Brazen The Complete Series Brazen 1 4

1st Edition Ali Dean

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmeta.com/product/brazen-the-complete-series-brazen-1-4-1st-edition-ali-
dean/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Renaissance The Brazen Bulls Birthright 4 1st Edition

Susan Fanetti

https://ebookmeta.com/product/renaissance-the-brazen-bulls-
birthright-4-1st-edition-susan-fanetti/

The Brazen Bluestocking The Duchess Society 1 1st

Edition Tracy Sumner

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-brazen-bluestocking-the-
duchess-society-1-1st-edition-tracy-sumner/

Resolve The Brazen Bulls Birthright 3 1st Edition Susan

Fanetti

https://ebookmeta.com/product/resolve-the-brazen-bulls-
birthright-3-1st-edition-susan-fanetti/

The Brazen One Wrench Kings 2 1st Edition Daisy Jane

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-brazen-one-wrench-kings-2-1st-
edition-daisy-jane/
The Golden and the Brazen World John M. Wallace
(Editor)

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-golden-and-the-brazen-world-
john-m-wallace-editor/

The Lair of the Burrells The Brazen Burrells 1st

Edition Lynne Connolly

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-lair-of-the-burrells-the-
brazen-burrells-1st-edition-lynne-connolly/

The Loan Shark Complete Series Books 1 4 1st Edition

Lovebite Shorts

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-loan-shark-complete-series-
books-1-4-1st-edition-lovebite-shorts/

The Loan Shark Complete Series Books 1 4 2nd Edition

Lovebite Shorts

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-loan-shark-complete-series-
books-1-4-2nd-edition-lovebite-shorts/

San Francisco Series Complete Edition San Francisco 1 4

Nicole Pyland

https://ebookmeta.com/product/san-francisco-series-complete-
edition-san-francisco-1-4-nicole-pyland/
 BRAZEN
The Complete Series
ALI DEAN
Copyright © 2020 by Ali Dean

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Edited by Leanne Rabesa

Cover by Cover Me Darling

Created with Vellum

 CONTENTS

Brazen Rush
Brazen Series Book 1
Brazen Steele
Brazen Series Book 2
Brazen Girl
Brazen Series Book 3
Brazen Tricks
Brazen Series book 4
BRAZEN RUSH
Brazen Series Book 1
 Brazen Rush

I love to skateboard but hate the attention. It’s hard to stay under
the radar when I’m the only girl at the skatepark, especially when
I’m better than the guys.
Not every guy though.
Early one morning I find myself alone at the skate park with
none other than Beckett Steele, world champion. Now his attention
I don’t mind one bit, and I crave more of it. That’s until he blows me
off as soon as he learns I’m seventeen to his twenty-five. Whatever,
it’s for the best. I could never handle hanging with a famous guy like
him.
When someone posts a video of me skateboarding that goes
viral, Beckett’s best friend offers me an opportunity I never saw
coming. It would pull me into the world of sponsorships,
competitions, and social media frenzy. A world where Beckett Steele
is front and center.
I’m not cut out for that kind of pressure, and taking it on could
ruin the sport I love. Am I willing to risk it if it means getting closer
to Beckett?
 CHAPTER ONE

Jordan
I’m right where I’ve always wanted to be, and I’m about to have
a panic attack. My heart is racing, my palms sweating so bad I worry
I’ll drop my skateboard. This is Riptide Skatepark. It’s where the
skateboarding scene began, where the legends of the sport
practiced, where they still practice today.
Some of them are riding around shirtless right before my eyes. I
take a gulp of air. And then another.
“You okay?” my new roommate, Lucy Briones, asks.
I glance over at her. We met two days ago at freshman
orientation, and she’s almost everything I could have asked for in an
assigned dorm mate. I say almost because she’s a surfer, not a
skateboarder.
She holds her board now, glancing between me and the park.
“The waves aren’t that great. I can stay if you want,” she offers.
My legs are nearly shaking but I force myself to swallow and
flash a weak smile. “Nah, I got this.”
Lucy’s eyes twinkle at my false bravado but she puts out a fist to
bump with mine, not calling me out.
 “Cool, I’ll be back in like, an hour. Or two.” She starts walking
backward. “Depends who I run into. You never know when you
might meet the love of your life.” Lucy wiggles two fingers in a little
wave before spinning around and heading to the beach.
I watch her go, taking one deep breath after the next. Maybe I
should have taken her up on her offer to invite some of her friends
who skateboard. I thought I wanted to skate this park for the first
time alone, but now that I’m here, it takes strength to turn myself
back around instead of chasing Lucy down to the water. She’s
already comfortable at this landmark beach, having lived her entire
life in Newdale, a town nearby.
The place is packed. I’ve been to crowded skateparks before,
plenty of times, but this one isn’t just filled with skaters. There are
dozens of people milling about watching, some snapping videos from
their phones, or with legit cameras. It isn’t the usual mix I see at the
skateboard parks back in Connecticut. There are no young kids,
scooter-riders, or obvious newbies. No, Riptide is a place for the
hardcore skateboarders. With that realization, I should know I
belong, but I’m still hesitating.
My eyes scan the park, and my heartbeat picks up again when I
can’t find a single female skater. Riptide is where it all happens, a
symbol of skateboarding culture worldwide. And yet, on a sunny
Saturday afternoon in August, there is not a single girl to be found.
Except for me.
That thought sends a ripple of determination through me. It’s
enough to shake loose some of the panic. I hold on to that, ignoring
the trepidation threatening to overtake me, and I drop my board.
With my left leg leading, my right pushes off, and I move up the
sidewalk and into the park. Some heads turn with the presence of
estrogen entering the scene, but I don’t acknowledge them. If I
could get away with wearing headphones, I’d tune out the world
around me entirely. But it’s too dangerous with the park so crowded.
I skate over to the smallest bowls, and wait my turn to drop in.
After a minute, the guy next to me nods, and I slide down. Rolling
across the surface with the smell of salt water freshening the air
instantly loosens my tense muscles. I carve around a wall, and that
little rush makes me smile. And remember why it’s all worth it. My
legs move as one with my board, applying pressure to pick up
speed, leaning slightly to the side to turn in a figure-eight around
the bowl.
I’m only warming up, but the sense of freedom hits me in the
chest, obliterating the panic attack that was brewing minutes earlier.
This is what I moved across the country for. This is why I chose a
college so far from home. Skateboarding makes me feel alive more
than anything else in the world ever could.
I catch a little air as I exit the bowl, but I’m not going for any
tricks. Still, the guy who nodded at me earlier lets out a whistle. My
neck instantly heats, and not for the first time, I wish there were
other women in the park. It’s not like I’ve done anything special, but
just the sight of someone with boobs riding garners attention I’m
not into.
After a couple more drops in the smaller bowl, I make my way to
the bigger bowl. People seem to be migrating to the half pipe, but
there’s still a wait to get into the kidney-shaped structure that I’m
familiar with from watching YouTube videos online.
The sound of female voices has me swinging my head over to
the half pipe. A group of five young women about my age are
standing by the large structure. But they don’t have skateboards.
They’re here for the spectacle. And I can’t blame them. It’s only my
own need to skate that’s keeping me from watching the guys riding
the pipe right now.
Beckett Steele and Griffin Perry were the first two I recognized
when we approached the park earlier. They’re probably responsible
for my near-panic attack. But they aren’t the only skateboarders
riding mere feet away from me that I’ve watched online. I’ve studied
some of these guys’ style and tricks for hours on end from my
laptop. I knew a lot of them skated around here, of course I did. I
was even prepared to spot one or two today. I just wasn’t prepared
for so many of them. Okay fine, it was Beckett and Griffin I really
wasn’t prepared for.
Which is why I’m ignoring their presence. Even as the sound of
girls laughing and screaming increases, I keep my eyes trained on
the kidney-shaped bowl below me. After ten minutes waiting my
turn, I realize the guys don’t think I’m planning on dropping in. They
aren’t giving me the chance because they assume I’m too scared.
That I’m only here to watch them.
My eyes connect with the half dozen skateboarders surrounding
the bowl. One by one I look at them, letting them know I’m going
in. A few nod, one smiles, and only one frowns, like he’s worried for
me, or maybe confused at the prospect of a girl riding such a steep
vert. Whatever.
When I finally get my turn, my legs are shaky. This vert is
intense, and my board takes off faster than I’m prepared for. After a
few conservative carves, I get a feel for the line of the bowl. I’ve
been watching others as they drop in and lose speed, and I know
I’ve got to carve hard and pump to get the speed needed to reach
the lip and do some tricks.
Once I’ve worked up momentum, I hit the coping for some basic
tricks. There are cheers when I catch some air, and it hypes me up,
even if I’m not entirely sure they’re for me. Could be for Beckett and
Griffin on the half pipe. The hollers grow as I increase speed,
hugging the walls and staying high. This is my favorite part of
skateboarding, going fast as I prepare for my next trick. I get to
show off my style, aggressive yet feminine, and I grin, knowing I
skate like a girl. I’m proud of it, and I’m about to try a trick that very
few women have landed. It won’t be the first time, but each time I
land a 540, it’s just as satisfying.
Once I’ve got the speed, I aim for the wall, and when I’ve sped
to the edge, I launch in the air. One hand flies high for balance while
the other grabs the board, and I spin my body once and then a half
turn before I hit the ground, feet landing on the board. I made it.
My skateboard rides forward, and that familiar rush of pure joy
floods over me. I let the momentum pull me up the other side of the
wall and exit the bowl. There’s the sound of guys cheering, and I
look back, confirming it’s for me. A small crowd has gathered
around, and they’re calling out as I skate away. Ignoring the
skateboarding pros and their audience on the half pipe, I ride out of
the skatepark and down the sidewalk.
There’s only a small twinge of disappointment to the day. As I
kick off my shoes and walk onto the beach to find Lucy, I wish
there’d been some girl skateboarders at the park. But I’ll settle for
landing a 540 at Riptide. Hell, that alone will get me through my
entire first week of classes.
 CHAPTER TWO

