"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it." – 1 Corinthians 9:24

Saturday morning found the gang standing on the beach in their wetsuits, digging their feet deeper into the cold sand. They were carefully studying the waves trickling through the Point, the site of the competition between Ventura and Pacific High School. For the first time in two weeks, Cole was finally competing, and he couldn't be more nervous. Though the guys' shortboard final was less than an hour away, he pulled his wetsuit down to his waist and slipped on a sweatshirt instead. The overcast skies and looming fog were definitely not helping the chilly temperature.

"Water, anyone?" Jake asked, breaking the gang's silence.

"I'll go with you," Koa said.

The guys headed back to a strip of ice chests that contained water for the Ventura High surf team. Meanwhile, the Anderson twins edged into the conversation between Alana and Maya. "What's this about a contact from Roxy?" Blaine asked curiously.

"You won't believe it," Alana exclaimed. "Trevor advised me to put out a public email, so I did. Not even three days later, someone from Roxy contacted me."

Cole's eyebrows shot up. "No way."

Maya nodded excitedly. "If she does well in this competition, they're going to send a scout to the next one to talk about a potential sponsorship!"

"No kidding! You always surf well, so that sponsorship has to be guaranteed," Blaine said.

Alana shook her head. "I need to place first or second today, and do the same thing in the next competition too. Then they will consider sponsoring me."

"It sounds like they're already considering it," Cole pointed out.

"I just can't believe this," Alana said. "What if I mess this up? What if I end up in fourth today, and I don't even place next week?"

"Don't think like that," Cole said. "You're the best surfer at our school. You could bring us to the NSSA Championships this year if you keep winning!"

Alana frowned at the reminder of the Championships. Ventura High hadn't made it last year, and she knew Coach Kerr wanted to change that.

"You can win this," Maya said. "Just surf like you always do. Don't worry about next week's comp."

Suddenly, Coach Kerr's voice rose above the chatter as he boomed, "Guys in the shortboard final! You're on in thirty minutes!"

"The odds are totally in your favor," Alana noted. Blaine, Cole, and another teammate from Ventura High were in the final against one surfer from Pacific High. Ventura had to win.

"I call dibs on first place," Blaine announced.

"No way! I'm taking home that trophy," Cole said. "You can fight over second as much as you want."

Alana laughed and placed her hands on her hips. "As long as one of you wins," she said, "I'll be happy."

But Cole was determined to place first. Twenty-five minutes later, he found himself standing on the shore, shortboard under his arm and toes in the sand. He jumped up and down on the balls of his feet to keep his energy flowing. On his right were Blaine and their teammate Adam, and on his left was a short and stocky surfer from Pacific High. Cole hadn't surfed any heats against him yet, so he was curious to find out what this surfer's strengths were.

Suddenly, the air horn sounded, and the boys were off. The loud cheering of the crowd behind Cole was quickly swallowed up by the sound of crashing waves as he sprinted into the surf. He landed belly-first on his board and began paddling towards the lineup. Six duck-dives later, he made it through the impact zone and beyond the breaking waves.

The fog had lessened a bit, allowing Cole to see the crowds standing on shore behind him, and the oncoming waves looming in front of him. But the rest of the ocean was hidden from view by the gray mist that swallowed everything in its wake. Not even the sun could pierce through the fog that had settled on the beach.

For the first few minutes of the heat, there were no substantial waves to surf. Finally, a small set of just four waves appeared, and the guys scrambled to get in position. The first wave was taken by the surfer from Pacific High, who sent huge arcs of spray hurtling into the air. Cole watched over his shoulder as his competitor hacked the wave to shreds, surfing all the way into shore.

He frowned. That guy was good. He was clearly a power surfer. Blaine and Adam, on the other hand, were more stylish. Cole believed himself to be a balance between the two.

The waves, which were shoulder-high and fast, were more suited to surfers who were light on their feet and able to launch into the air. Cole knew he could pull an air if he wanted to, but what if he wiped out? He couldn't risk turning a good score into a poor one just by going for an aerial. He needed to play it safe, at least for the beginning of the heat.

The next wave that came his way looked decent, with an open shoulder and enough room for a few carves. Cole paddled into the peak and dropped in. The lip immediately crashed right in front of him, pushing his board to the side and forcing Cole to bend his knees and maneuver around the section. He wasn't expecting the wave to break so fast—but then again, it was going low tide, and the waves were due to become more hollow as the tide dropped.

Because he was slightly behind the pocket, Cole turned towards the top of the wave to do a small foam climb. His shortboard pierced through the whitewater and came back down in a 180-degree turn. This put Cole directly in front of the pocket, right where he needed to be. He angled his shoulders and twisted his hips to the left, causing his body to rotate and turn. A strong push from his back foot completed the cutback, sending spray flying out from underneath his board.

Cole grinned and prepared for another maneuver. This time, he stalled by leaning backwards into the wave, before suddenly lurching forward and doing a sharp bottom turn. His speed slowed as he traveled up the wave, so he threw his arms to the left and pulled a quick snap. This threw even more spray into the air, and Cole tried to add a little bit of flair by forcing his board to continue turning past 180 degrees. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough speed to keep rotating, and he got hung up at the tip of the wave and fell forward into the whitewash.

