Dawn and the Surfer Ghost

  Anyway, Stephie and I had found plenty to do. We took long walks, exploring parts of the beach we’d never been to before. We watched the surfers, and rated their form. And we spent a lot of time collecting pebbles, beach glass, and shells.

  Stephie’s dad had given her a nature guide to beaches, and we had been working our way through it. We had identified all the birds we saw, and most of the shells we had picked up. We had even learned a lot about different kinds of seaweed! Those afternoons with Stephie were great. The time I spent with her was relaxing, and I needed to relax. Most of the time I was caught up in trying to solve the mystery of Thrash’s disappearance, but when I was with Stephie I managed to put that aside. Instead of thinking about mutilated surfboards and phantom surfers, I concentrated on being a friend to Stephie.

  That Thursday, the day I wrote the letter to Mary Anne, Stephie and I had been busy categorizing the pebbles we had collected. We’d made different piles for green rocks, black rocks, rocks with stripes, white rocks — well, you get the picture. There was even a pile for heart-shaped rocks, which were Stephie’s favorites. I liked the flat rocks best, the ones you could use for skipping stones.

  We had also spent some time reading to each other. Stephie loves books, and she’s an excellent reader. I bet she’d get along great with Charlotte Johanssen. Stephie’s been working her way through the Narnia books, and we were in the middle of The Silver Chair that day. As Stephie read, I lay back in the sand and watched the waves roll in. A lot of surfers were out that afternoon; the competition was the following weekend, and everybody was getting in their practice time.

  When Stephie finished her chapter, I stretched and sat up. “I’m hungry,” I said. “How about you?”

  “I’m starved,” she replied, smiling.

  “Let’s go get smoothies,” I suggested. Smoothies are blended fruit drinks made with yogurt, and they are delicious. My favorite kind is banana-strawberry. The concession stand at the beach makes them with tons of fresh fruit.

  “All right!” said Stephie. “I want a peach one today.”

  We packed up our stuff and headed to the concession stand. On the way, Stephie and I waved to Sunny and some of the kids in the beach program, who were rehearsing a scene in which Alice meets the surfing Cheshire Cat.

  “They look like they’re having a good time,” I said to Stephie. I wondered if she felt left out.

  “I’m having a good time, too,” she said, taking my hand and looking up at me with a smile.

  The concession stand was crowded with people waiting to order fries, hot dogs, and smoothies. Stephie and I got in line, and I craned my neck, curious to see who was working that day. A girl named Shari was running the blender, but none of the other people looked familiar. Then I saw him. That new guy, the one with the black hair. The one who had given me the creeps the first time I saw him. He still gave me the creeps, but I couldn’t figure out why. He was working the grill, flipping burgers a mile a minute. As the line we stood in edged forward, I stared hard at the guy, trying to figure it out. He wasn’t being rude to the customers, or staring at girls or anything. He was just doing his job.

  The closer I moved to the counter, the better I could see him. He was dressed like the other workers, in cut-offs and a T-shirt. His hair was very short, practically a buzzcut. He must have gotten the haircut recently, too, because his neck wasn’t as tan as the rest of him. Unlike the rest of the workers, who were wearing wild jewelry, he wore none. I did notice, though, that he had holes in his ears for pierced earrings. Two on the left, and three on the right. I counted.

  He was wearing dark, dark sunglasses, the kind that wrap around your head and make you look like some kind of space ranger. And as he turned to lay a burger on a bun, I noticed a funny white mark on his finger. A scar? I tried to get a closer look, but just then I realized that the girl behind the counter was talking to me. It was my turn to be served, and Shari was waiting on me.

  “Hey, Dawn,” she said. “I bet you’re here for a smoothie. Strawberry-banana, right?”

  I nodded. “Right,” I said. “I guess I’m pretty predictable, huh?”

  “Oh, we just get to know all the regular orders,” she said. “Anything else?”