Jordan
“You really aren’t going to go out with us?” Lucy asks for the
third time.
“Lucy, it’s already nine. I want to get up early to hit the skatepark
before the crowds.”
She groans as she pulls off the fourth outfit she’s tried on. “I
never should have suggested that. I don’t even know if it’s safe to
go that early without anyone else around.”
“Surfers will be around too,” I repeat what she told me. “Look, if
I’m not going to meet any girl skateboarders by going when it’s
crowded, I’d rather just have the park all to myself.”
Lucy’s standing in her bra and underwear when she faces me,
hands on hips. “What’s wrong with making friends with guy
skateboarders? I love skater boys.”
There’s a knock on the door, and someone opens it a crack. “You
there, Lucy Goosy?” a female voice calls out.
I raise my eyebrows at Lucy. “Lucy Goosy?”
“Yes Zora, get in here, I need help picking an outfit.”
A girl our age with hot pink hair, one side shaved, opens the door
and takes a step inside. She turns to me and puts a hand out. “I’m
Zora, Lucy’s best friend. You must be Jordan Slattery. We’re going to
be friends too, since Lucy is already somewhat obsessed with you.
It’s the honeymoon phase. I get it. I’m not jealous or anything. But
you should know, she’s been my bestie since the third grade.”
“Oh my God, Zora, stop embarrassing me.” Lucy launches
forward, pulling our hands apart mid-shake. “She’s a little
possessive, but don’t worry, she’s harmless.”
“Um,” I try to respond, but I don’t know what to say.
Zora pats me on the shoulder. “What do you like to drink? Let’s
start with that.”
She slides a backpack off her shoulder and I hear bottles clinking
inside.
“Not yet, Zora,” Lucy protests. “I need help picking out an outfit.”
Zora rubs her hands together and nearly jumps up and down.
“Oh, my favorite.” She turns to me. “I love dressing Lucy Goosy.”
“Zora, you said you’d stop calling me that in college.”
She lets out a little huff. “Did I? Well, I lied. You’ll always be my
Lucy Goosy.”
Lucy shakes her head and mutters under her breath. “Your
devotion to me is suffocating sometimes.”
I let out a little gasp, not wanting to be in the middle of a best-
friend fight. The two of them turn to look at me, and laugh at my
expression.
“Maybe she needs that drink after all,” Zora says.
“No, I’m good,” I reassure them. “I just need to get used to
Lucy’s sarcasm. I think.”
“Oh no, honey,” Zora says, shaking her head. “That wasn’t
sarcasm. My devotion is suffocating at times.”
Lucy nods, still standing there in her underwear. “It’s the
bickering like an old married couple thing you’ll have to get used to.”
 Zora waves a hand in Lucy’s direction. “Right. And with that, can
you put some clothes on? You know your inability to match panties
and bras is a major pet peeve of mine.”
Oh boy, I can’t imagine what Zora would think of my underwear
situation. With the exception of one strapless bra, the rest of my
collection is sports bras and mismatched cotton boy shorts. I sit
down on my bed and watch as Zora sorts through Lucy’s clothes and
puts together outfits. At first, I wonder if she’s messing with us
because the selections make no sense. She switches around the
same tops and bottoms Lucy tried on earlier but pairs them in a way
I would never think to do myself. Once Lucy actually has the clothes
on though, Zora adds accessories and shoes, and the ensembles
totally work.
“That’s the winner, don’t you think, Jordan?” Zora asks without
taking her eyes off Lucy. Before I can respond she circles her index
finger. “Spin.” Lucy twirls around. “Again. Slowly.”
Lucy rolls her eyes as she follows directions and the second time
she goes around in a circle, she winks at me. “I’m getting dizzy.
Jordan, give us the verdict.”
“Me? I have no authority on the subject of fashion.”
Zora’s head snaps my way and she narrows her eyes. “Absolutely
false. You’re up next and we’ll be discussing your style at that time.
Verdict please.”
She puts a hand out, palm facing upward.
Lucy’s got on a colorful top with a back that’s crisscrossed with
various ties. It shows a sliver of tummy when she moves a certain
way. If it were me wearing something like that I’d go with jeans or
something plain and boring on the bottom, but instead she’s wearing
a flowy skirt that stops mid-calf and is just as colorful, only with
different patterns and tones than the top. Honestly the whole thing
should look ridiculous but instead it screams sexy, fun, casual, cool.
I finally go with, “It’s very Lucy.” There’s a pause, with Zora
beginning to smile and Lucy’s brow furrowing, so I go on to add,
“Only Lucy can look good in this outfit. No offense, but I would look
ridiculous, like I’d lost my mind or was trying way too hard. And
Zora, well,” I start to say, then wish I could take it back. “Let’s just
say this look wouldn’t work for you either.”
Zora’s the one rolling her eyes now. “Duh. Lucy’s bohemian chic
with a touch of California surfer girl.” Zora points to herself. “I’m
slightly more versatile, but my go-to is sporty punk rocker, which
isn’t really a thing yet, but whatever. I sometimes dabble in artsy or
exotic to keep from getting stuck on a label.”
There’s a tap on the door before it swings wide open and a black
girl bursts inside, throwing her arms in the air. “I’m here bitches, the
party can start!”
Lucy and Zora exchange a look. “Hmm… looks like someone
already started drinking, did she?” Zora asks, darting her eyes to the
newcomer. She’s wearing a dress that looks like it came straight
from the 1950s and a bob with curly hair to match.
“Can you blame me?” She throws a hand on her hip as she juts it
out to one side. Then her gaze turns to me. A huge smile overtakes
her face. “Hiiiiiiiii! You must be Jordan. I’m Eleanor! These two call
me Ellie but I’m trying out Eleanor for college. So far I don’t really
like it so you can just pick which name you’d rather use.”
My heart is beating wildly again in my chest but I do my best to
sound chill. “Hi, Ellie.”
Ellie beams at me before turning back to Lucy and Zora. She
admires Lucy’s outfit. “Nice. Very Lucy.”
 Zora snickers at this comment and Lucy smirks. “That’s what
Jordan said too.”
I put my hands out, palms up, in a gesture meant to say, “Well?
It’s true.”
With her first task done, Zora turns back to the bottles in her
backpack, mixing drinks in small plastic cups. When Lucy informs her
I’m not going out, she hands me a drink anyway.
“Should we do a toast?” Lucy asks when we’ve all got a plastic
cup in hand.
“To college!” Ellie declares, raising her cup.
I start to raise my cup too but Zora puts out her hand. “No,
nope. That’s a lame toast. We need something better.”
“How about to friendship?” Lucy suggests.
Zora tilts her head to one side and then the other, mulling it over.
“To friendships old and new.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Ellie agrees, raising her cup.
“You’ll drink to anything,” Zora replies.
I slide to the edge of my bed to cheers with the girls, but I only
take the tiniest of sips. Ellie chugs her entire cup in one go and I
offer her mine. “I’m not going out tonight,” I explain.
“What? Noooooo, you have to,” Ellie whines, even as she takes
the cup out of my hand.
I shake my head, a little perplexed why they want me around so
much. Why they’re including me. They’re so cool while I’m
undeniably awkward. Lucy’s next words bring me back to earth. “It’s
just, we’ve been best friends forever, the three of us. There’s a
fourth, Sydney, but she went to college in New York. Anyway, we
vowed to try to make new friends even though we’re all at the same
college.”
 This is good news, because it means my head can stop spinning.
Things make more sense now.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to be your friend, Lucy,” I tell her,
and then turn to the other girls who’ve taken over Lucy’s bed. “Or
yours. I just don’t really drink and I need to crash early tonight.”
“Because you want to hit the skatepark early tomorrow morning,
right?” Lucy asks softly, like it’s a secret.
“Right.”
“Fine,” she says, acting all morose. I think I know her well
enough now to recognize she’s putting on a show.
“That’s hardcore,” Ellie exclaims, drawing our attention back to
her. “Are you trying to make the Olympics or something?”
My eyebrows rise and I can’t hide my surprise. “You know it’s
going to be an Olympic sport? Most people don’t know that.”
“Duh. We’re from southern California, Jordan. That means that
even if we don’t skateboard, we know alllll about skateboarding.”
“Think of it like this,” Zora interjects. “Skateboarding is to
southern California like hockey is to Canada.”
“Um, no. Not even a little bit.” Lucy sits up straighter, suddenly
much more animated. “That would be football. We might not be
Texas when it comes to football, but it was still the biggest sport in
high school.”
“Fine,” Zora relents easily. “You’re right. But this is aspirational.
Like, culturally aspirational for southern California.”
Ellie shakes her head. “That makes no sense.”
“Well, Summerside University is shifting in that direction at least.
The surfers and skateboarders have major street cred,” Lucy informs
us.
“How do you even know that?” Zora asks.
 “People,” Lucy replies. She takes a sip from her cup without
elaborating. She’s probably right. I mean, with Riptide only a half-
hour bus ride from campus, the college has always attracted
skateboarders and surfers. It does have a top football program too
though.
Someone’s phone beeps and Ellie groans. “It’s her again.”
“The roommate?” Lucy asks.
“Yes.” Ellie looks at me. “I didn’t get as lucky as Lucy Goosy here
did. My roommate is definitely not going to be our people.”
I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help my curiosity. “Why not? How can
you tell so fast?”
“You know how some people you meet and you’re like, yup,
that’s my person. Some people you meet and you’re like, let’s feel
this out, you’re cool but maybe not totally my people. And then
there are the Felicity Bernsteins of the world.”
Zora nods somberly beside Ellie and Lucy puts a solemn hand on
my knee. “Felicity is not our people.”
“My roomie’s still in the ‘you’re cool but maybe not my soul sister’
zone,” Zora explains.
Ellie glances at her phone again and growls. “We should’ve
requested to room together, Zora.”
“But we wanted to make new friends,” Zora reminds her.
“We have Jordan. She’s our soul sister. I can already feel it and
I’ve only known her like fifteen minutes.”
I can’t hide my smile. Lucy pats my knee. “You feel it, right?
We’re not weirding you out, are we? I mean, we are, but like, in a
good way, right?”
I glance over at her and show her my grin. “Yeah, Lucy, I feel it.
I’m down being your soul sister.” See? So awkward.
 We fist bump. “Good, I’ll let you off the hook but next Saturday,
you’re coming out with us. It’s my birthday!”
“Wait, next Saturday’s your birthday?” I ask.
“Yep. Nineteen, baby,” she says proudly.
“No way, next Saturday’s my birthday too,” I tell her.
All three girls are staring at me now, and Ellie murmurs, “I knew
it. Totally our soul sister.”
“You’re going to be nineteen too?” Lucy clarifies.
“No, eighteen.”
“Good, I like being the oldest. You’re the baby then.”
“I figured I would be,” I say with a shrug.
It might not be the group of friends I envisioned for myself in
college. Not even close. None of them skateboard, to start. But
there’s some truth to what they said, because I feel it in my bones.
These are my people. They aren’t perfect, but I’m choosing them.
 CHAPTER THREE