There was nothing he could do but jump off and take the wave on his head. After tumbling underwater for a few seconds, he resurfaced and climbed back on his board. That was not how he wanted to surf his first wave. He splashed the water with his fist, frustrated.

"Better luck next time," the surfer from Pacific High called.

Cole ignored him. He paddled slowly towards the lineup, focusing on keeping his anger in check. The other surfer, who was stroking much harder, easily passed him and made his way out front.

Better luck next time. The words rang in Cole's ears, and he purposed to do much better on his next wave. After the judges announced his score of 3.32 and the other surfer with a 7.10, it only fueled the fire in Cole's heart. This heat was made up of a two-wave total. As long as he caught two set waves and surfed them to the best (and smartest) of his ability, he could come out on top.

The next twenty minutes of the heat were spent with a flurry of rides, some better than others, with the top score still an 7.10. Though Cole, Blaine, and Adam tried their best, they couldn't get higher than a 6.50. Even Blaine, who took off on two beautiful set waves, mistimed his turns and ended up with a combined score of 12.80—not enough to beat the surfer from Ventura Islands, who was sitting in first place with a 14.12.

With less than ten minutes to go, Cole knew he needed to catch another wave or two. He had a 5.03, which was a decent score, but that meant he needed an amazing ride that would put him above a 9. It was possible, but highly improbable.

"Give up yet?" the surfer from Pacific High asked. He smirked and folded his hands underneath his armpits. "Or are you still chasing my tail?"

Cole opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it and stopped. He didn't want to play that game. He was here to surf, not trade insults a moron.

Okay, Cole thought anxiously. Just two more waves...

Actually, he only needed one, but the prospect of getting a 9+ was becoming less and less likely as time went on. Cole was combo'd, and by the triumphant smirk on the other surfer's face, his competition knew it.

To the disappointment of the Ventura High surfers, the ocean went flat for five minutes. The last set of the heat contained a meager three waves, none of which was bigger than shoulder-high. Cole managed to scrape into the middle wave and angle backside. He knew this was probably his last ride, so he milked it as far as he could into shore.

He opened with a series of strong, quick snaps that created a ton of spray, followed by a slow carving 360. He hadn't even planned on doing that maneuver, but his board had gotten hung up near the lip, and it happened anyway. He hoped the judges would like it.

To finish off his ride, he pumped his legs for speed and pulled a deep bottom turn that sent him hurtling towards the lip. He twisted his body as fast as possible, causing his board to turn rapidly and throw even more spray off the back of the wave. His off-the-lip completed the ride for a strong finishing touch.

Cole lay down on his board and rode the whitewater into shore, hoping and praying that his wave had been enough. But the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that despite his best efforts, the wave had been two small and too short to provide much of a score.

"Good job, Cole!" Alana cried as he emerged from the water, tucking his shortboard underneath his arm.

"Thanks," he said, forcing himself to smile. There was nothing more he could do but wait for the judges to announce the scores.

Thirty seconds later, the air horn sounded, signaling the end of the heat. The announcer's voice blared through the speakers soon afterward: "Alllll right, that concludes the men's shortboard final! We still have three rides to be scored by surfers in red, white, and yellow."

Cole handed his shortboard to Alana and took off his yellow jersey. Blaine and Adam jogged up behind him moments later, dripping wet and smiling.

"So close, man!" Blaine said. "That was intense."

"Yeah, my wave wasn't enough to cinch the win," Cole groaned. "How about yours?"

Blaine shook his head. "It closed out, so I only squeezed in two turns."

Cole sighed. There went Ventura High's hopes of winning. Out of the three of them, somebody should have won! But the surfer from Pacific High had happened to catch the best waves of the heat. There was nothing more they could do.

"Good job," Alana said quietly, lightly punching Cole's arm. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

"I know, I know. It's just frustrating to be so close and not win."

She nodded and pulled her chest zip over her head, securing her wetsuit. "Well, my heat's coming up in a few minutes, so wish me luck."

Cole nodded, smiling faintly. "Good luck—though you don't need it."

"Thanks."

With the crowd surging around him, Cole turned away and headed in search of his beach chair so he could watch the girls' final.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Blaine called. "They're about to announce the final scores!"

Cole wasn't too excited about hearing the final scores, but he allowed his brother to whisk him toward the stage anyway.

The announcer cleared his throat. "For the men's shortboard final, the remaining three scores are in! The first wave, taken by Blaine Anderson, was a 4.86."

Cheering and applause. Cole clapped halfheartedly and watched his brother smile in his peripheral vision.

"Next was Cole Anderson, with an 8.37."

Even louder cheering and a few catcalls. Cole closed his eyes and let out a pained breath. He'd needed at least a 9.1 to take the win.

"Almost, man," Blaine said into Cole's ear. "That was close."

Close, but not enough.