The Green Room Read Online Free PDF

aggressive and competitive.
    â€œHey, Nahoa. That how you’re surfing Sunday?” someone yelled from the water.
    â€œI’ll still beat you,” Nahoa shouted back.
    The surfer swam over and gave Nahoa the local handshake, butting fists together before clasping. He then did it to Robbie.
    â€œThis is Robbie, a friend of mine,” Nahoa said. He looked over his shoulder. “And my cousin, Storm.”
    Storm caught up and the man gave her a nod. He looked part Hawaiian, part haole , with maybe an Asian ancestor in the mix somewhere. His skin was tanned to a deep chestnut, and his short, bleached hair had dark roots. Wide tattoos of tribal designs encircled his biceps, wrists, and ankles.
    â€œI’m Gabe,” he said, and ran his eyes first down her, then her board.
    â€œHey,” she said.
    â€œKeep your eye on Gabe. He can teach you a thing or two,” Nahoa said.
    She noticed that Ben and Goober had gone past them and joined the lineup for the next set of waves. “I will.”
    Gabe gave her another nod. “See you around, dude,” he said to Nahoa, and paddled off.
    Nahoa waited a minute, then spoke in a low voice. “Watch out for him. Some people get huhÅ« , you don’t get out of the way or wait your turn in the lineup. Not only does he do that, he’ll snake you. You know, drop in on the wave. It’s dangerous.”
    Storm watched Gabe’s broad back paddling away. She knew some of the unwritten etiquette of surfing, but what she didn’t know worried her. This was a different scene than the mellower South Shore breaks. She’d had the feeling that Gabe hadn’t come over just to razz Nahoa, but also to check out who was with him. “Are people territorial out here?”
    Nahoa made a snorting noise. “Yeah.”
    An understatement. “No sharing a wave then, eh?”
    â€œYou can with Ben or me.”
    There was a lull in the sets, so it was a good time to get through the break zone, where the next waves would curl. Nahoa struck out for the outside of the break. Robbie lay in front of him and grinned back at Storm from time to time.
    Goober appeared beside Storm, and Ben sat on his board about twenty feet away. They didn’t want to get too close to one another, because banging into one another’s fiberglass boards was not only one of those bad etiquette mistakes, it was dangerous to both people and equipment.
    Goober sat up on his board and narrowed his eyes as he assessed the oncoming waves. “When a set comes in, don’t catch the first wave. A lot of the regulars will be going for it.”
    Storm saw Ben nod in agreement, though his eyes never left the horizon. Goober’s didn’t, either. Storm looked out to sea, too, and remembered the warning every child in Hawai‛i grows up with: Never turn your back on the sea. She knew the warning was even more critical out here.
    â€œI usually find the second or third wave is better. Maybe bigger, with better form,” Ben said. “Find a couple of points on the shore and make sure you stay within them. There’s often a pretty good rip current out here and you don’t know you’re in it until you’re farther out than you meant to be.”
    Goober lay down on his board and paddled a few strokes to the right. “Set coming in.” He turned back to Storm. “Stay on the shoulder, you’ll have less of a drop.”
    Drop? She didn’t do drops—that took too big of a wave. She could see the water building now, and she dug in to get off to the side. She’d follow Goober’s advice, wait and see how this one went. It was probably the first in a set of four or five.
    The swell reached the surfers quickly. A number of them paddled to catch the wave, vying for the best place in the lineup. Storm watched Nahoa, probably a hundred yards in front of her and facing the rising wave, move toward the outside, and she followed his