Jordan
The sun is still rising when I get off the bus the next morning.
There’s no one around either, just like I was hoping. Dropping my
board on the ground, I’m instantly snapped out of my grogginess as
my left foot hits the front and my right kicks forward. Skateboarding
is easier than walking at this point, I can barely remember a time
when it wasn’t. When I reach the park a minute later, I stop, taking
it in. The place is deserted, and it’s breathtaking. My eyes dart over
to the half pipe, the huge curved structure intimidating in its
emptiness. With the ocean and the sunrise behind it, I can’t help but
feel like it’s taunting me, calling out to me.
Ignoring it, I skate into the smaller bowl I started at yesterday,
arcing around it as my mind zones out. It’s a luxury to get to space
out like this in the park. The one near my house in Connecticut was
a third the size of this one, and rarely empty because we didn’t have
nearly as many parks around to choose from. Still, I’d wake up early
just to get it to myself once in a while.
It’s not that I don’t like people. Hell, most skateboarders seem to
enjoy the crowds, especially if it gets people cheering them on.
Sometimes that gets me going too, but mostly it’s distracting and
annoying. Probably because of the girl factor. Guys either don’t like
that I’m better than them and act like assholes, or they give me
attention I’m not interested in. Rarely do they want to just be my
buddy, skate with me, practice tricks, and hang out. And that’s why I
want to find girl skaters to do this with. Or skate solo, that’s fine too.
I skate over to the rails I didn’t get a chance to try out yesterday.
It’s always satisfying to slide over them and stick a landing, but
never as much of a rush to me as catching air or dropping a vert at
high speed. My eyes keep moving to the half pipe. It hasn’t stopped
beckoning, and after an hour, I give in. By now, the sun is already
cooking the park and the morning chill is gone.
It's one of the largest ramps in the world, and to call it
intimidating would be an understatement. By the time I climb the
steps to the top, I’m sweating harder than I was from riding.
Unzipping my hoodie, I toss it on the platform along with my cell
phone. Briefly, I wonder if I should text someone what I’m doing.
Just in case I break a bone or something. But what good would that
do? Maybe I should wait until someone’s around.
I haven’t let myself look down yet and I turn my back to the vert,
taking in the view from up here. There are a few surfers out on the
water but the waves aren’t big enough today to attract crowds. A
woman is biking on the sidewalk following the shoreline, and a
shirtless dude is jogging in the sand. Someone could totally call 911
for me if I crack my head open.
With that comforting thought, I turn around and take a step to
the edge. It’s thirty feet down the ramp, followed by a flat section,
and then twenty feet up the other half. I remember the first time I
tried a half pipe a third this size at the indoor facility over an hour
from my parents’ house. I’d gotten dizzy after one slide up and down
each side. That was years ago. Now I have better control; my body
is used to the motion.
I don’t know how long I stand there, talking myself into it and
out of it over and over again. Eventually, I hear more cars pull into
the lot across the street, and people holding skateboards get out. If
I don’t want an audience, I have to do this now. Otherwise, they’ll
be watching me walk back down the steps.
Taking a deep breath, I tilt my board forward and drop in. My
stomach flips at the sensation, and I zoom across the flat with such
velocity, I almost hit the top of the vert on the other side right from
the start. Usually it takes a few slides before I get the momentum
going. A grin takes over my face as I crouch low and go for it. I
don’t quite hit the lip of the higher wall on the way back up, and it
takes a few more pushes before I reach the edge. My stomach spins
again as I balance sideways mid-air, kick turn, and dive back down
the vert with steady legs.
Holy shit, I totally have this.
Adrenaline pumps through me as I shoot across the flat and up
the other side. The structure was designed for speed, and I embrace
it as I tap the platform, balancing my weight evenly on the coping
for a brief pause. I can hear my harsh breathing and in that instant,
it feels like the entire world stops. It’s electrifying up here.
I go back in, and decide to try for a 360 when I reach the top of
the other vert. I’m on fire, and while my legs are burning a little
from the strength required to maintain stability at this speed, I’m
ready for the challenge. I took the plunge getting in here in the first
place, and now that I’m rolling, I don’t want to settle.
A 360 requires catching air, grabbing the board, and spinning a
full circle before coming back down. I’ve done it hundreds of times
in smaller pipes or bowls, but never on a ramp this long, at such a
high speed.
I go for it, but as soon as I’m midair, I second-guess myself. I’ve
soared too high, and when my board hits the ramp again, there’s too
much momentum. I’m wearing knee pads in anticipation of a fall but
my balance is off, my body wobbly. I try to bend my legs and lean
back to land on my knees, but the vert is too steep, my speed too
high.
I smash to the ground head first. Thank God I’m not one of
those lunatics who doesn’t wear a helmet because my head bounces
up and down like a ragdoll with the impact.
Falling headfirst is the worst way to go. Being good at falling is
key to skateboarding, and usually I manage to do it without major
injury. Aside from scrapes and bruises, I’ve only fractured my wrist
once in over a decade of riding.
Head first down one of the longest verts in the world? Not cool.
Not cool at all.
As I lie there face down, my head reeling, I briefly recognize it
was maybe a good thing no one was around to witness this. I just
want to lie here without anyone trying to talk to me or move me. No
one’s waiting their turn to drop in the pipe so I let my eyes close in
an attempt to escape the spinning world in front of me. But closing
my eyes makes me dizzy too, and with it comes a rush of nausea.
I groan, and that’s when I feel a hand on my back.
“Hey.” It’s a male voice. Gentle but confident.
“Hi.” I can see two feet in front of me, on their toes like he’s
squatting. He’s wearing high top skater sneakers, but they aren’t
Vans, or one of the other mainstream skater brands. I have no idea
why that’s what I’m focused on, but I do really like his shoes. He has
a soothing voice too.
 “I saw that fall. It looked like a true face-plant, with your head
getting all the impact. Does anything else hurt?”
I think about how the rest of my limbs feel, but the pounding in
my head overrides everything else. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to turn you over so I can look at where you hit your
head.”
A moan of protest escapes my lips. If he moves me, the pain will
be worse, and I’ll probably puke.
But he doesn’t listen. One hand goes to my hip and the other my
shoulder, as he eases me ever so slowly onto my side. I blink, my
stomach rolling with the rest of my body. But the pain doesn’t
change, even as my vision continues to spin. He keeps easing me
until I’m lying on my back, staring at the cloudless sky. That’s better,
actually. I feel a hand at my chin. Rough knuckles brush my
collarbone and my eyes dart to the face hovering over mine.
I blink again. And again. Then I close my eyes. No way. There’s
no damn way. I hear my helmet unbuckle, and feel a slight release
of pressure as it slides off my head.
“No blood. That’s going to be one hell of a bruise though.”
Even his voice is attractive. I mean, I thought I’d imagined that a
moment earlier, that it was the head injury in me thinking he had a
sexy voice, but no. Now that I’ve seen his face, it makes sense. My
head hurts, my vision’s blurry, but I’m not hallucinating. Am I?
Beckett Steele was here yesterday. It’s entirely possible he’s here
again now. And his fingers are currently running through my hair. My
eyes snap open.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
And then I gasp, because holy shit his eyes up close are too
much. A vibrant blue that’s nearly cartoonish in its intensity.
His fingers stop moving. “Did I hurt you?”
 “Oh, no.” I swallow.
“I’m checking for blood anywhere else. The helmet protected you
but that was one hell of a fall. There’s a crack down the middle of
your helmet.”
“Really?” I start to move, wanting to see for myself, but I wince
as a sharp pain hits between my eyeballs.
Done with his examination, Beckett sits back on his heels and
picks up my helmet. “It cracked right down the middle,” he repeats
absently.
My throat goes dry at that comment. Had it really been that bad?
A long moment passes, with Beckett roaming his eyes over my
body in a clinical way, like he’s checking for damage. I just take him
in. He has a tee shirt on with the same logo on the front as the one
on his shoes. It’s not tight enough to see his muscles, and I sigh in
disappointment. If I hadn’t been so fixated on skateboarding, I
might have taken the time to watch him skate shirtless yesterday.
Still, the fully-clothed version is a nice distraction from the acute pain
in my head.
“Are you here with anyone?” he asks.
His eyes move to mine, and if he felt me staring at him, I don’t
really care. I’m sure he’s used to it. And besides, I’ll blame my head
injury for anything embarrassing I do or say in his presence.
“No, I came by myself.”
“Well, you shouldn’t drive like this. Calling an ambulance is
probably overboard, but you should really go straight to urgent care
and get checked out.” He checks his watch. “The one off Floyd
Street might be open.”
Beckett leans forward so he’s on his knees, and rests his butt on
the back of his feet. He slides a cell out of his pocket and starts
moving his fingers around on it, presumably looking up the urgent
care.
“I’m good. Really. I don’t need to go in.”
Ignoring me, he swipes a finger over the screen. “It opens at
nine. It’s only 8:15 now.”
I’m beginning to feel silly lying here on my back and I move to sit
up on my elbows.
Beckett watches me closely. “Can you call someone to pick you
up?”
“No, my friends are still asleep, maybe even still drunk,” I add,
thinking about how Lucy stumbled in at 3 AM last night. But even in
my current state, a tiny smile forms at how easily “friends” rolled off
my tongue. I only met two of them last night, but Beckett doesn’t
know that. Besides, it’s like Ellie said, instant bond or whatever.
“Come on,” Beckett says, putting his arms out. “I’ll help you off
the pipe.”
I did okay leaning up on my elbows, so I give him a little nod and
start to sit up further. I’m expecting him to pull me up by my hands
or maybe brace me with a hand on my elbow, but instead he
reaches underneath my knees with one hand, the other under my
back. And Beckett Steele scoops me up. Just like that, I’m in his
arms.
My hand goes to his chest on reflex and he glances down at me.
“Okay?”
Oh, so now he’s asking permission?
“I should really feel violated that a complete stranger is carrying
me right now,” I answer.
The side of his mouth lifts up and it’s the cutest thing ever. “This
is an emergency. Firemen carry strangers in emergencies too, you
know.”
 I sigh with defeat. “And you’re not entirely a stranger. Beckett
Steele.”
He shakes his head like me recognizing him isn’t the least bit
surprising. Beckett starts moving. “Beck. You can call me Beck. You
sound better already. That’s good.”
I feel better already too, but I’m not going to say that yet. I’m
enjoying Beck carrying me too much. “Where are you taking me?”
“You can sit in my car for a bit, then I’ll give you a ride.”
“A ride?”
“To urgent care.”
I really don’t want to go to urgent care. Especially when I know
what they’ll tell me. It’s just a concussion. My parents will find out
since I’m still on their insurance, and they’ll freak. But I’ll play along
for now just to be in Beckett Steele’s presence a few more minutes.
“Wait. My skateboard.”
He lifts the hand under my legs. “Got it.” Beck looks down at me.
“Stop holding your head up, rest it on my shoulder.”
I do as I’m told, and that’s when I realize this is probably all a
dream. I mean, I’m in Beckett Steele’s arms, snuggled up to him,
and he’s even rescued my skateboard. I hope I never wake up.
 CHAPTER FOUR

