Like Nobody Else

All of Marley's attention was focused on the twelve inch television sitting on one of the kitchen's countertops. For the past four and a half months, she had watched the tape that was playing on the electronic over and over again—analyzing it piece-by-piece as she watched an attractive woman in her late-twenties surfing challenging waves. That woman was her, and she physically winced everytime she saw herself wipe out, landing her with a minor concussion and a scar on her left shoulder blade where a coral reef sliced into her skin.

"Holy shit, mate! Is this the first time in Marley Luna's surfing career that she choked and fell?!" The Australian commentator exclaimed, striking a chord with Marley as it did everytime.

That day she had announced her "break" from the surfing world due to "familial responsibilities." If Marley hadn't gotten the news of her father's suicide a week late from some woman he had slept with in the past and had a child with—who she was to take care of since said woman was no longer in the picture—she believes she wouldn't have wiped out and ended her reign as the "Best Female Surfer" in her hometown Sydney, Australia.

On top of that stressful situation, she had caught her fiancé cheating redhanded—considering the pair were in her bed after all.

"Still watching that surfing bullshit?" Marley hadn't heard the light footfalls belonging to her half-sister, Rhiannon, though she was more than used to the younger girl doing this at all times of the day.

Without a word, Marley had cut the television off, only sparing Rhia a glance as the seventeen-year-old got a bottled water out of the refrigerator.

"Responding to her negativity only enables and encourages her." Rhia's therapist, Doctor Kilva, had told Marley the second she moved to Huntington Beach, California, to become the legal guardian over her half-sister, and the words echoed in her head everytime Rhia made any sort of remark.

"Don't bother picking me up after school. I'm staying after for tryouts." Rhiannon was wearing a shirt that seemed inappropriate—the words "Fuck You" jotted down in sloppy cursive across the loose, gray, off-the-shoulder top—but Marley was probably one of the few people to treat her with any respect.

The shirt was part of Rhia's expanding artwork. Originally, she only painted, sketched, and sculpted—but she had began to design her own clothing and make her own jewelry.

"Tryouts?" Marley questioned, her eyebrows furrowing together as Rhia took a swig of water.

"Yeah." She responded in a clipped tone, rolling her eyes at Marley's curiosity. "I assume Dr. Kilva didn't tell you what we discussed during our last meeting, then." Rhia added as she grabbed a banana from the fruit basket.

Marley was surprised that Rhia wasn't being...difficult for once, but appreciated it and nodded slowly.

"She said that I have too many pent-up frustrations and that I should tryout for a team that will help me release some of it." Rhia said as she peeled the banana, taking a large bite.

"So, what did you choose to do?" Marley arched an eyebrow, cradling her head in the palm of her hand.

"Field hockey." Rhia answered through her mouthful. The sound of a horn honking outside brought a small smile to Rhia's face. "And that would be my ride to hell." She made her way out of the kitchen, and when the door slammed behind her, Marley went to the living room to look out of the window.

Sitting in a fairly new, red 2009 Audi TT Coupe was a beautiful blonde in the driver's seat. That blonde was Emmaline Belle, a sweet Southern girl originally from Georgia that had been friends with Rhia long before Marley came to watch over her half-sister.

Seeing Marley through the glass, a smile graced Emma's lips as she lifted her hand to wave. Just as quick as her hand was up in a friendly gesture, it was swatted down by Rhia who was scowling.

With a sigh, Marley headed upstairs to the room she had been living in for the past four months. It had been the guest bedroom, but since she moved in, she took it upon herself to paint it a blue that reminded her of the clear ocean in Australia and decorate it to her likings.

Including removing the full-sized bed for a king-sized bed, complete with white sheets and a white, fluffy comforter though she had chosen to use blue pillow cases that matched the walls. The bed had been placed directly in the center of the room, facing a bay window that was vertical from the bed. Underneath the bay window was a white paneled book shelf lined with surfing magazines, a few odd books here and there, a picture of Marley when she won her first surfing competition in Australia, and a cliché Hawaiian hula girl statue playing a ukulele. Above the bay window, mounted on the wall was her prized surfboard that hadn't been touched since she hung it there.

The surfboard itself was an array of colors—blues, reds, yellows, pinks, purples, and greens—but the thing she prized most was all of the worn signatures done in permanent marker on it. Especially Layne Beachley, a woman she considered her rolemodel and idol in the surfing world. Kind of ironic how Layne was inducted into the Surfing Hall of Fame here in Huntington Beach, California—where Marley never expected herself to be.

No electronics occupied the room except for a digital alarm clock on her white nightstand by her bed. Call her crazy, but Marley didn't find use in electronics. If she didn't need a cell phone to keep up with her agent and the few people she actually associated with, she wouldn't have one. If she was, by chance, watching a television, it was always on the surfing channel she had to subscribe to.

There was one dresser to the right of her room against the wall, different flavors of wax for her surfboard littered the top of it. To the left of the dresser was a door that led into a decent-sized closet, though it seemed that the only articles of clothing you could find were sleeveless shirts, strapless shirts, short-sleeved shirts, shorts, skirts, sundresses, wetsuits, and bathing suits. The only type of shoes that existed in her closet were sandals of diverse texture, color, material, and shape.

On the left side of the room there was a door leading to her own, private bathroom which was completely white if you didn't include the blue rug on the floor and the blue shower curtain.

Skipping a shower, Marley stripped of her pajamas and replaced them with a lime green bathing suit before pulling on a black wetsuit. Leaving it unzipped and slouching at her waist line, she snatched her surfboard from it's place and proceeded to walk the five minutes it took to get to the beach barefoot, since they practically lived on it.

It had become a daily ritual for her, though this was the first time she had actually brought her surfboard with her. She drove it into the sand by a small shack and plopped down in front of it, staring out at the waves rolling in. Compared to Australia's waves, these were nothing. What somebody could practice on, sure, and what beginners would work best with—but for pros, they were just too easy.

"You ever going to actually surf, honey?" The smooth voice that belonged to Reggie floated through Marley's ears. Reginald Ahanu owned "Surfer's Shack", and was one of the few people in California that Marley actually talked too.

"Maybe." Marley contemplated with a shrug, sitting there for what seemed like hours. Eventually, she replaced her surfboard underneath her arm and started walking, ignoring the disapproving clucking coming from Reggie, as she headed back home.

Immediately returning to her room, she failed to see the blinking red '1' on the answering machine indicating a new message until she came back downstairs—showered and dressed for the day in a simple, white tunic dress and tan sandals, her hair whisked up into a sleek ponytail. Hitting the play button, she took a seat at the kitchen island and waited for the message to play.

"Hello, Miss Luna? When you get in, I'll need you to come to the school. There has been an incident involving your sister, and it's vital that you come in. You see—" The message cut off as the secretary ran out of time on the answering machine, but it didn't matter, because Marley was already in her white 1999 Jeep Wrangler Sahara, backing out of the driveway.