  I ordered a peach smoothie for Stephie, and we watched while Shari blended our drinks for us.

  “Yum!” said Stephie, as Shari dumped sliced peaches into the blender. Her drink was ready first, and she started sipping it while Shari fixed mine.

  “All set?” asked Shari, setting my drink on the counter. I nodded, and handed her some money. As she was making my change, I glanced once more at the creepy guy. Suddenly, I realized something incredible. Something so wild, I could hardly believe it. “Dawn?” asked Shari, holding out my change. “What’s the matter? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

  I tried to laugh. “I’m okay,” I said. I took the change, grabbed my smoothie, and thanked her. “Let’s go, Stephie,” I said.

  We left the concession stand and walked toward the parking lot, since it was almost time to catch the bus home. “What happened?” asked Stephie. “You look upset.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. I wasn’t ready to tell anybody what I had figured out. Stephie and I sipped our smoothies while we waited for the bus. I could hardly taste mine, but I pretended it was delicious. I chatted with Stephie about our plans for the next day, but I wasn’t paying much attention to what she said.

  When Sunny met us in the parking lot, I asked if I could come over to her house after we got home. “I have something to tell you,” I said. “Something about — you know.”

  Her eyes widened, and she gave me a curious look. I shook my head, letting her know that I couldn’t talk about it until we were alone. We boarded the bus soon after that, and I felt relieved to sit back in my seat and listen to the kids’ songs and tease each other.

  When I got home, I ran to my room and dumped my beach stuff. Then I headed for Sunny’s. She let me in, and we ran to her room and closed the door.

  “You’ll never believe who I saw today,” I said.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “It was at the concession stand. This new guy there gives me the creeps for some reason. I’ve tried and tried to figure out why, but I couldn’t. And then, suddenly, I knew who he was.”

  “Who?” Sunny asked again.

  “Thrash.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. It was him. He looks different, but I know he’s Thrash. It’s like he’s in disguise.” I described the guy to Sunny, and then I explained how I had figured out he was Thrash. “The mark on his finger tipped me off,” I said. “It’s a tan line around the ring he used to wear. The one that’s shaped like a snake?”

  “Are you sure?” Sunny asked.

  I nodded. “He cut off his hair and dyed what was left,” I said. “That’s why his neck is kind of pale — because his hair used to be longer. And I remember how many holes he had for pierced earrings, because it’s one more than I have.”

  Sunny looked stunned. “But if he is Thrash — ” she began.

  “He isn’t dead,” I finished. “But he’s still hanging around the beach. Why? What’s he up to?”

  “This is wild,” said Sunny. “Maybe we should tell the police.”

  “No way,” I said. “For one thing, they wouldn’t believe us, just because this is so wild. And for another, they don’t seem to care what happened to him. I think we have to check this out on our own.”

  Before long, I had talked Sunny into seeing things my way. We spent half an hour planning what to do next, and then I went home for dinner. My head was spinning. Thrash wasn’t dead, after all. He was very much alive. Alive and well and working — undercover — at the concession stand.

  “Check it out, Sunny,” I whispered, nudging her. It was the day after I had spotted Thrash, and Sunny and I had wasted no time putting our plan into action. We had finished up at the beach program, and raced to the concession stand to see if
Thrash would be there again. I saw him right away. He was cutting up lettuce for sandwiches, and he seemed to be concentrating hard on his work. I took the opportunity to point him out to Sunny.

  No way!” she whispered. “Are you sure that’s him?”

  Just then, Thrash turned toward the counter, and Sunny got a good look at him. He was still wearing sunglasses, but I knew she was checking out his pierced-earring holes and the strange tan line on his finger. “Hmmm,” she said. “You know, I think you’re right. But what is he doing here?”