Jordan
If this were really the best dream ever, I wouldn’t have an egg-
sized bump protruding from my forehead. I’m going to look
awesome for my first day of college classes tomorrow.
I can feel Beck watching me as I wince at my reflection in the
mirror. I snap up the sun visor and turn to look behind me. It’s a
giant van, nearly a bus, so tall that I could stand up without hitting
my head. It kind of looks like one of those tiny homes I’ve seen on
HGTV. “What is this thing?” I wonder.
“It’s a Sprinter. I’m on the road a lot so this way I can crash
without dealing with hotels. I’m not great about planning ahead.
Makes it easier to make last-minute decisions about spending the
night.”
My mind instantly wonders about the “spending the night” part.
I take in the back of the van. There’s a single bench seat and
behind that a sink, kitchenette, and even a double bed. “This is so
cool,” I whisper, not hiding my reverence. From afar, I’ve always
thought Beckett Steele was the coolest guy ever. Up close, seeing
this tiny glimpse of him in real life, it’s confirmed. He’s my favorite
skateboarder of all time. I know I should have a girl skateboarder as
my favorite but I’ve never met any famous ones in person like this.
I’m sure they’re all dripping with coolness too.
He chuckles when I continue gazing at the back of his van. “I’ve
got a Jeep Wrangler I usually use to drive around, but that ride’s
pretty skater cliché. I’m glad I had this with me today to impress
you.”
My eyes widen as I turn to look at him, reminding myself to
move slowly to avoid making my headache worse.
He laughs harder when he sees my expression. “What?” he
shrugs, a little sheepish. “You’re a hot chick who knows her way
around a skatepark.”
I can’t even touch the first part of that statement. Instead I
narrow my eyes and remind him, “You only saw me crash head first.
As far as you know, I don’t even know how to fall correctly.”
His laughter dies and Beck offers me a sweet smile. One that
makes me squirm in my seat. “Nah, I was watching you for an hour
before that.”
I stare at him. And then I stare some more. Is he messing with
me? Yeah, he’s definitely messing with me. “No, there was no one
else around, I would’ve noticed you.” If it was anyone else, I might
have believed him but there’s no way I wouldn’t have felt the weight
of his eyes on me. Right?
Beck turns his gaze to the windshield and I follow. He’s got a
perfect view of the park from here. Except only the back side of the
half pipe.
“So, you saw me standing on the platform up there for half an
hour.”
“It was more like twenty minutes, but yeah, I was watching.”
I expected him to deny it and when I glance back over at him
he’s watching me again. “That’s creepy, Beck.”
 Beck bites his lower lip in response, like he’s debating how much
to say. “It was very suspenseful, actually. You kept taking a little step
forward and then one back. Looking at the stairs, then turning to the
vert again. I almost opened my door twenty times to talk you into it
myself.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was curious what you’d do. If you’d started down the steps I
would’ve come over.”
“Still creepy,” I murmur, trying not to be embarrassed he’d
witnessed that moment.
“Whatever, I was finishing my coffee and it was entertaining. I
can’t believe I’ve never seen you before. You’re incredible.”
That statement, so bold and straightforward, has me throwing all
my weight to the back of the seat.
I look around, anywhere but into those freakishly bright blue
eyes. “Did Beckett Steele just call me incredible?” Wait, he’s talking
about my skateboarding, right?
“Stop calling me that. It’s Beck. And come on, you know you can
skate. You landed a 540 in the bowl before you hit the half pipe. I
can count on one hand the number of women who can do that. I
love the way you skate. Your style is just so…” He drifts off, like he’s
really trying to find the exact right word. “I don’t know, it’s not
something I’ve seen before.”
Oh my God, I want to stay here forever and listen to Beck fawn
over me. This is too much. I should really quit while I’m ahead
because I’m bound to screw this up soon. Better to tuck this
memory away for safekeeping so I can look back on it fondly for
years to come.
The clock on the dashboard tells me it’s almost nine now. “Look,
I’m feeling a lot better. I took the bus here, so I can take it back. I
don’t need to go to urgent care.”
Beck narrows his eyes. “All right fine, I won’t make you go to
urgent care, you do seem a lot better. But humor me. How many
fingers am I holding up?”
He puts up both hands.
“Eight.”
“Now?” He drops a hand and gives a peace sign.
“Two.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jordan.”
“What’s your phone number?”
Now I’m the one narrowing my eyes. But I play along. Happily.
As I recite my number, he pulls out his phone. “Okay, one more
time.” This time as I tell him, he puts it in his phone. “I just texted
you,” he tells me.
“Oh, I left my phone over by my hoodie on top of the platform.”
“I’ll get it,” he offers. “Just in case you get ideas at the top and
want to drop in again.”
I scoff. “Not today. I’m not that dumb.”
He opens the door, tells me to wait, and I watch as Beck jogs
over to the stairs up to the half pipe. There are a few people at the
park now, no one on the pipe though. He leaps up the stairs taking
two at a time, grabs my hoodie with my phone in it, and jogs back
down. It’s all so surreal. It seems as if Beck likes me, really likes me.
But that can’t be possible. He won the skateboarding world
championships. He’s travelled all around the world for competitions
and shoots. He’s been featured in magazines and films, and is
considered one of the most influential young people in the country,
with at least a million Instagram followers. And yet here he is,
jogging back across the parking lot with my hoodie and phone. I
open the passenger door and he hands them over.
“All right, you passed the test to avoid urgent care. But I’d take it
easy for a week or two. Don’t hit up the park. I’d ice that thing too.”
My elation dwindles just a smidge as I realize his little lecture
means he’s saying goodbye. Sure he got my number, but what does
that even mean for a guy like Beck?
“Right, I know. I’ll Google what to do. I can’t take it too easy
though, I start classes tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah? Where do you go?”
“Summerside U.”
“No way. Me too.”
I have no filter, so I admit, “I know. You aren’t on campus much
though with all the skateboarding stuff, right?”
“I will be this year. I mean, I’ve had to take a lot of time off for
travel but it’s been seven years on and off. I’m twenty-five, it’s time
to get that degree already.”
And the elation returns tenfold. I try to play it cool though. “Nice,
well, thanks for helping me out today, Beck. I hope I’ll see you
around campus soon.”
“Wait, get back in, I’ll give you a ride.”
“No way, you came here to skate and haven’t even done that yet.
There’s a bus coming in a few minutes. Don’t worry about it.”
“Nah, I was here riding yesterday and just slept in the parking
lot.” He shoots me a big grin. I’m sure he’s telling the truth after
seeing his van, but the dude is a skateboard addict just like me and
he’s going to want to skate while he’s here.
“I’m not getting in a van with a near stranger.”
Beck takes a step forward until his body is only inches away. “Too
late, you already did. Besides, you admitted I’m not entirely a
stranger.” His voice is deeper somehow and heat flares in my belly.
His eyes drop to my lips. Oh, hell no. I might have zero
experience, but there’s no question in my mind what that look
means. There’s intention in his eyes, and when they meet mine
again, I see the same desire in his that I can’t deny in myself. He
wants me. I think? Or maybe I just want him so badly I’m confused.
I can’t form words so I nod and duck back into the passenger seat.
With the windows down and the radio on, Beck drives us away
from the beach and onto the interstate in silence. Once we roll up
the windows, the AC is on and I’ve cooled off enough to talk. The
easiest conversation topic for me is skateboarding, so I ask him
about tips for riding a huge vert, and how to avoid a fall like that in
the future. We talk skateboarding techniques for the entire twenty-
minute drive to campus. It takes half the time that it would on the
bus. When I tell him where to go, his grip tightens on the steering
wheel. “You’re in the freshman dorms?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re a freshman?” he asks, his eyes darting from the road
over to me.
“Um, if I’m living in the freshman dorms don’t I have to be a
freshman?”
“You just look a little older. I thought maybe you were an RA.” A
residential advisor?
“I don’t look that old,” I argue. I’m kind of petite, but I’ve got
some curves that say I’m not a kid.
“I didn’t say old, just older than eighteen or nineteen. Did you
take a gap year?”
“No.” This probably wouldn’t be a good time to tell him I’m
seventeen. Except as he pulls up outside the dorms he outright asks
how old I am.
 Shit. “I’ll be eighteen next weekend.” I sound young and unsure
as I answer him, but I force my eyes to meet his.
His lips press together, and there’s an instant energy shift in the
space between us. What had crackled earlier is now just a giant gap,
growing larger by the second.
I see it now too. Over seven years between us. Yeah, if I thought
the celebrity status thing made the chemistry between us seem
unlikely, the little fact he’s at a different stage in life squashes any
fantasy that much more conclusively. Maybe in ten years or even five
the age difference wouldn’t be a big deal, but the truth of the matter
is, he’s a real adult. He’s traveled the world, supported himself, seen
and experienced way more than I probably ever will. And in terms of
relationships? He’s light years ahead of me there; even if I don’t
know the details, it doesn’t take much to be light years ahead of me
in that realm. Legally I’m still a kid for a few more days, and this is
my first time away from home. I’ve got a ton of growing up to do.
The reality of all of this drops hard, and the easy friendliness
we’d shared a moment ago is replaced by awkwardness.
“Take care of yourself, Jordan. Hit up the student health clinic if
that headache doesn’t go away soon.”
“Thanks, Beck. I’m glad you were there.” I manage to hold back
a flirty comment about him watching me, biting my tongue as I pull
the passenger side door open. “Thanks for the ride.” It’s not enough,
after how kind he was. We say a stiff goodbye. Beck is perfect. Too
perfect. And a little tiny piece of me is actually relieved it was too
good to be true.
 CHAPTER FIVE

