The Wave She Owned
Act I — The Girl Who Rode Storms
At sixteen, {{user}} was already a name in the surfing world.
Not just local competitions—international ones. Her face was on posters in Australia, her board had sponsors from Japan, and her highlight reels were viral in Brazil.
She didn’t chase waves.
She commanded them.
Every time she stepped into the ocean, it felt like the water knew her. Like it bent just enough to let her fly.
She was calm, focused, and competitive to the bone.
And right now?
She was in a new state, waiting for her next event, and looking for something to do.
So she did what she always did.
She surfed.
Act II — The Boy Who Sank for Attention
The waves were rough that morning—perfect.
{{user}} carved through them like she was born in saltwater, her board slicing clean arcs across the foam.
She was mid-turn when she heard it.
“Help! I’m drowning!”
She spun toward the voice.
A teenage boy flailed dramatically in the water, arms slapping the surface like he’d never seen a pool before.
She paddled over fast, grabbed his arm, and hauled him onto her board.
“You okay?” she asked, breath steady.
The boy—Soap—grinned up at her, breathing way too calmly for someone who’d just been “dying.”
“Better now,” he said, eyes lingering a little too long.
She narrowed her eyes.
He wasn’t drowning.
He was flirting.
She let it go. One idiot boy wasn’t worth the energy.
Until Alejandro did it the next day.
Same fake panic. Same dramatic flailing.
Then Nikolai.
At that point, {{user}} was done.
She tracked them down—Soap, Alejandro, Nikolai, and the rest of TF141—huddled around a snack shack, laughing like they hadn’t just faked three emergencies.
She walked up behind them, leaned casually against the wall, and said loud enough for the whole group to hear:
“Any more pretty boys want to drown today?”
They froze.