Exasperated I covered my face with my hands and growled out my frustration. Right then, the competition announcer broadcast that the competition would continue in ten minutes. He then announced the numbers and names for the next heat. Both Meek and my false names were called. When my name was called someone in the crowd shouted out, “Don’t you mean Alvin Holloway?!” and many others cheered at the mention of my real name.

“Looks like the cats out of the bag.” Meek moaned while looking around nervously.

“That’s not all that is out of the bag!” I said pointing about a hundred and fifty feet away from us and leaning over the boardwalk railing.

It was none other than my grandfather and Meek’s father. They hadn’t spotted us, but they were intently scanning the beach for any sign of us.

We both looked away as Meek asked, “Now what are we going to do?”

“Grab your board and let’s get out in the water before they realize we are us.” I said.

However, my knee proved to be against that idea. I got to my feet okay, but when I picked up my board and tried to walk, my knee gave way, and I went down like a sack of wet diapers.

“You can’t surf if you can’t even walk.” Meek exclaimed.

“Wanna bet?” I said as I forced myself to my feet, chomped on my bottom lip and took a step, then another.

Once in the cool water I allowed my aching leg to dangle. It felt soothing. The whistle blew and the six of us paddled out while waiting for the perfect wave. Having lived the greater portion of my life in the sea and having been taught by John and by Gary how to read the surface of the water I knew before anyone else when and where the first wave was going to be. I began paddling farther out before anyone else knew I was moving.

“Where are you going?” Meek called after me but I didn’t listen and thus managed to give myself a sizable lead before they all started heading after me.

However, it was too late for them. They were too far back and ended up getting rolled while I on the other hand caught what turned out to be the second best wave of the entire competition with the best yet to come.

As I turned the nose of my board toward the shore I knew there was only one-way I was going to be able to handle this monster. Carefully I placed my hands on either side of the board, brought my good leg forward, and planted it less than two feet from the tail. My sore leg, I didn’t even touch the board with. I let it drag in the water like an extra fin and went for it.

For a millisecond I saw Meek and one of the others duck dive under the wave as I surfed high overhead. The others were caught completely unprepared and were thrashed by the wave.

I wasn’t even halfway in, when the roar of the crowd reached my ears. I heard the rhythmic chanting of my name… not the pseudo name that Meek and I registered with, but my honest to goodness real live birth name. It came to me in sonic waves like ripples in the water when you throw in a huge stone. My first name, then my last, again and again and again. I tell you it was electrifying.

I knew that if I went all the way inland that I’d be mobbed so when my wave dissipated I stayed several yards out and watched the others come in on their own smaller waves. I was so proud of Meek. He and that other guy were in the same barrel but Meek was the only one to come out of it still on his board.

That run put me in first place while Meek trailed in a close third place, only a few points behind second place which turned out to be held by none other than Scotty, who made a surprise comeback after being beat down by…. oh I don’t want to think about that anymore.

When Meek was heading in, the two of us quickly dissolved into the crowd to keep from being spotted by those who were hunting for us, and wished to skin, tan and hang our hides on den walls with engraved plaques below warning that this is the fate of those that defy the old peoples… namely our folks and the cops.

We spent the next twenty minutes hiding in one of the boardwalk bathrooms which our reasoning for was three fold. The bathroom was the perfect hideout because we needed to lay low until the next heat, Meek needed to go #2 and lastly, under my board shorts the swim diaper I’d been wearing had completely failed during that last heat.

However, I had a problem. In our haste this morning, I hadn’t brought another swim diaper or a GoodNite. Therefore, the only option was to go commando. Meaning nothing on under my board shorts, just the way normal people do.

We had locked ourselves into the very last toilet stall. It was a great idea at first, but then Meek dropped a steamer and I nearly asphyxiated from the fowl brown stench. Unable to stand it any longer I retreated from the bathroom and into the wonderfulness of fresh air again. On my way out, I did a slam-dunk of the spent swim diaper into the big plastic trashcan.