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Fic: "5 Times Veronica Mars Failed at Surfing"

I’m obscenely late posting this. Many, many apologies. Hope you enjoy thisfrenchroast.

Title: 5 Times Veronica Mars Failed at Surfing
Author: redbrunja
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Veronica, Keith, Duncan, Logan & Weevil.
Author’s Note: Written for frenchroast. This also gleefully ignores anything after the first season.
Summary: "The chlorine on her lips tasted like tears." Snapshots from the life of an atypical Californian girl.


( 5 Times Veronica Mars Failed at Surfing )

When the Mars family first moved to Neptune, Keith made a huge deal about how close they were to the water, and promised Veronica that their first free Saturday would be spent at the beach. They’d become real Californians- wasn’t it required that they be able the sing all the verses of “Life In The Fast Lane” and know how to surf?

Veronica had no real opinion about surfing, but moving into their new apartment was hot, sweaty, miserable work, even if Lianne kept them well supplied with cold water and lemonade, so Veronica was sure to make a big deal over how much she wanted her dad to teach her something that didn’t involve boxes and carrying stuff.

By the time they got to a free Saturday that Keith didn’t need to be at the office, and Lianne wasn’t making them unpack the endless, endless boxes (come on, Veronica thought, why did they need all this stuff?) there was a chilly breeze blowing off the water and waves that looked like they had serrated edges. Only the hard-core surfers were about, and even they looked less than thrilled with the weather.

Keith and Veronica stared at the water. Veronica had her hands shoved deep in the pockets of  her sweatshirt, and Keith was staring at the water mulishly.

“Well, it looks rough but–”

“Oh, Dad,” Veronica sighed.

A long pause.

“Matinee showing?” Keith offered.

Veronica smiled. “I checked the paper this morning-  The Blue Curtain is playing The Third Man at 1:45.”

“Well, then, sweetie, looks like I’m buying the popcorn.”

“And the tickets,” Veronica interjected.

“Are you trying to clean the old man out?” Keith asked, putting his hand to his chest in shock.

“Yep,” she said cheerfully.

“Well, in that case, I’d better buy you ice cream as well.”

“Really?”

Baby, You’re A Lost Art

Logan and Duncan were talking at once, telling her different things, and Veronica kept turning her head from one to the other, trying to figure out what information was important, and thus would keep her from drowning horribly.

Lilly was under house arrest due to her abysmal Trig grades, so both Duncan and Logan had decided that they needed to teach Veronica to surf.

In her head, surfing had involved much more lying on the beach.

“Don’t worry about catching a wave right away, the point is to be comfortable–”

“The whole point of surfing is catching a wave, dude, she should at least be trying,” Logan interrupted.

Veronica straddled the surfboard between them. Logan and Duncan were standing on either side of her. The gentle swells that had looked infinitesimal on the beach and in the water were bobbing her surfboard up and down alarmingly.

Logan gripped the surfboard harder, which Veronica appreciated, even if he did look really annoyed.

He exhaled noisily.

“Look,” he said, speaking directly to her instead of arguing with Duncan, “first I’ll teach you how to stand up, okay?”

Veronica nodded.

“First lie down on the board.... as much as I enjoy the view Mars, on your stomach. Lie down on your stomach.”

She kicked his ribs with her left foot. Logan grinned wickedly at her.

“Okay, now just push yourself up. Don’t kneel first.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. Actually, once she was standing on the board, Logan holding it steady, it was almost fun. She had a great view of the beach, and it wasn’t that hard to keep her balance. It was almost like being on a little stage

She looked down, and both Logan and Duncan were staring at her.

Veronica grinned back at both of them, and decided that now would be the perfect time to practice her latest pep rally routine.

Logan waited until the final “gooooo, pirates!” was out of her mouth and then flipped the board over.

Veronica ended up with water in her sinus for two weeks.

She Was Terminally Pretty

How hard could it be to find a strapless satin dress in give-me-a-ticket red for under forty bucks?

Veronica drummed her fingers on the desk in irritation, sighed, and clicked the next link.

“What will be be behind door number two?” she muttered to herself as the page loaded. “A heavenly dress for an unholy price or a dress that I wouldn’t wear to a funeral?”

The page finished loaded.

Veronica gritted her teeth.

And she’d thought this would be less irritating than dodging ‘09ers at the mall.

Surfin’ Safari

“I can’t believe it that I lost a bet to you,” Veronica said in shock, still appalled. “About surfing.”

Weevil didn’t even try to hide his smug grin.