  “That’s what we have to find out,” I whispered. I stepped up to the counter and ordered us each a smoothie. We watched Thrash carefully while we were waiting to be served, and then we walked down the beach, sipping our drinks. We decided to watch Thrash as much as possible and try to figure out what he was up to. Since Sunny still couldn’t surf, she could spy on him while I took my lessons and practiced. And since I was still sitting for Stephie during the hours of the beach program, I would try to hang around the concession stand and watch him then. We figured we might be able to find out why he was still at the beach.

  Over the next few days, we spied all the time. One or the other of us kept an eye on Thrash whenever we were at the beach. But we didn’t find out much. Basically, all he did was work. Sometimes he worked the grill, flipping burgers and cooking hot dogs. Sometimes he ran the blender, making smoothies. And sometimes he made french fries. But he never went surfing, never did anything out of the ordinary. I have to admit that Sunny and I were both feeling frustrated.

  Meanwhile, I was practicing hard for the surfing competition. I was even having trouble concentrating on my schoolwork, because I was so focused on the competition. Buck said he was proud of my progress, and that I was turning into a “radical surfer.” I knew he was exaggerating to make me feel more confident, but I knew I really was improving. Some days I felt so in tune with the waves that it seemed I had been born in the water. I knew I wouldn’t win any major prizes in the competition, but I was looking forward to it anyway. I was especially excited about watching the best surfers do their stuff.

  There were still reports, now and then, of sightings of the surfer ghost. Since Sunny and I were never at the beach after dark, we didn’t see him. But everybody was talking about the amazing moves the ghost could pull. They joked about the ghost entering the competition, saying he could probably win first prize if he did.

  Sunny and I checked with the police a couple of times, but they had no new leads on the case. They still thought Thrash was either dead or missing, and they weren’t exactly hot on the trail. In fact, they seemed to have written him off and moved on to other things.

  The day of the competition grew closer and closer. All the surfers were practicing hard, and some were riding the waves from early morning until the sun went down. Certain surfers were beginning to look discouraged, and others were wearing this confident, almost cocky look. There was a lot of talk on the beach about who would win what prize. Surfers like Gonzo and T.J. seemed to regard each other suspiciously. They checked out each other’s form and copied moves they thought might catch the judges’ eyes. Even with Spanky gone, there were plenty of really excellent surfers getting ready to compete.

  On Saturday, the day before the competition, Alyssa asked Sunny to stay for an extra half hour after the beach program ended. Sunny had agreed weeks ago to help with the sets for the play when the time came, and now, said Alyssa, the time had come. I was on my own until my lesson started, so of course I headed for the concession stand to check up on Thrash. Guess what? He wasn’t there. He wasn’t making burgers, or frying fries, or blending smoothies. I hung around for a few minutes, hoping he was just on a break and would turn up soon. But there was no sign of him. Finally, I stepped up to the counter and ordered a smoothie. When the girl who made it handed it over, I spoke up. “Hey, where’s that other guy that usually works here?” I asked casually. “You know, the one with the short hair.”

  The girl shrugged. “I think he asked for the day off. Why?”

  I thought fast. “Oh, he loaned me fifteen cents the other day when I didn’t have enough change,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “I wanted to pay him back.”

  She nodded. “He’ll probably be here tomorrow,” she said. “Anyway, it’s only fifteen cents. I doubt he’s worried about it.”

  I agreed. As I walked away from the stand, I racked my brain. Where could Thrash be? And why had he taken the day off? I had this feeling that something was up. I guess it was what the detectives on TV call a hunch. Somehow I knew it was important that Thrash had taken off from work on the day before the surfing competition.

  I walked by the surf shop, deep in thought. As I rounded the corner of the building, I heard a strange noise. I drew back and set my smoothie down in the sand. Carefully, I peeked around the corner. In back of the shop is a shed where the workers stash their surfboards. And somebody was in it. I walked closer, peering into the semi-darkness. That’s when I saw Thrash. He was bending over one of the boards and pushing against its fins with some kind of tool.

  He was tampering with somebody’s board!

