Public Secrets

spent two weeks of it in New York.
They’d flown to London to film part of a recording session for a new documentary, and had had tea at the Ritz just as she and Bev had so many years before. She’d been able to spend time with Johnno and Stevie and P.M., listening to them play, eating fish and chips in the kitchen while they discussed their next album.
She’d taken rolls of pictures and could hardly wait to store them in her photo album where she could look at them over and over and relive the memories.
Her father had treated her to her first grown-up salon session as an early birthday gift. Now her shoulder-length hair was permed in corkscrew curls that made her feel very grown-up.
And she was starting to develop.
Emma took a quick, surreptitious look down at her bikini top. They weren’t much as breasts went, but at least she wouldn’t be as easily mistaken for a boy. And she was tanned. Emma hadn’t been too certain she would enjoy spending her last weeks in California, but the tan made it worthwhile.

And there was the surfing. She’d had to launch a major campaign before Brian had agreed to let her try her hand at shooting the waves. Emma knew she had Johnno to thank for the bright red board. If he hadn’t joked and teased Brian into it, she would still be whiling away her hours on the beach watching everyone else skim the water.
Maybe she couldn’t do much more than paddle out and fall in, but at least the process took her farther away from the bodyguards who sweated under nearby beach umbrellas. It was ridiculous, she thought as she carried her board toward the water. No one even knew who she was.
Each year she was sure her father would let them go, and each year they remained with their solemn faces and big shoulders. At least they couldn’t follow her out here, she thought as she stretched out on her board and began to paddle through the cool water. Though she knew they watched her through binoculars, she pretended she was alone, or, better, with one of the groups of teenagers who haunted the beaches.
She crested over a wave, enjoying the swells and the way her stomach seemed to dip with the motion. The roar of the sea was in her ears, mixed with the riot of music from dozens of portable radios. She watched a tall boy in navy trunks catch a curl and ride it smoothly to shore—and envied him both his skill and his freedom.
If she couldn’t have the second, Emma decided, she would work on developing the first.
She waited with the edgy patience of a surfer watching for the right wave. Sucking in her breath, she brought herself up to a crouch on the board, then stood, and with the faith of the young let the roll take her. She was up for nearly ten seconds before she overbalanced. When she surfaced, she saw the boy in the navy trunks glance her way, tossing his wet, dark hair out of his face with a careless hand. Pride had her struggling back onto the board.
She tried again, and again, each time lasting only seconds before the wave snatched the board from under her feet and sent her flying. Each time she dragged herself back on the board, and with muscles aching, paddled and waited.
She imagined the bodyguards sipping their warming drinks and discussing how clumsy she was. Each failure became a public humiliation and made her only more determined to succeed, just once. Just once to ride the wave all the way to shore.

Her leg muscles trembled as she pushed herself up. She could see the wave curling toward her, the glassy blue-green tunnel, the dancing white froth. She wanted it. Needed it. Just one ride—one success completely and totally her own.
She caught it. Her heart slammed into her throat as she skimmed along the pipe. She could see the beach rushing toward her, the glint of the binocular lens. The drum of water was like music in her head, in her heart. For an instant she tasted it. Freedom.
The tower of water closed in behind her, shoving her off the board, tossing it and her up. One moment she was in the sun, the next she was tumbling in the wall of water. It slammed her, knocking away her breath, sending her wheeling, arms and legs flailing like rubber.
Lungs burning, she struggled to break the surface. She could see it shimmering above her, but the power of the water dragged her deeper, viciously pitching her. She clawed at the water, then was plunged down, gyrating helplessly until the surface was below her and just as out of reach.
As her strength failed she wondered giddily if she