Page 1 of Sparks Like Ours

Chapter One

Nothing kicked off Gia Malone’s Monday more than charging waves thesize of buildings. As she stood on the boat just off the tiny little island inthe South Pacific, her heart pounded with the thrum, thrum, thrum of adrenaline-lacedanticipation. Those were world-class waves out there and she had a major crushon them. She paused a moment to drink in the gorgeous view, fourteen footers atleast, rising and breaking left like visual poetry.

This was why she loved to surf.

Even though she was ready to lose herself in those barrels, shemade a point to slow down and keep her head calm. A decent breeze crept in andtossed her long, dark hair around, into her eyes and out again. Mostly, shesurfed with her hair down. The feel of it whipping against her face and backwas part of her process. Rituals were important to Gia. They kept her steadyand alert in the face of pressure.

She’d arrived in Tavarua, the heart-shaped island resort in Fiji,two days before the Outerknown Fiji Women’s Pro was set to begin. With theextra time, she’d been able to reacquaint herself with the conditions atCloudbreak, one of the resort’s seven surf breaks, and get her head in the gamebefore the tournament. Jumping off a plane and onto a surfboard to compete atthe world’s highest level was a thing of the past. Rookie mistake. Arrivingearly before a competition was now another ritual.

She’d taken a few waves on the head during practice the daybefore, but overall, she was stoked with the conditions in Fiji. The colorswere brilliant and the energy that came with this particular tournament waspalpable. It was the fourth of a total of ten tournaments on the Women’sChampionship Tour, in which the top seventeen female surfers in the worldbattled it out throughout nine months of the year, jockeying for position,prize money, and more importantly, the claim that they were the top femalesurfer in the world. For Gia, that number one spot was everything, and she wasso close.

No time for daydreaming.

She grabbed her board, hopped off the boat that had carried her tothe surf break, and paddled out a distance to where she’d encounter the biggerwaves. Next came the waiting, when that pent-up energy gathered like a tightlittle ball in her stomach. This was the calm before the euphoria. Nothing goodever happened in her comfort zone, which made high-level surfing the coolestdrug she’d ever experienced. The seconds ticked by as she waited for her wave.Not that one. Nope, too squirrelly. Not that one either. It would fizzle early.Then she found some size heading her way. Okay, yeah. She felt good about thisone, its speed, the way it moved. She and that wave were bonding. She zeroed inand made the call. This was it. Paddling for all she had in her, she set off,charging the wave, studying its swell, its breadth, the way it shifted. Onceshe’d found her position, she pushed herself up on the board to a standingposition and started to glide, savoring the feeling of floating on air.Perfection. This was what it felt like to be on top of the world, and there wasno greater joy. She took the briefest of moments to relish the power of thewave pushing through her board, propelling her onward. She checked her balance,crouched low, rode the turn. The breaking wave opened up, hollow and glorious,allowing entry to the barrel. While she’d love nothing more than to loseherself in the surreal experience, any loss of focus when the stakes were sohigh could result in her coming right off the board. A balancing act in moreways than one.

For Gia, this was a form of church. She honored the waves with therespect they deserved.

After a solid workout, she trudged to the shoreline from the boat,out of breath, muscles on fire, and on the kind of high she only encounteredfrom waves in this part of the world. She spotted a couple of the tour’sregular reporters watching her approach, most likely having assessed hersession. The core grouping of press tended to be courteous enough when it cameto practice time, giving her space, but now she’d be forced to walk past themon her way to change and shower at the resort. Part of the gig she hated most:trying to sound like a human in front of those guys. She didn’t do the wholepublic speaking thing well. Sucked at it, actually. The few years since she’dbeen boosted from the Qualifying Tour to the Championship Tour, she’d gotten alittle better. But, God, not much.

“You ready for tomorrow, Gia?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and squinted at Shoshana, astaff writer from Surfline.com. Short in stature, spiky red hair, and tinyglasses she couldn’t possibly see anything out of. They did look cool, though,which was probably the point. That was Shoshana. “Never felt better.” Shecontinued walking because she felt awkward and out of her element, but thecomment didn’t seem to be enough. Shoshana scurried after her, doingdouble-time due to their height difference. “You’re looking a little cautiousout there. More so than usual. Any particular reason?”

She forced a smile. “You gotta save something for the competition,right?”

The guy who’d been standing with Shoshana whose name Gia didn’tknow walked with them. “Gia. Charlie Kip from SurfTastic. Quick question forya. You’ve had a great season so far, currently number three in the world. Withnumber four Alia Foz injured, what do you think your chances are to take thewhole thing this week?”

“It could happen.”

“Do you think Elle Britton would agree with you?”

She suppressed an eye roll at the mention of the leaderboard’scurrent number one. It was a provocative question, and she wasn’t going to takethe bait and speculate. “Hey, I just want to surf my best, you know? That’swhat I’m planning to do. The rest is out of my control.” She knew it was theboring answer. Luckily, the reporters caught sight of Elle Britton and hersignature blond ponytail through the glass in the lobby and raced her way likebees to their queen. Elle always gave them fantastic stuff, sparkling quoteslaced with wit and charm and humor. She was born to play the part of media Itgirl. If Gia didn’t loathe the woman so much, she might be impressed. As sheentered the lobby of the resort herself, she watched as Elle burst into a smileand pulled Shoshana into a hug and squeal combo. A squeal? Really? And justlook at her. She was pretty sure Elle had spent some time in the mirror, justto be ready for the attention she’d pull in the lobby. The peppy, fresh-facedlook was why she landed gum commercials and late-night talk shows. Elle was notonly the number one ranked female surfer in the world, she was the darling ofthe tour. Well, to everyone who didn’t know any better. Underneath it all, Ellewas plastic, opportunistic, and on her way to losing that ranking, if Gia hadanything to say about it. Perky ponytail or not.

Elle caught her eye as she passed through the lobby. “Hey, Gia.”She beamed. All part of the show Gia knew all too well.

“Elle,” she said back evenly.

“Best of luck this week. You’re gonna kill it, I know.”

Shoshana and SurfTastic guy beamed at her. What a fantastic sportshe was! What support she showed! Three cheers for the marvelous Elle Britton!

“I do, too,” Gia said, and breezed by them with a nod. She closedher eyes briefly and glanced back to the surprised looks on the writers’ faces.Not her best moment, but she couldn’t resist. She didn’t do fake. She wouldn’t.And with Elle, that’s all there was. Had the reporters not been there, sheprobably wouldn’t have said a word to Gia. Maybe there would have been a smile,but it would have been just as plastic as she was.

Once Gia was safely on the elevator, she texted one of her bestfriends, Hadley, back in LA.Iwas a cocky asshole to Elle Britton in front of reporters.

Hadley, always Gia’s number one supporter, was quick to type back.Maybe they didn’t notice?

They did.I’m the resident bitch now.

Impossible.Come home soon, please. Autumn = pregnant and full of emotions and Isabel =workaholic, who is not paying enough attention to me.

Gia smiled at Hadley’s description of their other two bestfriends. As pressure-filled as these tournaments were, she took comfort in theknowledge she had a soft place to fall when she returned home to Venice Beachin LA. Hadley and Isabel also lived at Seven Shores, the same apartment complexshe did, and Autumn owned the badass adjacent coffee shop, the Cat’s Pajamas.They were an unlikely foursome, given how different their personalities were,how widespread their occupations, but for whatever reason, they just clicked.She typed back her response.Giveme five days and I’m there.

Don’t killE.B., Hadley wrote.I’dmiss you in jail.

No promises.

She was kidding, of course. Kind of.

---