Beck
Seventeen years old? Seventeen. Seven-fucking-teen. My
stomach rolls as I force my eyes off her ass. I’m disgusted with
myself. I’ve spent the last couple of hours obsessing over a chick
who’s barely older than my baby sister.
I’d blame it on her skateboarding, but that’s a cop-out. Just
because she skates with maturity doesn’t mean shit. Some of the
top female skateboarders in the world right now are thirteen or
fourteen years old and I don’t have a single inappropriate thought
seeing those kids skate, only admiration for their fearlessness.
Sure, I was admiring Jordan for that reason too, but from the
moment I spotted her in the park, there were a hell of a lot of
inappropriate thoughts too. Not that I realized just how
inappropriate they were until just now.
I glance over, ensuring she’s reached the freshman dorms safely,
and then I make myself drive away.
 CHAPTER SIX

Jordan
I’m in such a daze when I walk up the sidewalk to my dorm, I
don’t even realize my phone is ringing until I almost miss the call.
My best friend making a fish face flashes on the screen.
“Hey Phoebe.” Until the last few days, we rarely spoke on the
phone since we saw each other practically every day. I still have to
remind myself each time she calls that it’s not an emergency.
“Jordan, you’re all over the internet!” she screams. So much for
training myself not to panic with every phone call from Phoebe.
I’ve just opened the doors to the dorm but I let them fall closed
and take a step back. “What?” I heard her just fine, but that’s all I
can manage to get out. Did someone catch a photo of me with
Beck? He isn’t famous enough to have paparazzi following him, is
he? What if they caught my fall? My parents are going to stop
paying tuition and force me to come home if they see that!
“I can’t believe you don’t have Instagram. What teenage girl in
America doesn’t have Instagram?” She asks this like she’s already
distracted by something else.
“Are you with Wyatt?”
 “Yup, I’ll put you on speaker. Oh wait, no, let’s do FaceTime, then
I can show you the video from his phone.”
The video? Oh no. My legs are suddenly shaky and I drop to sit
on the stairs leading up to the dorm. The call switches to a FaceTime
ring and I answer. My two closest friends from Hartsville appear in
front of me, faces squished together.
“Shit, Jordan!” Phoebe yells with a new level of alarm. “What
happened to you?” Her boyfriend scrutinizes me and it takes a
second before I remember the bruise on my forehead. The video
must not have been of the fall then, that’s a small comfort.
“Oh, I fell at the skatepark this morning.”
“Doing what? Oh shit, did you try the Riptide half pipe already?”
Phoebe asks.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about that. Show me the video.”
Wyatt looks down for a few seconds before filling the screen with
an Instagram video from Taylor Sly. I recognize it immediately, and
my shoulders sag with relief. It’s me in the bowl yesterday, when I
landed a 540 and then skated away. My face is visible as I make my
way across the bowl at high speed. I’ve seen videos of myself
skating plenty of times, and it’s no surprise to find my tongue
sticking out to the side. I’ve got no idea why I do that when I’m real
focused, but I’m not even aware it’s happening. The video switches
to slow motion when I catch air. No one’s caught me doing a 540
before, and it’s cool to see it like this. My long hair flies up behind
me from underneath my helmet. One hand grabs my board, the
other is raised in the air as I turn once, twice, and then land. There’s
the sound of my board hitting the ground and then a guy muttering,
“Shit, was that a 540?” I skate back across, up the other side, and
then I’m off, looking once over my shoulder before riding down the
sidewalk and away from the park.
 Phoebe’s face is back in the screen. “Okay, I want to know why
you looked relieved when you saw the video. What did you think it
was going to be?”
I’ve never lied to Phoebe or Wyatt before, but I have the urge to
do so now. Or at least to withhold information. “I mean, it’s just me
skating,” I say, and it’s easier than I thought. “I didn’t know what
you were referring to. It could have been when I crashed and got
this bruise or of me taking a shower or something. Our dorm is
coed, you know.”
“The bathrooms are coed too?” Wyatt asks. The screen shows
both of them again. “That’s not right.”
“No, but they aren’t locked. Guys could just wander in.”
Wyatt turns to Phoebe. “See, babe? Yet another reason to
support us moving in together.”
“Hold on. Are you guys in bed right now?” I suddenly realize
Wyatt is shirtless and Phoebe is in a thin sleep tank. “Did you guys
just wake up? It’s almost noon there.”
Phoebe shrugs. “Give us a break, it’s our honeymoon phase.”
I groan, feigning disgust, but I’ve walked in on these two making
out so many times it doesn’t faze me. “You’ve been together for six
years. Honeymoon periods don’t last that long.”
“Yes, but we’ve only been living together for three days.”
Despite the lack of parental approval, my two besties ditched the
college freshman dorms to live off campus together. I mean, their
parents weren’t thrilled about it and tried to talk them out of it, but
at the end of the day, we all know they’ve been destined for each
other since birth. They grew up down the block from me as next-
door neighbors and are going to college together an hour away from
our hometown.
 “So, back to you being all over the internet,” Phoebe redirects the
conversation. “The caption asks, ‘Does anyone know who this is?’ It
was posted last night and already has a few thousand likes and
hundreds of comments.”
“Did you read the comments? Did anyone say it was me?”
Wyatt answers, “Yeah, Tanner named you, but since you don’t
have Instagram and he can’t tag you it’s not going anywhere.”
Wyatt’s referring to a skateboarder we know from Connecticut.
“You said ‘all over the internet’ – were you exaggerating or is it
somewhere else?”
“It’s going around Facebook too. You can share videos more
easily there so people are spreading it around.”
“I bet it’ll be on YouTube soon,” Wyatt adds.
“You should really make an Insta page, Jordan. It was only a
matter of time before something like this happened. Now that you’re
at the skateboard capital of the world, you can’t hide anymore.”
“I’m not hiding,” I tell her. “I just don’t want to get sucked into
the social media orbit. It’s toxic and you know it. What’s the point?
So I can get random people to tell me I’m good at this? I already
know I’m good.” I say this with more confidence than I have, and I
know my friends see through me.
“Let’s not argue,” Phoebe cuts off my rant, and she’s right. We’ve
had this conversation, more than once. She tells me it could lead to
opportunities. I remind her of the reality of women in skateboarding
– there are barely any worthwhile opportunities that I would actually
want to pursue.
“There she is!” someone shouts from down the sidewalk. This
part of campus has been dead since Beck dropped me off so I whip
my head in the direction of the voice.
 Ellie and Zora are waving at me. I wave back and tell Phoebe and
Wyatt, “I gotta run. My roommates’ friends just got here.”
“Where are you, anyway?” Wyatt wonders.
“Outside my dorm.”
“Wait, don’t hang up, I want to meet them!” Phoebe calls.
Ellie is already beside me. She’s panting and must have jogged.
“I want to meet you too!” Ellie exclaims, grabbing the phone out of
my hand. “Hi, I’m Ellie, and this is Zora.” She flashes the screen to
our pink-hair friend who puts up a peace sign. “We’re Lucy’s BFFs
from high school but last night we decided that Jordan’s going to be
one of our BFFs now too. Are you her besties from back home?”
With the conversation out of my hands now, I wonder how I
manage to attract extraordinarily bubbly people who register zero on
the shy scale. Ellie and Zora are similar in that way to Phoebe, but
each with their own flavor of assertiveness. Wyatt is slightly more
subdued, but his presence can be even more domineering when he
has a strong opinion about something. I’m not exactly a pushover
either, but amongst my friends, I’m the only one who can really fit
the laid-back easy-going role. Maybe Lucy, but I can already see
she’s got a maternal streak. And is probably more fun than I am.
The truth is, sometimes I feel so consumed by skateboarding
that I think it might be part of my personality. Skateboarding makes
me feel like me. It’s like the sport was created just for me. It’s in my
veins. It’s all I think about. I dream about it when I sleep and it’s the
first thing I think about when I wake up. I couldn’t stop
skateboarding. Ever. Maybe that makes me boring compared to my
dynamic friends, but I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to.
I tune back into the conversation and hear Zora say, “Yeah, she
made it clear she’s obsessed with skateboarding when she ditched
going out with us last night so she could get to bed early and skate
this morning.”
“But we didn’t know she was famous,” Ellie adds.
I can tell it’s Wyatt responding this time, but I can’t hear what
he’s saying. I grab the phone back. “All right, I don’t need all of you
ganging up on me. See? I’m making friends. They’re just as irritating
as you are. Now you two can go back to your honeymoon or
whatever you’re calling it. Bye!” I give them a little wave and hang
up before they can respond.
Then I take in Zora and Ellie, who don’t look the least bit guilty
for taking over my phone. They’re wearing pajamas and staring at
my forehead.
Zora links an arm through mine and starts dragging me up the
steps. “Come on, we need to get Lucy. Then we’re getting food.
Once I’ve got some food and coffee in me you’re going to tell us
everything.”
“Everything?” My mind instantly goes to Beck.
“Starting with why you have a bruise the size of a baseball
protruding from your forehead,” she says, shooting me a pointed
look as we wait for the elevator to the fifth floor. “I can already
guess. But I feel like there’s a lot more about you and this little
skateboarding obsession we need details about.”
Ellie adds, “We need to get a booth somewhere, make Jordan get
in first, and that way she can’t escape when we interrogate her.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. There’s really not much to tell.”
They ignore my protest, and I wonder what exactly they’re
expecting. It’s not all that juicy. With the exception of my encounter
with Beck, which I just can’t bring myself to share. Not yet.
Maybe it’s wrong of me to want to keep it to myself, especially
with the girls being so welcoming and forthcoming with me. And
especially with Phoebe, who I’ve never had secrets from. But my
emotions are still raw. And he’s a celebrity. The entire time was
special to me, and I want it to stay private. It feels like I’m
cheapening it, if I share it. Plus, then I have to tell them how it
ended. And I’m not sure I’m ready to accept that part yet.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

