CHAPTER 16
ARI
If I’d thought the Zach Torres exhibition at Pleasure Point was a circus, the Huntington Beach Classic was the Las Vegas Cirque du Soleil of surfing contests. It came complete with jugglers, a dance troupe, and a trio of fire-eaters to entertain the crowd, and at nine a.m. on Saturday morning, we gathered in the WST equivalent of the Big Top. And if the surfers were the acrobats, then Zed Nelson was the ringmaster, an over-tanned loudmouth with a soul patch, a suspiciously smooth forehead, a ponytail, and gold earrings. I put him in his late forties, but he dressed twenty years younger. His sneakers probably cost more than I made in a month.
I’d figured I was unimportant enough to hover on the periphery, unnoticed, but Nelson ruined that plan when he spotted Maya and aske