  I drew back again and thought for a second. What Thrash was doing was wrong, and somebody had to stop him. If he messed up that board, its owner could get seriously hurt. I looked around, hoping to see a policeman — or anybody who could help. But nobody was there. It was up to me. I took a deep breath and gathered up my courage. Then I walked into the shed, clearing my throat as I approached Thrash.

  “Hey!” I said, trying to sound official. Unfortunately, all that came out was a squeak. Thrash didn’t pause in what he was doing. He didn’t look up, either. “Hey,” I said, more loudly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  All of a sudden I wondered if I was nuts. Was this guy really Thrash? Or was he somebody else, somebody who might be really angry about being caught tampering with a board. Somebody who might try to hurt me.

  This time, he did look up. But he didn’t seem angry or upset. He just grinned at me. “Hey, Kelea,” he said. “How’s it goin’?”

  That’s when I knew for sure he was Thrash. He’s the only person who has ever called me by that name. “Thrash?” I said, uncertainly.

  “That’s me.”

  “So you aren’t dead.”

  “Nope. Alive and kickin’.”

  “And tampering with somebody’s board,” I said. “That’s not right.”

  “Hey, somebody tried to off me,” he replied, defensively. “You know, kill me. Make sure I wasn’t in the competition. I know who did it, too. Well, I wiped out pretty bad after he messed with my board, but I sure didn’t buy the farm. I let him think I did, though. I want to teach that jerk a lesson.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you think I’m still hanging around?” he asked. “And why do you think I look like this?” He put down the tool and ran a hand through his short black hair. “I hated to cut my hair, man, but it was the only way. I figured if I disguised myself, I could still hang out here. I could keep surfing, and prepare for the competition. I could still win it, too, and make some dough so I can head Down Under, to Australia.”

  “But I guess you’re not so sure you can win honestly,” I said, “since you’re messing up that board.”

  He glared at me. “I’d win no matter what. But I want to teach this guy a lesson. Nobody messes with Thrash.”

  “What if he gets hurt?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not my problem. I mean, that dude wasn’t worried about me getting hurt, was he?”

  “Have you been messing with other people’s boards?” I asked. “I mean, there have been all these accidents, and — ”

  “I’m not responsible,” Thrash said, holding up his hand as if he were swearing to it. “This is the only one I care about. I just want to get that guy back for what he did to me.”

  I decided to change the subject while I thought about what to do next. I had to prevent Thrash from tampering with th
at board. “You said you’ve been surfing, but I’ve never seen you out there.”

  “Never seen the Surfer Ghost?” he said, grinning.

  “You mean — ?” I began. My mouth dropped open.

  He nodded. “That’s me. I’ve been riding the waves by moonlight, just to make sure nobody tries to spy on me and steal my moves.” He laughed. “It’s a riot how they all think I’m a spook,” he added.

  “I saw you,” I said. “You really did look like a ghost out there.”

  “Cool.” He picked up his tool again and bent over the board.

  “Don’t do it,” I said. “Please? I mean, I understand that you want revenge, but two wrongs don’t make a right.” I didn’t mean to sound like a teacher; the words just popped out. “And anyway, you said you could win the competition without messing up that guy’s board. I think you should enter the competition honestly, under your own name. That way, you can prove to everyone that you really are the best surfer.”

  Thrash gave me a long look. “Yeah, but if I just turn up alive, the guy who messed up my board is going to get away with it. What about that?”

  “There has to be a way to make sure he gets in trouble for what he did,” I said. “Let me think for a second.” I leaned against a sawhorse.

  Thrash stood there looking at me. “You’re too much, Kelea,” he said. “Why do you want to help a bum like me, anyway?”

  I didn’t know how to answer him, because it was a mystery to me, too. But there was something I liked about Thrash. He was a terrific surfer, and I knew he deserved a chance to win that competition fair and square. And I knew that the guy who had messed with his board deserved some kind of punishment for what he had done. Just then, I had a great idea. I smiled at him. “I don’t know why, Thrash,” I said. “But I think I know how.”