“Don’t bet against the house, baby,” he said, holding a beat up surfboard under one arm and grinning unrepentantly at her. “Especially not when the stakes involve you in a swim suit.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I really wanted to get my car fixed,” she muttered almost inaudibly, the sand feeling nice and warm between her toes and the waves rolling towards her in a way that she would call inviting if she wasn’t going to be expected to float on top of them.

“Can’t I just pay you money or blackmail someone for you?” Veronica counter-offered,  setting her beach bag down next to Backup. He obediently folded his paws over it and started glaring at the other beach-goers with a suspicious look that reminded her of her father.

“Don’t be a wimp, Mars,” Weevil said, “If those blond morons you date can master this, so can you.”

“Can't argue there,” she admitted and fifteen minutes later she was floating on the ocean while Weevil explained the basics.

It sounded remarkably similar to what Duncan had told her two years before, only Weevil was staring at her with sharp, dark eyes, making sure she understood.

Veronica was thinking she might have some fun this Saturday when two boys about her age who looked stupid or stoned or sloshed, or all three, honed in on Weevil.

“What are you doing on our beach?” Frat Boy #1 said belligerently.

Weevil turned to face them, and Veronica watched the muscles in his neck tense.

“Your beach?” he asked and Moronic Sidekick #2 nodded.

“And I don’t think you should be bothering nice girls like her, either,” Frat Boy #1 continued.

Weevil laughed. Veronica’s first thought was that he’d found anyone calling her a nice girl hilarious, and then she realized that he was slowly moving towards them, wading through waist high water, and there was no humor in his voice at all.

Also, it looked like somebody’d called the cops, because there appeared to be two gentleman in tan uniforms approaching.

If it looked like a set up and smelled like a set up...

Veronica leaned over and managed to get her hands on Weevil’s bare shoulders before he wadded out of reach.

He glanced back at her, she motioned towards the cops, and Moronic Sidekick #2 took a swing at Weevil.

Weevil dodged without even turning his head, Veronica jerked, lost her balance and sploshed into the drink. When she regained her feet and rubbed the salt water out of her eyes, Weevil was in the process of thoroughly pummeling Frat Boy #1,  Moronic Sidekick #2 was already floundering about moaning, and the cops were yelling at them.

Veronica ended up spending the rest of her Saturday in the police department waiting room, wearing a swimsuit and damp cut-offs while Cliff argued with Lamb. She left when it was clear the lawyer was winning, but before she’d have to see Weevil.

When she went to start her car Sunday morning, the engine fired beautifully, the steering had been adjusted, and the tank was full.

Veronica revved the engine just because, enjoying the way the growl climbed flawlessly up to a throaty growl and smoothly back down, and went to go get waffles and Wallace.

Will someone please call a surgeon,
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart?

Logan was floating in the pool, lounging on his surf board and bobbing gently in the tiny waves.

He was also completely hammered.

If the empty and half-empty bottles scattered around the edge of the pool weren’t a big enough clue that Logan was plastered, the little wave he gave her before remembering that he loathed her would have settled any doubts she had about his sobriety.

“Sight-seeing, Veronica?” he slurred at her after a minute, propping himself up on his elbow.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” she said softly.

Logan fumbled his sunglasses down his nose, dropping a fifth of scotch into the pool in the process.

He started hard at her, eyes still sharp through a haze of liquor, then shoved his sunglasses back up. He laughed, sound hoarse and false, and said, “You didn’t do too badly. It’s not as if one Echolls isn’t the same as the other. Just ask Lilly.”

Veronica’s lips tightened.

“Get out of your pool before you qualify for the Darwin Awards and fulfill the wildest dreams of the paparazzi,” she snapped.

“No,” Logan said, petulant and childish. She had zero patience for the drunk and self-righteous.

She stalked to the pool house, grabbed a long handled net and stomped back, bottles knocking against her toes.

Logan had returned to his recumbent pose on his surfboard . She wondered if he’d finally passed out. She wondered if she cared. Veronica jammed the pole handle against his board and shoved him towards the opposite side of the pool.

He sat up, swearing viciously, and flailed about, trying to get back to the center of the pool.

Veronica walked around the pool and tried to lever him out.

Logan gripped her shoulder, harder than she’d expected form someone so sloshed, she overbalanced, Logan’s surf board slid out from under him and they both tumbled into the water.

Veronica floundered to her feet, hampered by Logan’s death grip on her, and wanted to slug him. Only the still vivid black eye from the bridge prevented her from doing so.

Logan  looked at her and started to laugh, and she wasn’t surprised when his voice went thick and then he was holding her tight and pressing his face into her neck while his shoulders shook.

Veronica started into the blinding, perennially cheerful Californian sky.

The chlorine on her lips tasted like tears.