building with wide hallways and big windows in each classroom. But my school in California is totally different. It’s a series of one-story buildings arranged in a star shape around a big courtyard. There are skylights in all the classrooms, so the rooms are flooded with light. The courtyard is full of plants and trees, and it looks like a tropical garden. The bench where I was waiting for Sunny is my favorite place to sit. It’s near a huge bougainvillea. A bougainvillea, in case you’ve never seen one, is a combination of a tree and a vine, and it’s covered with gorgeous pink flowers. The one in the courtyard climbs up a trellis by the window of the school library. Hummingbirds love bougainvillea, and a few were hovering around that day. Hummingbirds at school! I love California.

  “Hey, girl!” said Sunny, dashing into the courtyard. “Ready to boogie?”

  “You bet,” I said. “We’d better run, too, if we’re going to catch that bus.”

  To reach the beach, we had to meet the bus (really a mini-van) for the children’s program at a nearby elementary school. It picks up several kids there, and then winds its way toward the beach, picking up kids at other schools on the way.

  Sunny and I hurried to the school and climbed into the waiting van. Stephie, Erick, and Ryan were already in the van, with a ten-year-old boy named Tyler and a six-year-old girl named Sara. “Hi, Dawn!” called Erick, who was kneeling on his seat. “Want to see my new Turtle?” He held up a little figure.

  “Nice,” I said. “But I think it’s time to sit down and fasten your seat belt.” The driver had climbed into the van. She closed the doors, and we were off to our next stop.

  About forty-five minutes later — forty-five long minutes of hearing Erick and Ryan fight over the toys they had brought and listening to Stephie and a girl named Ruby (whom we had picked up at the next school) giggle endlessly — we arrived at the beach. Sunny and I slathered suntan lotion on the kids, made sure each one was holding the right beach bag, and then herded them over to the roped-off area where the children’s program meets.

  The program director, a woman named Alyssa, was already there, along with about twenty other kids. Alyssa’s assistant, a guy named Dean, was teaching the kids how to play “Duck, Duck, Goose” in the sand, with another teen helper, Sondra. Erick, Ryan, and the other kids from our van joined in right away, and Sunny and I did whatever we could to help out with the crowd of children.

  First, while the game was going on, we set out juice and crackers for a snack. Then I took one of the youngest girls to the bathroom while Sunny and Alyssa seated everyone in a circle. They passed around the juice and crackers, and tried to quiet everyone down a little. After the snack, I helped out with another game — this time it was “Twenty Questions” — while the kids digested their food. About a half hour later, we took the kids to the bathhouse to change into their suits, and then brought them down to the water. Most of them just waded and splashed around, but a few of the older kids are good enough swimmers to venture out a little deeper. Alyssa had made sure each of the helpers knew exactly which kids they were responsible for, and we were careful to keep a close eye on them all.

  Being at the beach with a bunch of kids is a lot of fun. Kids love the sand and the ocean, and they never seem to get bored or whiny. I ran and jumped with them, and tossed a beach ball back and forth. I helped them build a gigantic sand castle. I even let the kids bury me in the sand. Sunny took Stephie, Ruby, and Tyler on a beachcombing walk, looking for shells and pebbles.

  After an hour or so, Alyssa told Sunny and me that we were free to go. Many of the kids ha
d been picked up by their parents, and the rest were having quiet time under the shade of a big awning. The bus would be leaving in another hour, which left Sunny and me just enough time to rent boards and practice a little.

  We headed for the surf shop. The beach was pretty crowded, and I saw a cluster of surfers near one end, where the waves were the best that day. “Looks like a good day for surfing,” I said. “The waves are perfect. Not too big, but not too small, either.”

  Sunny grinned. “Perfect,” she agreed.

  We pushed open the door of the shop, and when the bell jingled the person at the counter looked up at us. It was that guy, Thrash. Sunny elbowed me, but I ignored her. I didn’t want Thrash to think I was some silly kid. I wanted him to think I was cool. Like he was. Seeing him up close, I could tell that Thrash was about twenty years old, and tall — maybe six feet two — with shoulder length white-blond hair. He was incredibly tan, and his blue eyes were intense in his brown face. He had three holes pierced in his right ear and two in his left — one more than I have! (I have two in each ear.) And he wore a wild-looking copper ring that looked like a snake twining around his middle finger. I guess he was good-looking, but definitely not my type. Too wild, too old, and too — well, just too-too. Still, I found him fascinating. I wondered what his real name was. I mean, could his parents actually have named him Thrash?

  Trying to look as if I knew what I was doing, I strolled over to the spot where the rental boards are kept, and started to check them over. “I’ve been thinking about using a bigger board,” I said to Sunny. “These ‘guns’ are cool, aren’t they?” “Guns” are what surfers call large, long boards.

  “Those boards are only good for the really big screamers,” said Thrash, stepping up behind me.

  Screamers? I decided he must mean waves. “Oh,” I said.

  “You’ll do best on a tri-fin, like this one.” Thrash pointed to a neon pink board. “Real stable, even if you run into something gnarly out there.”

  Gnarly? I was going to have to study my surfer slang.

  “Call me when you’re ready,” Thrash said. He headed back to the repair part of the shop, where I’d seen him the other day. He started to rub wax on a board (surfers use it to keep from falling off their slippery boards), and I could tell it was his board by the loving way he applied the wax. The board was as distinctive as its owner. It was purple, with black designs that looked like primitive tribal tattoos. I hadn’t seen anything like it. I walked a little closer to Thrash so I could see what he was doing. Taking care of a surfboard is a big part of surfing, but I didn’t know much about it, since I had been renting my boards.