Jordan
As soon as Lucy gets a look at me, she scolds her friends for not
bringing me immediately to the campus health clinic. Lucy becomes
this mama bear, refusing to allow Ellie or Zora to make excuses as
they try to tell her about the video.
“You guys, she could have a concussion and you wanted to put
her in the hot seat? I don’t think so.”
I don’t mind going. If my parents get a bill, at least it will seem
less serious than one from an urgent care farther from campus.
But this doesn’t get me out of the interrogation after all because
all three girls wait while I get checked out, and then we go out to
what is lunch for me at this point, but still breakfast for them. They
seem to know where to go, some place called The Mecca, but when
we get there, it’s an hour wait. We’re too hungry and opt for the
cafeteria instead.
I have a concussion, which basically just means I need to take it
easy. I mean, the nurse at the student health clinic said a month
without skateboarding, but I know she’s only saying that because
she has to. Besides, as long as I don’t hit the half pipe, I’m as safe
on my skateboard as I am walking. Kind of. Depending on what I’m
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II.
I. Shooting the Cataract.—Limbang River Frontispiece
II. The Trunan issuing from the Batu Barit To face
Mountain page 3
III. Hauling past the Rapids „ 70
IV. Murut Bridge.—Tabari’s Village „ 123
V. Government House, Sarawak „ 280
VI. Lundu Church „ 370
MAP.
I. Map of the Limbang and Baram Rivers To face
page 1
 LIFE IN THE
FORESTS OF THE FAR EAST.
 CHAPTER I.
EXPEDITIONS TO EXPLORE THE INTERIOR TO THE SOUTH
AND SOUTH-EAST OF THE CAPITAL.

Preliminary Expeditions—The Limbang River—Stories connected with

it—The Madalam—River flowing under a Pile of Rocks—Caverns
—Batu Rikan—The River issuing from under the Mountain of
Molu—Ascend the Precipices—No Water—Long Roots—No Soil
—Second Expedition—A Flood—Dangerous Position—Wakeful
Night—Beautiful Flowers—Palms and Rhododendrons—Old
Kayan Encampment—Detached Rocks—Ascent of Molu—Two
new Species of Nepenthes—Difficult Climbing—New
Rhododendrons—Stopped by a Precipice—Sharp-edged Rocks
—Descent—Limestone Rock—Cave—Heavy Rain—Swollen
River—Quick Return—Prepare for a distant Expedition—Alarm of
the Brunean Government—Warnings—Preparations—Boats—My
Headman Musa—A Travelled Dayak—Stories of Molu—Weapons
—Merchandise.
In December, 1856, I made a short excursion up the Limbang
River, and the wonders there told of its far interior strongly excited
my curiosity. The natives were full of stories of the river forcing its
way for miles under huge masses of rock, which formed a natural
tunnel, called by the Malays “Batu berkejang,” or stone-roofed; of a
cataract formed by the whole river falling over a ledge of rocks for a
depth of nine fathoms; of the smooth water beyond this which
stretched for a seven days’ journey, flowing gently through a vast
table-land; of the tame goats without masters which thronged this
region—but I could find no one who had seen any of these wonders
—in fact, few Malays had passed Suñgei Damit, a river about three
days’ journey from the capital.
In the following September I went with a small party up the right-
hand branch of the river, the Madalam, to endeavour to reach the
lofty mountain of Molu, and found that one of the stories told by the
natives had some foundation. We followed the Madalam till we
reached the Trunan on the eighth day, up which we pushed, thinking
it led to the base of the highest peak of Molu. We soon came upon
limestone rock, and after a few miles were suddenly stopped by the
river, I may say, disappearing. We found a rocky eminence before
us, its sharp angles concealed by ferns and climbing plants falling in
festoons around, and a luxuriant vegetation of trees, whose bark was
coated with mosses, orchids, and other epiphytal plants. There was
an arched cavern into which we pushed our boats; at first we failed
to find the inlet through which the stream entered, but at last, looking
down into the clear water, we saw two huge holes below—the
passages from whence the river came. We went round to the
southern side of the rock, and there we found the river coming
purling along to this lofty wood-crowned mass of limestone, and then
entering a spacious hall it was lost, descending, as it were, to the
passages before mentioned. There were various chambers with
water floors, to the surface of which fine fish occasionally arose. This
place is called Batu Rikan.
 T. Picken, lith. Published by Smith, Elder &
Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.
Co. 65, Cornhill, London.
THE TRUNAN ISSUING FROM BATU BARIT MOUNTAIN.

