My Private Pectus Read Online Free PDF

asks.
    â€˜Samuel,’ Mike says and laughs at his own joke.
    â€˜Samantha,’ I say. ‘She's a chick from school.’
    â€˜A chick who's signed up for the footy team and will get with any guy who looks in her direction. An easy starter for Sticks, I reckon,’ Gez says with a smirk.
    Ryan grimaces.
    â€˜She didn't sign up for the team,’ I say. ‘That was The P trying to be funny.’
    Mike says, ‘Either way, the only time you go for a girl like that is when you're rat-faced, it's two in the morning and she's the last chance you've got.’
    â€˜Sounds like your sort,’ Ryan says to Mike.
    He nods. ‘Have you got her number, Sticks, because if you can't be bothered—’
    â€˜What, and you could?’
    â€˜You jealous?’
    â€˜No way. She's anyone's. A bush pig.’
    â€˜Nah, she's actually all right,’ Gez says.
    â€˜That's easy for you to say. Lisa's a fox and she did all the chasing.’
    â€˜I reckon you're a catch,’ Mike says to me, but I'm not sure if he's serious. ‘If you'd loosen up a bit.’
    I turn away and watch the horizon. It rises as a set steadily approaches, seemingly harmless and lazy. I kick slowly, approaching it, planning to let it pass underneath. But the others kick harder, stroke more powerfully. It's not until the other three have pulled out ahead that I realise it's come up faster than I expected.
    I panic, kick hard, pull frantically at the water. I try to pop over the lip, but it's too late. It catches me, points me skywards then pounds me. The world churns, salt water fills my nose, the leg rope yanks at my ankle.
    I pop up, gasp and quickly scan for the next wave. That's when I see Gez, surfing down its face, carving it up like an artist. I pull on my leg rope, slide my board underneath, duck dive, letting the wave pass over. I paddle back out. Ryan and Mike laugh, but I ignore them and turn as another wave approaches. Paddling hard, I look back over my shoulder as it starts to rise. It catches up and towers beneath me. I peer at the water below, getting further away. In a growing panic, I try to abort, but my momentum suddenly matches the speed of the wave. And then for a moment I'm lost—lost in the smell of the surf, the salt, and the raw speed of the wave. I get to my feet and the board spears down the face. I carve left then cut right, skimming the water with my fingers. I yell in delight at the sound of the wave curling and crashing behind me. Then it starts to tube. A green tunnel forms and for a moment I'm gone, I'm lost in another universe. All I can hear is water and the slice of my board. But then, in my excitement, I catch the downward rail of the board. The wave plunges me deep and thrashes my body. But this time I don't care. I love the sting of the salt, the sand in my wetsuit. I pop to the surface then paddle towards the shore.
    Standing knee-deep I turn to watch Gez ride another wave all the way in. He crouches as he nears me, and takes off his leg rope. He leaps off and tries to tackle me. I can feel his muscles as we wrestle. We both fall, laughing, then sit in the water, holding our boards as Mike and Ryan come in.
    As we walk along the beach, heading back to the shack, all I can do is think that it has been the perfect day. That's until Mike says we have to go home early.
    â€˜Gotta work at ten tomorrow,’ he says.
    We all pause and he keeps walking.
    â€˜I thought we were staying for the whole weekend,’ Gez calls after him.
    Mike stops, turns and shrugs.
    â€˜We'll have to leave here at seven,’ I say.
    â€˜Eight,’ Mike says.
    â€˜What's the difference?’ Gez asks. ‘How long have you known about work?’
    â€˜All along,’ Mike says then keeps on walking.
    The next morning, I drive ten Ks below the limit to prolong getting home. Mike pulls on a joint and blows the smoke out the window.
    â€˜You know what we should do,’ I