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boards and refurbishing them for people who can’t afford them, mentoring the new kids joining the program, teaching them how to surf… it gives them purpose and hope. We escaped, Paul. These kids weren’t as lucky. Their nightmare doesn’t end when they wake up in the morning.”
    Did I really get out? Geographically yes, physically yes, but emotionally? Not a chance in hell he’d evaded anything. “I really hope it has the impact we want.”
    “I know. We could have been any of these kids. They’re establishing relationships, learning to communicate — it’s all part of the emotional healing process. And they’re eager to give back and help others. We’re all paying it forward.”
    A bus pulled into the parking lot, and five tall young men bounded down the steps. They jogged toward the shore, laughing and joking like the rowdy teenagers they were. A group of girls in skimpy bikinis caught their attention on the way, and Evan clapped his hands. “Hey guys! Quit gawking. Let’s move it!”
    One of the tallest, Darryl, ran to Paul and slapped him on the back. “Hey, man. When are you gonna pick me up from school in that sweet ride of yours instead of making me take the bus?”
    “I’ll do you one better. I’ll teach you what you need to know so you can get one of your own. How’s that sound?”
    “Sounds like a plan.” Darryl pointed back to the group of girls. “I bet the hotties’ll love it.”
    Darryl’s dad was an alcoholic who’d taken off when he was six. He’d been working odd jobs since he was eleven to help out at home. Surfing was a luxury he would never have been able to afford, if not for the program. But what would happen when the program ended? It would be too easy for Darryl to fall back into bad habits when he no longer had his support network, and that was the biggest challenge they’d faced with BreakOut.
    Evan herded the group toward a pile of surfboards on the sand. “Okay, guys, let’s get to work. All the boards need to be cleaned and waxed. I also contacted a bunch of local surf shops. I’m thinking we can get sponsorship for a countywide beginner surfing competition. You guys have come a long way, and I think you can hold your own. Could open some doors.”
    Darryl looked down at his buzzing phone. With a deep sigh, he tucked it into his board shorts.
    Paul nudged him. “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah, it’s fine. Typical crap.”
    “You good with money? Do you need anything?”
    “Nah, you’ve done so much already. It’s cool. I just gotta get right home after this. My ma needs to… to go out. You know how it is.”
    Yeah, it really sucked to have to hold it together all the time. He knew that feeling all too well. “Look, if things get rough, you know you can always call me, right?”
    “I know. I just feel like I need to handle things on my own. To be strong for my family and all that.”
    “It’s okay to ask for help. We’re all in this together. That’s the whole point of the program. If things get rough, just pick up the phone.” Don’t do anything stupid. Find an outlet. Save yourself. Sure, it sounded so simple in theory, but the harsh reality was anything but.
    “Thanks, man.”
    “Great, now get your ass over there and grab a few boards.”
    “Yes, boss.”
    Unfortunately, money could only solve their immediate problems. The long-term effects of the abuse they’d suffered were what would ultimately cripple the emotional stability of the kids. And since Paul hadn’t exactly figured out how to deal with those himself, how the hell could he help anyone else?
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    “ A FEW YEARS AGO , my life wasn’t glamorous. I was constantly on the road, networking like crazy, trying to get investors to buy in to my idea. It was a big gamble, but I believed in CrowdRok. I wanted to provide an open forum for entertainment hopefuls, give them a chance to convince cyberspace they had a talent worthy of recognition. I created a level playing field