We stayed here a night, during which it rained heavily, making the

stream that yesterday but washed our ancles, swell so that it was
impossible to cross it. We therefore kept along the right bank, till we
reached the spot where the whole river issued from the face of the
precipice; it was a fine sight, this body of water running impetuously
from this natural tunnel. On either side lofty trees arose, and above
the precipice the green verdure spread in masses.
Our Bisayan guide, the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang, of the
village of Blimbing, told us that during fine weather, we could
penetrate a long distance under the mountain, though few had ever
ventured to do so, on account of the very sudden way in which the
water rises. Finding we could not cross the stream near the
mountain, we skirted the precipice, which the Bisayas told us it was
impossible to climb; but I determined on making the attempt, not
crediting the truth of one of their objections that we should find no
water on the mountain after the heavy rain which fell the previous
night.
I led the way up the rock by a most difficult ascent, and after
climbing these perpendicular precipices by means of the roots of
trees, at length reached easier ground, but found the whole
mountain a mass of honeycombed limestone rock, with trees
scattered over the uneven surface, whose roots penetrated to an
immense distance below. I endeavoured, by descending into the
deep fissures, to find some water, and in doing so, traced a root
above two hundred feet; it then entered a narrow crevice, too small
to admit me; the root was still larger than my arm.
As there is no real soil on the mountain, this fine vegetation must
derive its support from the air, the moisture in the thick moss, and
the rotting leaves which sometimes lay in tangled damp masses,
almost decayed into a black mould. We climbed about a thousand
feet, but found no streams or pools, and were therefore compelled to
descend. On our return to the Capital, we had the misfortune to lose
my boat on a snag, and had a three days’ walk in the jungle through
difficult sandstone mountains, and then we constructed a raft and
floated down the river, till we met the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang,
whom I had sent for relieving boats.
In February, 1858, Mr. Low and I again attempted the ascent of
Molu, taking the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang as our guide, though
neither he nor any one else knew more of the mountain than they
had gathered during my former journey.
On the sixth day we reached the entrance of the Madalam without
difficulty, and brought up for the night on a bank of gravel and
pebbles, where there were traces of coal among the hard gray
sandstone nodules, and broken quartz. All the country we had
hitherto seen belongs to the Labuan coal measures, and the dip is
steep, about 45°, and is to the east of north.
In the evening, heavy rain came on, when the river began to rise
rapidly, and rush by us with a strong current. The men had pitched
their tents on the pebbly bank, while we stayed in the boats; we had
had a heavy day’s work, and our followers were so fatigued that they
fell asleep immediately. The rain continued pouring down. About two
hours after sunset I heard a shout, and found the water was
overflowing the tents, and rushing down the opposite side of the river
like a mill sluice, carrying along with it huge trunks of trees. With
extreme difficulty we awoke the men, and it was a work of greater
difficulty to keep them from getting into the boats before they were
properly secured. I jumped out, and soon discovered the reason; the
water coming from the lofty heights of Molu was icy cold; my teeth
chattered so that I could scarcely give an order, and the river rose so
fast, that very soon it was impossible to remain on the bank.
We none of us slept that night, our boats swayed to and fro in the
angry waters which now rushed impetuously over the point, and
knowing that we had but a small rope holding us, we feared every
moment to see it part and find our boats dashed over a neighbouring
fall. In the morning we observed by rough measurement that the
water had risen twenty-four feet. As the river continued too rapid to
be contended against, we employed next day in manufacturing
strong rattan ropes. It took us five days more to reach our camping-
ground at the foot of the mountain, a journey which in ordinary times
might have been done in two.
We passed during our advance up the Madalam many curious
and beautiful plants; among others, a very elegant little palm, with
finely-divided pinnated leaves, and a stem about a foot high; it grew
in tufts on the banks, within the influence of the rise of the waters.
Mr. Low found also a beautiful climber with white flowers, in
bunches, on the axils of the leaves, with a very fragrant scent; and
also a curious rhododendron, with terminal single pale yellow flowers
an inch and a half across on pendent branching stems, epiphytal in
moss on many of the trees overhanging the water; but what I
admired most was a rhododendron with large bunches of straw-
coloured blossoms. It grew on the trees, and the flower, as it
gracefully bent over us, looked both showy and beautiful. Here, too,
Mr. Low discovered three new species of the areca palm, and was
enabled to secure the seeds of two: one of them had a curious
mottled foliage, another had a dark green stem, with white sheaths
to the leaves, which were most delicately fashioned, the leaflets
being linear, and not more than an eighth of an inch broad. I may
further notice that at the mouth of the Limbang River grows in the
marshes a beautiful fan-palm, which at a distance might, from its
size, be mistaken for a fine cocoa-nut tree.
We reached the Batu Rikan in safety, and passed round it,
through a small rivulet, improved into a sort of canal by the Kayans,
above which we brought up at an old Kayan encampment on the left.
We had here a good view of the range, which is a mass of limestone,
and the ascent to the summit is at an angle of 70°; impossible to
ascend over any other kind of rock than limestone, the water-worn
surfaces of which usually present so many prominent points as to
render these precipices practicable. The mountain appears to be
covered with vegetation to the precipitous summit, and even on the
almost bare rocks shrubs could be seen clinging to the crevices.
Round the base of the mountain are detached masses of
limestone, much water-worn, with caverns and natural tunnels, with
the ground around covered by the tracks of pigs and deer. At the
base of the mountain the soil is a yellow loam, with many water-worn
sandstone pebbles on its surface.
I do not intend dwelling on this expedition, as I only kept an
account of the geographical features of the country, though Mr. Low
has kindly placed his interesting journal at my disposal to refresh my
memory. I will, however, briefly indicate the character of the
mountain.
We left our encampment and struck through the jungle to a spot
that a previous examination made me consider the easiest way to
pass the precipices. The rocks looked like broken masses which had
fallen from above, presenting sharp points and edges dangerous to
our unshod men. It was climbing, not walking, our hands being as
much used as our feet. We ascended about 800 feet, when we found
ourselves on a sharp edge with a valley beyond, and then
descended about forty feet by means of roots, and after a painful
advance made preparations to pass the night there, as our men
were lagging. We could, however, nowhere find a smooth place
broad enough to set up our tents; so threw poles across the rocks
and heaped boughs and leaves on them, and on sticks above
spread our piled cotton tents.
We advanced next day over rather easier ground, and found more
vegetable mould between the rocks; the trees were large, and
among them I had seen on the previous day troops of reddish
monkeys, equal in size to the small kind of orang-utan. We could find
no water except such as could be obtained from squeezing the
moss, or from the pitchers of two new kinds of nepenthes. It was on
the third day that Mr. Low came upon them, after passing a deep
gorge, and up a steep and fatiguing ascent over craggy cliffs,
everything being covered with long wet moss. There were two kinds;
the specimens, unfortunately, were lost by the men:—the first was
shaped something like a claret jug, with a quadrilateral stem, and
was of a pale green, except on the inside of the pitcher, which was
purplish—the pitchers themselves were about ten inches long, and
did not show the lower part in perfection except when full-grown. The
next kind was growing half buried beneath the moss, and creeping
closely along the stems of trees; its pitchers had a very peculiar
mouth, with an edge like a frill. Its stem was rough with brown hairs,
the leaves broad and short, and it was distinguished from all others
we had yet seen, by the leaves, which are close above one another,
giving off always to the right and left, and not on all sides of the stem
as in the other species; they lie also very close; its stem was at most
three feet long; the pitcher was about nine inches in length, not
including the lid.
Mr. Low, the Orang Kaya, and myself, led our party, but the ascent
was getting worse every yard. We worked our way over the most
dangerous places, where a false step would have broken our necks
or limbs, or have cut us to pieces on the sharp rocks; as we
advanced, precipices and broad deep fissures became more
frequent, one of the latter we crossed on a small tree four inches in
diameter, which the Orang Kaya felled for the purpose. It bent
beneath us, and was so uncertain a footing, that I was thankful to
have passed it, as the deep chasm below was filled with jagged
rocks. The Malay description of it is true—“sharp axes below, and
pointed needles above, such is the mountain of Molu.”
 It is curious that although we were only 3,500 feet above the level
of the sea, this region resembled what is found on Kina Balu at from
5,000 to 8,000 feet, where shrubs with beautiful flowers abound.
Mr. Low discovered two very interesting little rhododendrons here.
They were epiphytal, of a character different from any he had seen
elsewhere; they had short brown lanceolate leaves, almost an inch
long, in whorls of four or five, on branching brownish stems. Their
flowers were terminal and solitary, and about an inch and a half long;
one was whitish, the other a pinkish purple, and both were
remarkably pretty.
I was leading the way, when I saw a precipice before me which
appeared to be impassable; it ran across the spur we were
ascending, and extended to the ravines on either side. At last we
noticed a narrow fissure, and by supporting myself on the sharp
points of rocks, and steadying myself by a small root, I reached to
within six feet of the top. To get up the rest of the way was not very
difficult, but to get down again appeared unpleasant, and beyond
rose a succession of precipices. As the side of the mountain was at
an angle of 70°, it was easy to see a long way ahead of us. As I
stood balancing myself, it struck me as an impossibility to take
loaded men up such places, so I hailed Mr. Low, who was already
commencing the ascent of the precipice, to stop till I came down to
consult. Two of my most active men, Musa and another, volunteered
to go ahead and explore, and we waited for them at the foot of the
precipice, and took observations.
It is almost impossible to conceive the difficulty of ascending this
mountain. While we were waiting here, a comparatively smooth spot,
we could find no place broad enough for the stand of the barometer,
but were obliged to construct a framework of sticks. No ledge was
more than six inches broad, and Mr. Low made me nervous by
walking out on some not an inch wide whilst in search of flowers or
shells. In fact, at one place my shoe was cut through, and three of
our men had already been sent back with severe wounds, whilst
several of those left were much injured.
 Musa at last joined us with the intelligence that about one hundred
yards beyond there was a precipice, which he and his companion
had found it impossible to pass; so, very unwillingly, we turned our
faces homeward.
Descending was more dangerous than ascending, and Mr. Low
got two severe falls, as his eyes were not always on the next spot to
place his foot, but wandering about in search of plants. I escaped
better, as my thoughts were engrossed by the difficulties and
dangers of the path. It is curious that when these sharp rocks were
struck they gave out a clear ringing, almost metallic, sound; there is
no appearance of stratification: the rocks are of a fine-grained
limestone, and some, when broken, presented a pinkish, others a
whitish or grayish blue colour.
We noticed during our ascent a cave in the limestone rock about
forty feet high, and the roots of the trees growing on the rock above
came down perpendicularly and passed into the fissures in the
stones that formed the floor. Their upper parts were encrusted with
carbonate of lime in the form of stalactites. Water was continually
dripping from the roof of the cave, and in one place had collected in
a little basin, the only time we saw any pure water on the mountain.
The following day we reached our tents and enjoyed a good
dinner, after four days on biscuits and plain boiled rice. In the
evening there came on a thunderstorm, and the rain fell in a manner
I have never before known even in Borneo; it appeared to be coming
down in tubsfull instead of drops.
We attempted next day to go and examine the Batu Rikan, but the
rush of waters prevented our approaching it; in fact, the roar of the
river, as it dashed into the caves and whirled its spray into the air,
made us take precautions not to be swept into the boiling cauldron.
Our return was easy, as the river had risen enough to cover all the
rapids, so that their presence was only marked by the increased
velocity of the water; but when we joined the Limbang it became
more sluggish, and after Sungei Damit its speed had lessened from
five knots to one knot per hour.
 These preliminary expeditions accomplished, having heard that I
could procure Murut guides, I determined to explore the main stream
of the Limbang, which evidently penetrated a long distance into the
interior. The ostensible object of the expedition was to reach those
Muruts who formerly lived upon the Adang, one of the tributaries of
the Limbang, but had now been driven away beyond the mountains
by repeated attacks of the Kayans. This was very vague information,
but it was the best I could procure.
The Bornean Government, on hearing of my intention to start, was
filled with uneasiness, and earnestly requested me to forego my
intention. The Sultan and Pañgeran Tumanggong were especially
anxious, as they feared some accident would happen; they talked of
the head-hunting Kayans, the wandering Pakatans with their
poisoned arrows, the interior filled with strange aborigines who had
never seen a white man or even a Malay, and the dangers of the
river that imperilled our boats, and the wanderings in the jungle that
threatened starvation. The last two were especially dwelt upon, as
they reminded me of my former misadventure in returning from Molu.
They little thought that their descriptions of the interior (from
hearsay) only added to my desire to be away exploring. I knew that
all the threatened dangers really existed, but I determined to take
every precaution, and trust the rest to that fortune which had ever
befriended me in my former journeys.
It being uncertain how long I might be away, it was necessary to
take a large supply of food and ammunition. We prepared two boats,
and both were heavily laden; the first was a garei, a long canoe with
raised sides and regular timbers, forty-five feet by five, flat-bottomed,
not drawing above eighteen inches, with all her crew and stores on
board. She was commanded by a man I have often had occasion to
mention, Musa, a native of the Philippines, not above five feet one
inch in height, but sturdily and strongly built. The crew consisted of
ten men, half of whom were tried followers. An accompanying
tender, containing six men, was only suited for smooth water, being
totally unfitted for the rapids we should find in the interior, but it was
our intention to change it when we reached the Murut villages.
 In this boat was Japer, the most remarkable man of the whole
party. I met him at the village of Blimbing during my first attempt to
ascend Molu, and he was full of stories. I learned that he belonged
originally to the wandering Pakatans, but had been converted to
Islamism. He appeared to have been quite a traveller, having visited
Penang, Malaka, Batavia, and Sarawak. He was familiar with the
English conquest of Java, and talked fluently of Lord Minto. I had
been so accustomed to look upon the great French war as a thing of
the past, that I could scarcely bring myself to believe that this man
could have seen Lord Minto at Malaka or Penang in 1811, but
considering he was at least sixty-three when I first saw him in 1857,
there was really nothing surprising in it.
He also abounded with accounts of Molu; having been at its base
several times, though he had never attempted to ascend it. But he
told us stories of the dwarfs who inhabited the caves, of big eggs
which ten men could not lift; but what particularly fixed the attention
of his native audience was the account of a sight witnessed by a
Tutong man. He said that one day he was seeking edible nests in
holes round the base of the mountain, when, being tired, he fell
asleep in a cleft in the side of a large cavern. He was awoke by lights
flashing in his eyes, and peering from his hiding-place, saw a long
procession of supernatural beings pass slowly by him, each carrying
a torch, and there was one to whom they all paid respect. He was
too frightened to remember the particulars, but he thinks they were
dressed in flowing robes.
Some of my men were in hopes these fearful stories would have
deterred me from my design to explore the mountain; but on my
offering a reward to any one who would take me to the cave where
these wonderful sights were seen, they saw ghosts did not daunt
white men.
I took with me, also, my Chinese boy, Ahtan, to cook and wait
upon me; he had behaved so well during our Kina Balu expeditions
that I liked him to follow me.
As we might meet enemies we prepared a good stock of arms
and ammunition. I took two double-barrels, one rifle, and one smooth
bore—for general service in Borneo the latter is the best weapon of
all—a single-barrelled rifle, an Adams’s revolving carbine, and a
revolving pistol; for the men four long carbines, and a dozen flint
muskets; the last we found much too heavy for carrying through the
forests, and too cumbersome for boats.
Not knowing what kind of people we might meet, I embarked
merchandise of many kinds—hatchets, cloths (yellow, black, red,
and white), looking-glasses, agate and common beads; in fact, four
times as much as was necessary. My instruments, tents, and
baggage, were both weighty and occupied much room, so that when
the crew entered the boat, with five-and-twenty days’ provisions on
board, its gunwales were not many inches above the water.
 CHAPTER II.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL.

