Page 108 of Chasing Stardust

“I know I don’t have a board or anything, but can you show me a few things?”

“No way.” He shakes his head, sending icy water droplets flying. “Water’s too cold without a wetsuit, bruh.”

A little voice tells me I should probably take his advice, but I’m too eager to start my next adventure. “I’m from Pennsylvania, I can handle the cold.”

“Okay.” He smiles, exposing his perfect white teeth as he picks up his board and jerks his head toward the shore. “Let’s do this.”

“Sweet!” A twinge of fear grips my insides, but the newly minted adventurer in me refuses to let it stop me.

Following “Point Break,” I run headlong into the surf, soaking my jeans to mid-thigh and nearly falling on my ass. “Holy crap, that’s cold!”

“Come on, Pennsylvania. It’s just right.” He throws his head back in a hearty laugh.

“I think I’ll come back later.” I stumble back to the beach, squeezing brine from the drenched denim. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll be here.” He waves before turning and paddling out to sea.

Lugging my bag over my shoulder, I hike through the wet sand toward the pier access.

Instead of rinsing my feet in the beach shower, I brush them off as best as I can and shove them into my sneakers before climbing the wooden steps. Maybe there’s a surf shop up there . . . not that I could afford to buy anything.

I grab a funnel cake and a Diet Coke on my way to the Looff Hippodrome, the building housing the hundred-year-old carousel. I don’t find anyone selling surfboards, but I do pass the sign marking the end of historic Route 66. I can’t help wondering if Dash made it back to his own On the Road trip.

How’s he supposed to finish his trip without a car, Zoey?

“I dunno, maybe he flew.” I answer my own question with a snort. It can’t be a coincidence that Ziggy Stardust was an alien and so is Superman.

I board the merry-go-round and scramble to find the same standing horse Mom rode thirty years ago before someone else gets it. As soon as I mount my trusty steed, I catch the attention of a woman riding with her little girl.

“Will you take my picture?” I ask.

“Sure.” She smiles and holds out her hand for my phone just as the organ music starts to play. After snapping a few pictures, she hands it back and lifts her daughter onto the jumping horse beside me. “Your battery is about to die.”

“That figures.” I check my messages, deleting another unsolicited text from Damian without reading it and pocket my phone, hoping I won’t need it before I get back to my charger.

“What’s your name?” the little girl asks.

She reminds me of me at that age—no more than about four or five—with wispy blond hair and curious blue-green eyes.

“Zoey.”

Her eyes widen and her little mouth pops open. “That’s my name, too!”

My stomach does a free fall. “Really?”

She nods, and a weird sense of déjà vu sweeps over me.

“Hold on tight, Zoey.” Her mom shoots her a stern warning. “No standing in the saddle this time.”

“She stood on the horse?”

“She did. Almost did a header onto the floor, too.” The woman laughs. “She’s a thrill seeker, this one.”

“I think all Zoeys might be.” A single thought pops into my head. This can’t be another coincidence.

32

The Supermen