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got on the floor, forehead to the tile, and bowed at his altar.
    I was never like this about boys I’d just met. It took me a while to get a feel for them and let them in. Even with Daniel, who I ended up falling head over heels for. But Zeke was something different altogether. I didn’t know exactly what kind of person he was, but I knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t ordinary. He was different from any of the guys in Newquay.
    I slid down on my board and went for a wave of my own, my tail spun out, and I got nailed. I ended up on the bottom, with a sand facial and a belly full of Neptune’s cocktail. When I paddled back out to the line-up, I couldn’t see Zeke. I wasn’t worried though. I had just lost him in the mass of black-suited surfers. It’s like that out there, with the strong longshore drift current and so many surfers in the water. Unless you keep your eye on someone constantly, which would be creepy and would mean you couldn’t surf yourself, you soon lose your friends.
    With Zeke out of sight, and some of the best waves I’d seen in ages, I just gave myself up to the moment and paddled and popped up like my life depended on it.
    I caught a few envious looks and heard a few hoots and whistles as I grabbed some nice long rides. Other surfers moved out of my way and only a few douches dropped in on my waves, trying to block me out. On any given day there were at least a dozen sexist pigs riding Fistral who could be relied upon to say something gross. Something along the lines of, “Don’t come back until your boobs are bigger,” or, “Get out of my way, muff-rider.” Mind you, those were the guys who were pretty jerky to everyone.
    Most of the guys were cool, though, and knew me well enough to leave me alone, and sometimes gave me a whistle like they did for their friends when I caught a glory ride.
    It was always a great feeling to catch any wave, but that evening I caught one of the primo rides of my life. I could see the waves were starting to hollow out. I’d managed to position myself well in the takeoff zone, close to the peak of the wave, so I stroked like hell.
    Those cylindrical waves are the nirvana of surfing. Glassy green walls all around, the lip curling over and locking you in the green room. You never know if you’re going to ride out the other side or if the wave is going to stomp down on your head like a giant’s foot, but air builds up inside the barrel, and there’s this vacuum effect, so that when you’re about to come out of it, you feel this pop of air and you know you’ve made it. It is the coolest thing ever. Like total Zen concentration and total exhilaration at the same time. Adrenalin pouring out of your ears, but freaky calm too.
    Just as I was charging for that perfect trippy wave, out of the corner of my eye I saw another surfer going for it too on the other side of the wave peak. I expected a paddle battle as we were both equally close to the peak, but then he swung his board around to paddle wide on the wave shoulder, which was my cue. I went for it. Only after I was up did I realize that I’d seen a flash of green on the surfer’s shoulder. It was Zeke.
    He could have taken that epic wave right from me, but didn’t. No surfer in his right mind would have backed off that perfect wave, which meant that Zeke was mad, ultra-polite or . . . he liked me. And, oh God, I really hoped he liked me.
    I felt the bite as I was caught by the wave’s momentum. The water was moving super-fast under the board, so that I was streaming along, the most intense endorphin rush chargingthrough my body. There was so much spray in the water that it was chucking up mini-rainbows. When I finished, my first thought was: Wow, did Zeke see that? and my second thought was: I need another one . The addiction kicks in so hard, so fierce, that your brain joneses for more. Catching your first real wave is pretty much sticking a needleful of drugs in your arm, because after one insane hit of