Start—Discovery of Bones and ancient Ornaments—At the Site of the

Old City—At the Stone Fort—At Sarawak—The Trusan, or
connecting Passage—Apathy of the Government and People—
Sago—Method of preparing it for the Market—The Limbang River
—The Inhabitants—Winding Stream—The Orang Kaya Upit of
Kruei—Sampirs—Gadong Hill—Scenery—Molu—The Raman
Palm—Delays—Cholera—Orang Kaya Napur—Panglima Prang
—The Weather—State of the River—Origin of the Ponds—Native
Geographical Information—The Upper Country—Cataract—
Enchanted Mountain—Native Travelling—Dreams and Omen
Birds—Religion of Pakatans—Cause of Head-hunting—The Wild
Boar—Trouble in procuring Guides—Pengkalan Tarap—
Desolation of the Country—Causes of it—Selling Children—
Kayan Barbarity—Chinese at Batang Parak—Site of Burnt
Villages—Posts of Houses—Two kinds of Sago Palm—Their
Growth—Kayan Encampment—Cultivation—The River—Rocks—
Salt Springs—Native Explanation—Anecdote—Time to halt—
Birds—Rare, except in certain Districts—Monkeys—Alligators—
The Man-eater—A Challenge accepted—Disappearance of the
Siol Alligator—Combat with two in a Cave—Method of Capturing
them in Siam—Laying Eggs in the Jungle—Ducks and Drakes—
Malay Cookery—Very tasty—Bachang—How to make a Curry—
Anecdotes of Bornean Rule—Attack on the Limpasong Village—
Insurrection of the Aborigines—Forced Trade—Qualities
necessary in a Malay Ruler—The great Mountain of Tilong—
Discomfort of possessing a large Diamond—Diamonds found in
Borneo.
August 25th, 1858.—We started, and as we pulled through the
town in the early morn crowds came to their doors to have a look at
what they no doubt considered as a doomed party.
Our route, after leaving the houses, was up the Brunei river, till we
reached a Trusan, or passage,[1] connecting it with the Limbang. We
soon left the pretty scenery near the capital, and exchanged for it low
banks, with mangrove swamp, occasionally varied by undulating dry
land. After a two hours’ pull, we passed the graves of some rajahs on
the left-hand bank; near them, it is reported, a great many bones are
found scattered about; the natives say it was the site of a battle-field;
gold ornaments are also occasionally discovered, but slightly
covered with soil; it is very probable that a village once stood here.
These discoveries of ancient ornaments are events of not
unfrequent occurrence. Some seven years ago a man was prawn-
fishing with a casting-net, about two miles below the consulate, when
he found some gold buttons entangled among the prawns; he
instantly marked the place, and dived, and found several articles; the
news spread like wildfire, and hundreds flocked to the spot; the mud
was dug over in the neighbourhood to the depth of several feet, and
the river raked with great care; it is reported that a large amount was
found. I afterwards examined the spot; it proved to be the site of the
ancient city of Burnei, of which Pigafetta speaks; it is now called
Kota Batu, or the stone fort, on account of the foundations of some
buildings that have been uncovered there. I must confess to great
disappointment when I visited them; these ancient remains consisted
of nothing but loose stones thrown into a long ditch about eighteen
feet wide.
Great quantities of gold ornaments have likewise been discovered
at the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak river; this was likewise
the site of an old town. I tried on my last visit to find some to examine
the workmanship, but most had been melted up, and the specimens
purchased by Sir James Brooke were lost during the Chinese
insurrection of 1857.
Half an hour afterwards we reached the Trusan, and entered it on
our way to the Limbang; it took us two hours and a half to get
through; the banks are low, at first mangrove, then slight openings
showing small padi fields, then sago with lofty fruit-trees in the
background. Nothing better exemplifies the character of this people
and government than the Trusan we were passing through; in a
straight line the distance cannot be three miles, yet nothing is done
even to clear it of the obstruction of fallen trees, overhanging
branches, and sharp turnings; occasionally it is not above six feet
wide; hundreds pass through it every day; and though they have
often to wait hours till the tide has risen sufficiently to float them over
the obstructions, they will not combine to clear it: fifty men in a week
could render it passable for large boats at half-tide, but there is no
government for useful purposes, and no combination among the
people.
We were very glad to get clear of this Trusan, and enter into an
open space, a sort of long narrow lake connected with the main river
by diminutive passages, enclosing the island of Pandam, a dense
mass of sagotrees. Here there is some sign of life, many houses are
scattered on the banks whose inhabitants are busy preparing the
pith of the palm for transmission to the capital. We saw them to-day
going through every stage, some were felling the tree, others
clearing it of all its leaves and branches and dragging it to the
water’s edge; rafts of prepared palms were floating down alone, but
with certain marks to distinguish the owners. We landed at one spot
and inquired the reason of this unusual bustle; the price had risen,
and every one was anxious to take advantage of the market.
We had around us about a dozen men working; the trees, some of
them fifty feet in length by two and a half in diameter, were first cut in
sections of about a fathom, then split in two; the pith was scooped
out, or rather chopped out with a scoop, as it was very hard and
required great exertion to get it out; the women and children carried
it to the river’s banks to a prepared framework, and threw the rough
sago on a platform of split bamboos: here a man stood who, after
wetting the stuff with pails’ full of water, trod out the flour into a
receptacle below. It seemed a very wasteful process. The coarse
sago is put into leaf cases and sold to the Chinese, who turn it into
the flour and pearl of commerce.
Leaving the island of Pandam we joined the main stream, which
was here about a hundred yards wide; the banks as we advanced
presented the same features, low, with occasional hills to be seen,
cultivation very rough and careless; the sago and rice the most
valuable; the gardens were but poorly looked after, the chief
attention being given to the banana. Occasionally there are very
extensive groves of fruit-trees, but even these are choked with
brushwood. Tame buffaloes are very numerous on the lower part of