Free Cut Back by Todd Strasser Page B

heap to climb to the top of.”
    â€œI don’t care about any of that,” Kai said.
    â€œRight,” Curtis said. “So you’re sitting here feeling like you’ve got no earthly reason in the world to want to go over to Fairport in a couple of weeks. And yet there’s just this thing, this little part of you that wonders why not? That wonders if maybe there’s something wrong with you because you don’t subscribe to the great American notion that anything and everything can be turned into a competition. That wonders if maybe you are a little scared or uncertain.”
    Kai gazed up at the stars. What Curtis didn’t know was that he’d been ultra-competitiveonce. He’d dreamed the dream. And paid the worst price imaginable for it.
    â€œThe irony is, once you look at competition that way, you’ll never be the champ,” Curtis said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause it’s just not that important to you anymore. The training, skipping the parties and the girls, taking the crazy risks … what’s the point? The guys who become the champs really are the ones who just have to win no matter what. You go through all those trophies under my sink, you won’t find a single first place. There’s some runners-up—times I got real lucky with a move or a wave—and a whole bunch of thirds and fourths. Just enough to score that next plane ticket to Bali or Oahu or wherever. Then when the time came, and I couldn’t even get the thirds and fourths, I was prepared and able to walk away.”
    â€œOr maybe not taking it seriously is just an excuse for not being good enough to be the champ,” Kai said.
    â€œAw, now look at the psychology major.” Curtis chuckled. “Sure, could be just an excuse for not being good enough, or tough enough, or dedicated enough to be champ. But thereason I figure that ain’t the case is that I have no regrets. At least, not about that part of my life.”
    â€œBut you regret not being immortalized like Da Bull,” Kai said.
    â€œThat’s something else. There’ve been guys who rode bigger waves since Makaha. You ever hear of Ken Bradshaw or Alec Cooke?”
    Kai shook his head.
    â€œThey both rode bigger,” Curtis said, “but hardly anyone remembers them. Now quick, name all the world surfing champions between nineteen eighty and the year two thousand.”
    â€œUh, well, Kelly Slater, Sunny Garcia, Shane Dorian …”
    â€œAnd? What about all the other guys?”
    Kai shrugged.
    â€œMy point exactly,” Curtis said. “Even a world championship doesn’t buy immortality. There’s something else you need. And whatever it is, that’s what I regret not having. But tough luck on me, grom. Now back to your original question. Should you surf in the Fairport competition? Here’s my answer: Sure, as long as you’re realistic about what you’re gonna get out of it. A brief moment of glory, and the admiration of those who you alreadycount as your friends. At best, maybe a tiny step toward something bigger in the world of surf competitions, if that’s what you really want.”
    â€œWhat about a chance to open up Screamers to everyone?” Kai asked.
    Curtis chuckled again. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Seventeen
    T he next morning Kai slept in later than usual. He’d stayed up half the night talking to Curtis, and anyway, the forecast hadn’t been very promising, so he didn’t think he’d miss much in the way of surfing. He woke up around eight and went through the dunes behind the Driftwood and checked out the waves anyway. As predicted, they were ankle slappers to knee-highs. A month ago the sight of any wave would have been enough to get him stoked, but now it wasn’t that exciting, and besides, the short board was practically useless in these conditions. Even Buzzy must’ve called off the