Surfing for Love

"My career is over," I shoved my surf board into the trunk and slammed the door.

"C'mon. It's just a broken finger," My mom assured me, starting the car.

"I'm not talking about my damn finger. The judges think I can't even ride a little wave." I shut my eyes, reliving the moment.

"Honey, you were injured," My mom reminded me.

"The judges don't know that. I'll never get the scholarship now,"

"You're overeacting, Arielle," Sage, my eight year old sister chimmed in.

"No I'm not. You two just don't understand." I told them, rolling down my window, calmly breathing in the Florida air.

"Maybe not. But your father would," My mom told me. But I stayed silent. I didn't want to talk about my father. "You should visit him. Hawaii would be the best place to practice for that competition," She went on. I considered it. The big waves, the palm trees. It would be nice. But then I thought about my father.

"Mom, I don't wanna go," I told her.

"You know it's not your father's fault we got divorced," My mom looked over at me.

"I realize," I said bluntly.

"Well I think you," she looked back at my sister. "And you should go," I rolled my eyes. I wasn't going. Or so I thought.