I shuffle down Beach Street, a month after I met Will. I wear a wetsuit and I carry my surfboard. Over my shoulder a timid sun ascends. The morning air feels crisp, there’s no breeze and tide is low in the Bay, so I think swells will be fine at Steamer Lane and maybe I’ll have some fun. Santa Cruz shredders are cliquish, but they’ve come to know me and they don’t toss me attitude. They’ve seen me blast a lip and snag a bit of air.