epilogue
The Master is his own path.
—Tuan-mu Tz’u
While waiting for my cue to walk up to the podium and speak at our graduation ceremony, I turn and scan the audience that fills the stands behind me. There’s Mama Watson and Eli, huge grins on their faces, on the left side of the stadium. Mama Watson is leaning forward slightly, like a school girl eagerly anticipating her own name being called. Eli’s holding his fancy Nikon camera. Turns out he’s an incredible photographer.
It’s funny remembering my adjustment to living with the Watsons. It was a bit clumsy, and I floundered trying to understand the dynamics of the household. It took several months for Eli to totally win my trust and for Ford and me to build a healthy relationship—one that doesn’t consist of me depending on him to always come to my rescue or be there for me. The ability to stand up for one’s self is just as important as the ability to stand up for others.
I turn back around and pretend like I’m listening to the five zillionth speaker, resting my hands carefully on the diploma in my lap. It’s hard to believe how many things brought me to this moment in time. I know that moving out of my parents’ house was the right decision, and I don’t regret it. I do wish things were different with my parents, especially my mom. Her embarrassment over the situation causes her anxiety and hurt, but she has choices too.
Ford’s parents both agreed I needed to talk to someone—a professional. It frustrated me incredibly at first, but having someone who’s used to sorting things out has been instrumental in helping me muddle through my baggage.
The thing I find most ironic at the moment is my class rank. For the past four years, as I studied and fought to be first in my class, I considered it my ticket out of here, but my ticket out was simply my ability to walk through the front door. I’ll be staying at the Watsons next year, too, and attending the University of California at San Diego.
The funniest thing that’s happened has been getting accustomed to going to mass with the Watsons. For the first month, I constantly sat down, stood up, or knelt after everyone else did, and I mean everyone. But now I’ve come to enjoy the traditions and the meanings attached. I’m not sure how I feel about religion, but I do feel like I understand faith on a more personal level. It’s kind of like the 360—in that crucial moment, it’s all about letting go instead of holding on.
Faith seems like it’s about relationship. The closer I get to Ford and Mama Watson—see how Mama stirs the sugar into her coffee and then licks her spoon before putting it in the sink, or how Ford reads his dad’s mind and passes him the wrench before he asks for it—the more I understand them, and love them. So I think God may be the same way. When I sit on the Watson’s back porch and eat my migas with my legs tucked up under me, I watch the clouds move and wonder who made them. Who made the ocean, and those waves I love? And sometimes God and I talk. It’s mostly one-sided—I talk and he listens. But sometimes, I think I might hear him back. It isn’t a roar, like my dad. It’s a whisper. I believe with all my heart that if I seek truth, I will find it, and that’s what I plan on doing. It’s what I did when I gave my mother my key. I had to know the truth about what life is supposed to be. I’m finding it with the Watsons.
I snap to when I hear Principal Ledbetter’s voice reverberate through the stadium. “Let’s all give a warm welcome to this year’s valedictorian—Grace Parker.”
I rise and make my way to the podium. Before speaking, I take a deep breath and scan the audience. I see the Watson family cheering. I scan the center of the crowd and stop at the far right corner; my heart aches. My parents are there, clapping for me. I tear up, swallow hard, and take a deep breath.
Ford pops up in his row and hollers. A teacher promptly heads over there and yanks him back down to his seat, which is of course the comic relief I need.
“Good afternoon,” I say. I pull back a little, listening to my voice reverberating across the football field. Just breathe. I scoot in toward the microphone and look at my fellow classmates. “Valedictorians are supposed to give memorable speeches about going out into the world and becoming something. Today my speech is not about what you become, but who you are along the way.”
I pause and breathe in deeply. “This past year, I’ve been riding waves in an ocean riddled with riptides, undertows, and awesome rides. I’ve learned that I’m stronger than I thought, that sometimes power comes in the ability to say no, and that life is as full as we make it.” I throw my hands open wide toward the audience. “We’ve got our whve got oole lives in front of us; let’s remember it’s as much about the journey as it is the destination.
“Confucius said, ‘Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.’ We all have choices …
sometimes we have to make hard ones; sometimes we’re forced to make split-second decisions and then paddle for dear life. When I’m on my board and feel the swell and look over my shoulder at an epic wave, I hope I choose to ride it.” I lean toward the podium and make eye contact with several students as I grip the sides of the podium. “That’s what I hope for you—epic rides.
“I’d like to leave you with the words of a man whose actions revolutionized a country through a spirit of peace. Mahatma Gandhi said, ‘My life is my message.’ What’s your message, and are you living it?”
Applause splatters across the auditorium and hats fly in the air. I hurry from the podium, anxious to join the celebration.
Besides, Ford and I have waves to catch.
Acknowledgments
So many people have read different versions of this manuscript that there is not enough space to include everyone. First, let me say thank you to Austin SCBWI for all you have done to build me up as a writer, for your encouragement, and for the wonderful fellowship you provide writers.
My sincerest thank you goes to all writer-folks who read the early versions. A special thank you to Sam Bond and Raynbow Gignilliat, who should receive medals for all the drafts of this book they read. You two are special to me in magical ways.
Thank you to Lyn Seippel, Alison Rice, Eileen Clark, Holly Green, Shelli Cornelison, Amy Rose Capetta, and Sara Kocek for critiques and encouragement.
Thank you to Nikki Loftin for all of the above, and for walking this publishing road with me. Your friendship and generosity bless me.
Thank you to April Lurie and Jennifer Ziegler for your invaluable insights in helping me push this book to the next level.
Thank you to Cynthia Leitich Smith for wisdom and encouragement. You have been a blessing.
Thank you to Meredith Davis, a kindred spirit, for your fabulous encouragement and critiques. You are a woman of graciousness.
Thank you to my first teen readers, Erin Hostetler and Brittany David, for believing in this story.
A big thanks to my extremely talented teen photographer, Merissa De Falcis of De Falcis Photography, for taking my headshots.
Thank you to my fabulous agent, Mandy Hubbard, who believed in this book and in my writing. You are a lovely, funny, and tenacious person. I appreciate your guidance.
Thank you to Brian Farrey-Latz, my quick-witted and thoughtful editor, who believed in this book and helped me make it stronger. Thank you to the entire Flux team and to Lisa Novak for a gorgeous cover; to Mallory Hayes, publicist extraordinaire; and to Sandy Sullivan, my wonderfully detail-oriented production editor.
Thank you to my parents for instilling in me a love of literature, for encouraging my endeavors, and for buying me an incomprehensible number of books.
Thank you to my amazing husband, who has loved me well, supported my writing journey since its inception, and always cheers me on. I’m so appreciative of all you do for our family.
Merissa De Falcis Photography
About the Author
Lindsey Scheibe loves writing, surfing, rock climbing, traveling, and outdoor adventures. She’s been surfing since eighth grade, from Texas to Maui to Mexico, and has won competitions in rock climbing. She met her husband in a climbing gym, and now lives in Texas with her family. Riptide is her debut novel. Visit her online at LindseyScheibe.com.