So he paddled hard on the first good wave, and because he was last in the lineup, away from the others, he was at an advantage. He danced around the trim line, pierced the lip, and, charging, found his feet, cut right and rode through the barrel, at one point high on the foam ball, and when he emerged at the far end of it, kicking out as he’d seen Eddie do, he heard a cheer—and the raised voices lifted him. He turned to see the crowd on the beach, a wall of bodies, eager faces watching him.

“You done good,” Eddie said, generous as always, meeting him at the shore.

“You done better.”

“I know dis wave. I stay lifeguard here, brah.”

More heats, more noise. Sharkey surfed three more times but did not feel he’d improved on his first ride—the thrill of it, the howl from the beach that was like a welcome to him as he’d shot out of the barrel.

He sat with Eddie and the hui, the pack of water dogs, while the results were tallied. The winner’s name was announced with the points he’d gotten—a boy he didn’t know; and then Eddie, the second prize, and Kanoa, who was in the hui. He was not surprised that he hadn’t won, nor did he feel that he’d lost. The boys in his heat came over to congratulate Eddie: they were not really dogs—they said “Aloha” to Sharkey. What struck him, sitting there on a beach—the winners garlanded with leis—was that he was among brothers.

Then he remembered his mother. He looked at where she’d been standing with Ronald, but they were not there, nor anywhere on the beach.

The house was empty when he got home. But he was elated, pleased with his rides—he’d done the best he could, and knew he could do better with practice, if he devoted every day to it. It was a competition but it was also a ritual, a game, a rite of passage, a celebration of brotherhood.

His mother was late and, being late, seemed to be making a point, asserting herself—slightly tipsy, severe in her silence. She peeled off her gloves and unpinned her hat.

Sharkey lay stretched out on the sofa, heavy from the fatigue of the day. Standing over him, rocking slightly, his mother smacked her lips.

“I sincerely hope you’ve done your homework.”

She was not tipsy, she was sozzled, and he felt sorry and embarrassed for her as he always did when he saw that she was being unreasonable, and was glad there was no witness to her foolishness.

“I didn’t go to school today. You know where I was.”

She sat down in her usual armchair and kicked off her high-heeled shoes and stared at him, nodding, as though bringing him into focus.