Free Seven Tears at High Tide by C.B. Lee

blinks, and the gleaming drops trickle down his cheeks. He flicks his head back so water runs down his throat in rivulets. “Does that look acceptable?” he asks, pointing at an oncoming swell.
    â€œAwesome.” Kevin turns around and paddles fiercely, hop­ing he can catch the wave. He’s not the best surfer, despite his love for the ocean and the sport. He’s a fair swimmer, but doesn’t have the self-discipline to practice surfing on his own, and he’s never had anyone interested in going with him. So, he’s never actually stood up and ridden a wave all the way to shore.
    The water rises beneath him, and Kevin grips the edges of the board and tries to get to his feet. The wave rushes by and then churns over on itself. Kevin loses his balance and topples off the board. It’s a mad, whirling rush of confusion underwater, and he can feel himself getting pulled quickly toward shore by the leash on his board.
    Everything is green and blue and Kevin can’t make out which way is up, can barely see his own hands in front of him, can’t concentrate through the roar of water in his ears. If he doesn’t right himself soon, he’s going to get a full body drag onto the grainy beach, and it’s going to hurt.
    He feels a brushing touch at his ankle and then the leash is off, and Kevin is hauled up to the air. He gasps for breath, coughing and spluttering. Morgan is holding him up. They tread water together; Morgan watches him with a worried expression and keeps his hand clasped firmly around Kevin’s arm.
    â€œThanks, dude,” Kevin says. “I guess we’re even now.” He chuckles.
    Morgan doesn’t laugh, just blinks and asks, “Were we odd?”
    â€œI saved you, you saved me, even-steven. You know, fair and square.” Kevin gestures between them. Not for the first time he wonders where Morgan is from. Maybe he was home-schooled; his English seems centuries old sometimes. “Oh no, my board!” he shouts, swimming quickly toward the beach. Kevin’s feet drag against the pull of the incoming waves. His board has drifted off to a pile of sharp rocks; the surf pummels it relentlessly.
    Kevin pulls it off the rocks, groaning when he sees scratches and a huge gouge running down the center, exposing the foam interior.
    Morgan clambers onto one of the rocks and eyes the board. “It is damaged?”
    â€œYeah. I mean, technically I could take it back out and keep going, but then the seawater will get in this crack and it’ll just get worse.”
    Kevin walks over to the shower area, sprays down his board and rinses it carefully to get all the saltwater off. “Guess no more surfing for today.”
    â€œWe could watch a movie,” Morgan suggests.
    â€œYeah, that sounds good. Do you wanna go home and change out of your wet clothes?” The question is already out of his mouth before Kevin remembers he has never asked if Morgan lives in town, or if he moved recently to the area or to Piedras Blancas itself. He must live close by, walking distance probably; he always seems to just show up at Kevin’s house. It’s possible he’s staying in San Simeon or farther south in Cambria. Kevin can’t remember anyone dropping him off, but that doesn’t mean someone hasn’t.
    Morgan shakes his head.
    â€œWhat, you got dropped off and now you’re stuck till you get picked up?” Kevin asks. “How long did you think we’d be out?”
    Morgan gives him a noncommittal shrug.
    â€œOkay, you can borrow something from me.”
    Should he mention that Morgan still has his sweatshirt? He wasn’t wearing it yesterday or today; maybe he thought it was a gift? For some reason that doesn’t bother Kevin at all. Morgan looked adorable wearing his blue sweatshirt. Does Morgan have it in his room? Did he keep it because it reminded him of me?
    They walk back to Kevin’s house, and Kevin laughs at