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I usually considered myself a sunny person. People often underestimated how much your environment affects the type of person you grow up to be, but I knew growing up in Encinitas injected a type of sunshine in my veins that most people didn't have. The same could be said for Gemma, whose generally chilly disposition mirrored the dismal overcast of the city she'd called home for over 10 years.
She looked in her element as I caught sight of her through the crowd, standing on the train platform with a black jumper and sharp, dark aviator sunglasses, waving her hand casually as she was engrossed in what seemed to be a displeasing phone conversation. I could practically feel the eye roll behind the lenses of her sunglasses. I'd taken a train right from France, still lugging around my surfboard and some sand in questionable places from the Roxy Pro event in Hossegor out on the coast.
I'd secured an actual, legitimate 3rd place, which kept me in the top 10 in the world rankings. Despite the beating my body took, my mind was elsewhere, floating on a cloud and not contemplating the drop back down. I was going to enjoy my weekend in London with my best friend, and nothing was going to fuck that up for me. Still suckered into her phone call, Gemma didn't initially notice me walking up to her. With a smirk curling up my lips, I popped up in front of her, nearly causing her to jump out of her Gucci trainers.
Gemma put her hand to her chest as she hung her phone up with her other hand, shaking her head slowly at me. I pulled her into a hug, squeezing the near life out of her and enveloping myself in her citrusy, woodsy smell.