  “Cool-looking wax,” I said, pointing to the can he was dipping into. The can was black, with a picture of a skull and crossbones in white on the front. I had never seen wax like that before, either.

  “Custom-blended by this old guy down in Waimea,” said Thrash. “I tell him what I want, and he makes it up for me. Costs a lot, but it helps me win contests, so I guess it evens out.”

  “Where’s Waimea?” I asked.

  “Hawaii,” he said. “Monster waves down there. Much bigger than the ones at Kirra Point.”

  “Where’s — ?” I began.

  “Down Under. Australia,” he replied, before I could ask. I realized that Thrash had probably surfed all around the world. He was one of those guys who travels everywhere in search of the perfect wave. And I had a feeling he had won a lot of competitions.

  I could have hung out and listened to Thrash talk about surfing all afternoon, but I could see that Sunny was getting restless. We picked out boards, paid for them, and headed for the door.

  “Take it easy, Kelea,” said Thrash, grinning at me.

  “Kelea?” I repeated.

  “A legendary Hawaiian princess who made friends with the water god. She was a radical surfer,” he said.

  “Oh,” I replied, blushing. “Well, thanks. I guess I better practice if I want to live up to that name.”

  Sunny elbowed me again as we walked to the water. “I think he likes you,” she said.

  “No way. He’s a neat guy, though, isn’t he?”

  “From what I hear, he’s kind of tough. The guys say he’s gotten in some fights since he’s been here. He doesn’t care about anything except surfing, and if you get in his way, watch out.” Sunny grimaced. “You better not get mixed up with him,” she added.

  “I won’t,” I said. “I just want to talk to him.”

  By that time, we had reached the area where the surfers were hanging out. Some kids from my school were there, and plenty from the high school, including some kids Stacey had surfed with when she was visiting. They’re a little wild. Stacey even got into a car accident when she was driving to the beach with them one day. Still, they’re basically good kids. “Hi, Paul,” I said to one of them. “Is Alana here today?”

  “She’s out there,” he said, pointing to the waves. “With Rosemary. Carter and I are just about to paddle out. Want to come?”

  “Sure,” I said. My heart was beating fast at the very thought of riding through the waves. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get into the water.

  * * *

  Stacey, you wouldn’t believe the waves today, I wrote when I got home. I wanted to send off the letter the next morning, so I decided to finish it up.

  It was Thursday afternoon when I heard the news. Sunny and I had arrived at the beach, all ready to have a great time with the kids in the program. Alyssa had planned some terrific activities.

  Sunny and I were just getting settled at the spot where the children’s program meets when Rosemary, one of the surfers from the high school, ran across the sand to us. She looked upset. “Can you believe it?” she said. “Nothing like this has ever happened on our beach. No way am I going into the water today. I mean, what if it was a shark?”

  “Whoa,” said Sunny. “What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t heard?” asked Rosemary. “It’s Thrash.”

  “Thrash?” I repeated, feeling scared all of a sudden. “What? What happened to him?”

  “He’s dead,” said Rosemary.

  “What?” cried Sunny and I together. And I added, “Dead? You’re crazy. Thrash can’t be dead. I just saw him yesterday.”

  “It happened last night,” said Rosemary. “I guess it was last night.”

  “What happened?” asked Sunny. Both of us were just standing there with our mouths wide open. Kids from the program were running around nearby, kicking up sand that bit into my ankles, but I ignored them.

  “Nobody’s sure, exactly,” said Rosemary. “His board washed up on the beach today, and it’s all mangled. And Thrash has disappeared.”

  “What was that you said about sharks?” I asked.

  “That’s what some people think might have happened to him,” said Rosemary. “The way his board was all chopped up, it looked like he could have been attacked by a shark.”

  I was stunned. “No way! I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

  “The police have been searching all day,” said Rosemary. “There’s no sign of him anywhere.”

  “But a shark?” asked Sunny. “There aren’t any sharks here, are there?”

  Rosemary shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, maybe it wasn’t a shark. Maybe he just wiped out. Maybe his board hit him on the head and he drowned in the undertow. It’s pretty wicked sometimes, especially down by the break, where he likes to surf. I mean — liked to surf.” She shrugged again. “Anyway, he won’t be surfing anymore.”

  I couldn’t believe it was true. Thrash was the best surfer around. How could he wipe out?

  “Gotta run!” said Rosemary. “Sorry for the bad news.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Isn’t there something we can do? I mean, to help find Thrash?”

  “What can we do?” she replied. “The police are on the case. This is their job.”

  Rosemary left, and Sunny and I exchanged glances. This was upsetting new
s. We looked around to make sure none of the kids had heard it, and fortunately they all seemed to be involved in building a long, twisting sand dragon. Dean was supervising, while Alyssa sat under an umbrella reading to a few kids who didn’t feel like playing in the sand. “Boy. I’m glad none of them heard about that,” I said to Sunny.

  Just then I felt a little hand slip into mine. There was Stephie, looking up at me. “Dawn?” she said. “What happened? Did something bad happen?”

  “Oh, Stephie,” I said. She was the last kid I would have wanted to hear the news. Sometimes emotional stress can bring on one of Stephie’s asthma attacks. I thought fast. “Everything’s okay,” I said. “One of the surfers might have had a little accident, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “Is that why everybody is over there?” Stephie pointed down the beach, to a spot where a large crowd had gathered. I saw two or three policemen, and they looked awfully strange on the beach, wearing their dark blue uniforms, surrounded by people dressed in bathing suits.

  “Yup,” I said. “Do you think the policemen are going to go surfing dressed like that?”

  Stephie giggled. “They would look pretty funny if they did.” She looked at the crowd and giggled again. “Do you think they would even wear their hats?” she said. Then she ran off to join the dragon-builders.