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Life's Swell (Cont.) They went down to surf at Ho'okipa, to a section that is called Pavilles because it is across from the concrete picnic pavilions on the beach. Ho'okipa is not a lot like Hana. People with drinking problems like to hang out in the pavilions. Windsurfers abound. Cars park up to the edge of the sand. The landing pattern for the Kahului Airport is immediately overhead. The next break over, the beach is prettier; the water there is called Girlie Bowls, because the waves get cut down by the reef and are more manageable, presumably, for girlies. A few years ago, some of the Hana surfer girls met their idol Lisa Andersen when she was on Maui. She was very shy and hardly said a word to them, they told me, except to suggest they go surf Girlie Bowls. I thought it sounded mildly insulting, but they weren't exactly sure what she was implying and they didn't brood about it. They hardly talked about her. She was like some unassailable force. We walked past the pavilions. "The men at this beach are so sexist," Lilia said, glaring at a guy swinging a boombox. "It's really different from Hana. Here they're always, you know, staring, and saying, 'Oh, here come the giiiirls,' and 'Oh, hello, ladies,' and stuff. For us white girls, us haoles, I think they really like to be gross. So gross. I'm serious." "Hey, the waves look pretty sick," Theresa said. She watched a man drop in on one and then whip around against it. She whistled and said, "Whoooa, look at that sick snap! That was so rad, dude! That was the sickest snap I've seen in ages! Did you see that?" They were gone in an instant. A moment later, two blond heads popped up in the black swells, and then they were up on their boards and away. Dinner at Matt's: tons of barbecued chicken, loaves of garlic bread, more loaves of garlic bread. Annie Kinoshita brought four quarts of ice cream out of the freezer, lined them up on the kitchen counter, and watched them disappear. Annie was fair, fine-boned, and imperturbable. She used to be a surfer "with hair down to her frickin' butt," according to Theresa. Now she was busy with her baby and with overseeing the open-door policy she and Matt maintained in their house. That night, another surfer girl, Elise Garrigue, and a 14-year-old boy, Cheyne Magnusson, had come over for dinner and were going to sleep over, too. Cheyne was one of the best young surfers on the island. His father, Tony, was a professional skateboarder. Cheyne was the only boy who regularly crashed at Matt and Annie's. He and the girls had the Platonic ideal of a Platonic relationship. "Hell, these wenches are virgins," Annie said to me, cracking up. "These wenches don't want anything to do with that kind of nastiness." "Shut up, haole," Theresa said. "I was going to show these virgins a picture of Chaz's head coming out when I was in labor," Annie yelled, "and they're all, 'No, no, no, don't!'" "Yeah, she's all, 'Look at this grossness!'" Theresa said. "And we're all, 'Shut up, fool.'" "Duh," Lilia said. "Like we'd even want to see a picture like that."
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