The Green Room by Deborah Turrell Atkinson Read Free Book Online Page A

partners died, one went to jail, and one retired in alcoholic shame. Months later, Hamlin struggled to recover from the assault that nearly killed Storm and him.
    Robbie’s shout to Goober lifted Storm from her unhappy recollection. Robbie had his hand in the air, waving, but Goober looked over his shoulder at them and walked away.
    Robbie stopped dead in the sand and frowned at Storm. “Why’d he do that?”
    â€œHe’s being a jerk,” said a voluptuous young woman, who had lowered her binoculars to observe Goober’s reaction. She was small and stood between two tall, athletic women.
    â€œNo kidding,” said one of the taller women, a brunette, in a wry tone. “He needs to grow up.”
    â€œAw, Dede, you’re being hard on him,” a tall blonde said.
    Dede rolled her eyes. “Everyone loses sometime, Sunny. You know that. It’s how you handle it.”
    â€œNo one’s taught Goober that yet.”
    â€œYou want to?” Sunny asked with a grin. The sunlight glinted off the half-dozen earrings she wore, from colored stones to tiny hoops.
    â€œNo thanks,” the dark-haired girl said with a chuckle, and the three women sauntered away.
    Robbie watched them go. The brunette who’d criticized Goober wore a thong bikini, the kind Storm and Leila called anal floss. Storm grabbed Robbie’s arm before he walked into the back of the person in front of him.
    â€œLet’s see if there’s a scoreboard.”
    They wove their way to some umbrellas and a phalanx of cameras that showed above the observers’ heads.
    Robbie squinted at the tiny figures in the water. “Can you tell who’s who?”
    â€œWe should have brought binoculars.”
    â€œBen had on yellow flowered board shorts yesterday. Someone’s wearing yellow out there.”
    A spectator turned to them. “Yeah, that’s Ben Barstow. He and Gabe Watson are only three points apart.”
    â€œWho’s ahead?” Robbie asked.
    â€œRight now, Gabe is. But Ben’s—yeah! Did you see that aerial cutback? What a ride!”
    Robbie and Storm watched the figures, spellbound by their maneuvers. Fifteen minutes later, Ben’s teeth flashed white against his tan as he walked up the sand. He tossed water out of his hair and reached out a hand to a fellow surfer waiting on the beach. The young man clasped Ben in a hug.
    â€œHe’s made the finals, no sweat,” the spectator said to Robbie. “Look at that grin. He and Gabe are neck and neck.”
    â€œWhat about Nahoa?” Robbie asked.
    â€œHe’s going out now. It’s the last heat.” The fellow squinted into the sun. “Here, want to use my glasses?”
    He handed Robbie a set of binoculars, which Robbie stared through for a few moments, then handed to Storm. The four men in the final heat were lining up.
    â€œNahoa’s top seed for this meet, isn’t he?” Storm asked, and handed the glasses back to the spectator.
    â€œYeah, you know him?”
    â€œHe’s her cousin,” Robbie said.
    â€œCool.” The guy stared through the binocs for several minutes. “He’s a real athlete. Has a reputation for doing what he needs to do to get his points.”
    Robbie looked at Storm, who shrugged. The comment sounded like a compliment, but she wasn’t sure.
    â€œHere, take a look. Each surfer is allowed ten rides per heat, so he’ll be out there soon.” The guy handed the binoculars to Robbie again.
    â€œHow’re the heats judged?” Storm asked.
    â€œKind of like diving or gymnastics. Each wave a surfer rides is scored from zero to ten, then the highest and lowest scores are eliminated so the judges get an arithmetic mean.”
    â€œYou know a lot about this.”
    The young man smiled. “I’m working on it. I compete, but I really want to be a judge.”
    Robbie jerked the binoculars a few inches to his left, which