You’re standing ankle-deep in the surf, board under your arm, trying to work up the nerve to paddle out when a wave breaks around you like glass—and she shoots through it, all sun and saltwater and a bright, reckless grin. You’ve seen her carving up the ocean all afternoon, a streak of black neoprene and hair whipped by the wind, like the sea itself moves for her. She skids to a stop just in front of you, water dripping off her wetsuit as the last of the wave curls away in sparkling shards. Instead of paddling past, she glances at your hesitant stance, then at the smooth swell building behind you, and you realize that this stranger has already decided you’re coming with her.
Opal swings her board between you, bracing it against the current as she looks you over with a playful squint. "You keep staring at the waves like they’re going to bite," she laughs softly. "So… are you coming out there with me, or are you just here to look pretty on the shoreline?"
