“Did Nicole invite him?” Sophie asks.

“She must have,” I say. “Probably today at the parade.”

Sophie beams with pride. “Aren’t my girls growing up?”

I shoot her a look and hope that Ben hasn’t overheard. Sophie, meanwhile, walks over toward Nicole and Cody. From past experience I know that’s she going in as a wingman to make sure that Nicole doesn’t get too nervous.

“What was that about?” Ben asks.

“Just Sophie being Sophie,” I say before I quickly change the subject. “Wanna see the roof?”

“Sure.”

I guide Ben into the storeroom, where I pull a set of folding stairs down from the ceiling. A generation ago these led to the attic, but the roof has been remodeled and includes a full wooden deck with a wraparound railing and spectacular 360-degree views.

“I get to go up here every two hours to update the surf report,” I tell him as we reach the top and open the door to the deck. “My reward is the view.”

“Okay, wow!” he says when he steps out and sees what I’m talking about.

Night has fallen over the ocean; the lights along the boardwalk and the pier are coming alive as the moon casts a silvery wash across the water. It is incredibly romantic, and when I see that we are all alone, I sneak a quick but meaningful kiss.

“That’s why you wanted to be the first ones up?” he says.

My smile confirms my guilt, although I admit to nothing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “So what did you think of Independence Day Pearl Beach style?”

“Different from Wisconsin, that’s for sure.”

“How do you guys celebrate up there? Milking cows? Churning butter?” I joke.

“I’m going to ignore that because today you came to my rescue,” he says. “I know you’re not a big fan of being in the spotlight, so marching in a parade could not have been fun.”

“Fun? No, it was not fun. It was terrifying.” I’m only half joking, but we both laugh.

“I do appreciate it.”

Pretty soon everyone else makes their way up onto the roof, and we all enjoy some yummy teriyaki chicken skewers that Mickey’s husband picked up at Chicken Stix, a kebab shack a couple blocks down the beach. As you’d expect from a Surf Sisters get-together, it’s pretty low key and mellow. The funny thing is that no one is talking about the one thing that’s on everybody’s mind. Then, a few minutes before the fireworks are scheduled to begin, Mickey takes a sip from her glass of wine and addresses us all.

“We’d like to thank you for coming tonight. Back when Mo and I were young girls—way before there was an actual deck up here—our dad would bring us out on the roof every Fourth of July. We’d lie with our backs against the wooden shingles and watch the fireworks go off. We thought we had the best view on the island, and I think you’d have to agree that we were right. So, as we celebrate this tradition one final time, I’d like to propose a toast to the man who started it.”

She holds up her glass, and everyone else holds up whatever they’re drinking. (For me it’s sweet tea.) “To Steady Eddie.”

“Steady Eddie,” everyone says with enthusiasm.

“King of the Beach,” adds Mo.

It’s the last part that punches me in the gut. I think about the Surf City float in the parade with its King of the Beach sitting on a throne surrounded by Kayla and her friends. It represents the opposite of everything that Steady Eddie embodied. The opposite of everything I believe in. This is the thought that nags me as we watch the fireworks.

The show lasts for about twenty minutes and really lives up to its billing as spectacular. I love the way the colored lights reflect off the water. Standing on the roof, I see that the boardwalk sparkles almost as much. It’s great, but even still, I can’t get rid of that nagging feeling.

“What are you thinking?” Ben asks toward the end.

“That it looks beautiful,” I respond.

“No, I mean, what are you thinking about?” He gives me a look that says he knows something is on my mind. “Be honest—is it a problem that I’m here?”

Apparently, I’m not only bad at reading signs but also at giving them.

“Absolutely not,” I say, trying to speak loud enough so that he can hear but soft enough so that no one else can. “It’s amazing that you’re here. Amazing.”

“Are you sure? ’Cause it doesn’t look like it.”

“I’m more than sure. It’s just that I’m upset about all of this.” I gesture to the others on the deck with us. “I wish there was something I could do.”

He goes to say something, but then he stops himself. Instead, he just looks at me and smiles. Then he puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me in closer for a moment.

Maybe it’s the nostalgic display of fireworks, or maybe it’s the wonderful realization that I, shy Izzy Lucas, am cuddling with my fabuloso boyfriend—I still can’t believe that part—that makes me wonder what it would be like if I actually was the type of person who had the courage to compete in the King of the Beach. Better yet, what if all of us girls entered and shredded the waves as one last great send-off for Surf Sisters?

“What are you smiling about?” Ben asks.

I didn’t realize I was smiling, but I dare not even say it aloud. Instead I answer, “Nothing . . . everything.”

Moments later, the grand finale starts to blanket the sky with color and light, and the noise drowns out any possibility of him pursuing the subject further. Surprisingly, I can’t shake the daydream of all of us competing. As a team. As Surf Sisters.

“Hmmmm,” I say out loud for no particular reason.

As I look at the fireworks, my mind keeps turning it over. Then, when the final ribbons of color fade into the night and the smoke and smell of powder waft over us, I wonder if this is something we should do. I have found a boyfriend. I have marched in a parade. Could I possibly compete in the King of the Beach? Could all of us? We could go out with a fight. Our very own grand finale.

The party has reached its end, and people are beginning to hug one another and say good-bye. I start to breathe faster as I wage an internal debate. There’s no way to go to the register to get a verdict on this one. I have to make this decision all on my own. And as it is with most decisions you dread, the difficulty isn’t so much figuring out the answer, which is obvious, but deciding if you can face the consequences.

“Wait!” I say as the others start to leave. They all stop what they’re doing and all eyes turn to me. I freeze for a moment as I reconsider my decision one last time.

“What’s the matter, Iz?” asks Mo.

“What’s the matter?” I say, incredulous. “The store’s closing. That’s the matter.”

Her eyes are watery and consoling at the same time. “I know, sweetie.”

“We can’t just let it happen,” I say. “We can’t just keep coming to work and act like we’re happy as we count the days until it’s over. It’s not fair to Steady Eddie and it’s not fair to you.”

Mo wraps me in a hug as tears run down her face. “I don’t know what else we can do,” she says.

“I know,” I say with a deep breath. Then it hits me. I want to do this for Surf Sisters, but I also want to do it for me. I’m tired of standing off to the side. I’m ready to be noticed. “We can win the King of the Beach and get your trophies back.”

Over the next week I develop a new routine in my daily life. Today fits the profile perfectly. It starts in the morning when I wake up early and head to the beach with my surfboard under my arm. This may not seem like a change, considering that I surf most mornings anyway, but now my approach is totally different. First of all, these sessions are not about finding my Zen place and becoming one with the ocean. They are full-out training sessions. I’m working to build endurance and strength. I’m practicing technique and I’m challenging myself to develop the moves I’ll need to do to get the judges to notice me.