Girl Wonder

by Alexa Martin

  Was this the end of the road for our dad? With the temperature dropping by the second, and our clothes wet from the day, the night could prove deadly for us all.

  James Henry snapped his fingers. “Traction. We need traction.”

  “Huh?”

  “Help me,” he said, jumping out of the car.

  He searched around a moment then started tearing off branches from trees and bushes. These he piled behind the tires. “The wheels can grip on to this stuff,” he said. “Much better than they can to the snow.”

  Together we worked to create a mini ramp.

  One more time, I got behind the wheel and started the car. James Henry waited outside to direct me.

  Please, I prayed again. Please.

  The car rolled backward. James Henry waved me on. Somehow I reversed onto the road without lurching. “Nice job,” my brother said, hopping back into the car. I found the sweet spot and shifted into first gear. We were on our way.

  The road was even more treacherous than I’d imagined—as twisted as a coiled snake and every bit as deadly. Though I didn’t look, I felt the airiness of each drop-off we slid past. The trees—weighted down by snow—leaned over the road, creating a weird tunnel-like effect. Icy clumps plummeted from their branches and hit the hood. The fragments skittered off as slippery as mercury beads.

  I was scared. As scared as I’d ever been of public speaking. As scared as I’d been on my acid trip. This time, though, the dangers were real. And I couldn’t hide in a closet. I prayed another car would appear. But this was a dead-end road and nobody had any business with the ski resort this time of night.

  In spite of the defrost being on high, the car kept fogging up. Hunched over the wheel, my knuckles white, I navigated through one shrinking circle of clear glass. James Henry tried to help out by wiping the windshield down with his sleeve.

  Dad drifted in and out of consciousness. He was moaning a lot. I shook my head. This was crazy—me doing this when I barely knew how to drive. It was all so very surreal. Acid had nothing on a real-life crisis. No doubt I would have found the situation comical…if it hadn’t been so deadly serious.

  The wipers began to ice up. They scraped over the glass with a strange shuddering sound and failed to remove any moisture. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop the Audi now. The hill was just too steep and slick. My eyes burned from staring at the snow-blanketed windshield. I would kill us all before the night was through.

  “I have an idea,” James Henry said suddenly.

  He dug around in the backseat and retrieved the ice scraper. Next, he unfastened his seat belt, rolled down his window, and climbed up on the ledge of the door.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted. “I don’t need you dead!”

  “Just keep the car from crashing, okay? If you start to slide, remember that you’re supposed to turn the wheel in the direction of the skid.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “It just came to me. Remember—I read your driver’s handbook.”

  I gave him a quick glance. With one hand holding the roof for balance, he leaned out over the windshield to scrape the ice. He looked like some crazy snow elf. But for the moment, his method seemed to be working.

  My arms shook from the effort of steering the Audi. Sweat pooled beneath my armpits. I was reaching some kind of exhaustion point. To keep myself going, I conjured up an imaginary stadium full of people.

  “Go, Charlotte,” they shouted. “You can do this!”

  Off to the left, the Nooksack River flashed silver in the darkness. I could hear the water rolling over stones and logs, a powerful but steady sound. I pretended it was the roar of the crowd.

  It had stopped snowing. The clouds were starting to break. There were even a few stars dappling the night sky like tiny drops of spilled paint. The silhouettes of the mountains, so deep and dark, were like black holes with their utter absence of light.

  Black holes. I knew something about black holes. Amanda.

  Neal. Debate. Acid. Senior year. Shady Grove. My dad. I was the biggest black hole of them all. Or I had been, at least, because that’s how I’d seen myself. That’s how I’d seen myself before Milton came along that day in the woods. Sometimes it takes another person to help you see yourself. Sometimes it takes a mushroom boy.

  According to Albert Einstein’s general theory of relativity, a black hole is a region of space from which nothing, including light, can escape. Albert Einstein. A brilliant mathematician. The world’s most beloved genius. But Einstein was wrong about one thing. You could escape a black hole. It wasn’t easy. It defied the laws of gravity. It defied the laws of mathematics. But it was possible. Just barely. I was the proof.

  James Henry scraped. I steered. Somehow, the miles passed.

  Dad was fully conscious now and swearing with great gusto. My brother rapped on the windshield. “I see lights! There’s a tavern up ahead.”

  Someone waved to me from the finish line. If I squinted just right, I could see that she looked exactly like me.

  Some notes from my senior year:

  1) It takes a long time for a broken hip to heal.

  2) Nothing hurts worse than a broken heart.

  3) The body has an amazing capacity to mend itself.

  4) Most adults fear public speaking more than death.

  5) Milton Zacharias is a damn good cook and kisser.

  6) Morels (sautéed in garlic and butter) taste like sunshine.

  7) My brother is one cool kid—even if he is a genius.

  8) The Sexy Victorians is coming soon to bookstores everywhere.

  9) Evergreen State College gives evaluations—not grades.

  10) Some people get to glide through life.

  11) No one is truly invincible.

  12) Hot-pink hair is so last year.

  This book exists because of the many people who have loved and encouraged me over the years.

  Sara Crowe—thank you for taking a chance on me and for being the best super-agent lady in the world. In the very best of ways, you are a true “girl wonder.” To Emily Schultz—thank you for your friendship, your brilliance, and for understanding Charlotte even better than I understood her myself. The Disney-Hyperion team has been tireless in their devotion to this book. Thank you especially Catherine Onder, for always being so graceful, intelligent, and professional.

  Thank you Susan Cheever, Bob Shacochis, George Packer, and the late Lucy Grealy for taking me seriously when I was a graduate student at the Bennington Writing Seminars.

  The Olympia Trail Runners, Route 16 Running & Walking, and Girls Night Running gave my mind and body a much-needed outlet, while the great women of Catherine Place helped to tutor my soul.

  Brian and Dayna Martin have both been tremendous spiritual mentors, as have their amazing children (one of whom prayed very hard at the tender age of six that his auntie’s book would be published).

  For reading early drafts and for their friendship, I am deeply indebted to Dj Knight, Laura Klasner, Meg Bommarito, Michele Perrin Roberts, Lisabeth Kirk, Shannon Aguilar Carson, Jaimie Shaver Smith, Holly Knowles, Stacey Schulte, and Stephen Duncan. A special thanks to Terry, Kay, and Susie Pruit. You will always be family in my heart.

  Thank you to all my extraordinary writing sisters, especially Lindsey Leavitt, Kristen Tracy, Peggy Payne, Audrey Young Crissman, Suzanne Young, and Lisa Schroeder.

  For pulling me through the darkest and toughest hours of 2009/2010, a loud shout-out goes to Brenda Nipp, Kim Mosher, Kim Webb, Lindsay Bullis, Erin Walker, Rachel Boyd, Amelia Tockston, and most especially to my uncle Harry Branch, the best guard dog a girl could ever have.

  Two people deserve an entire book of homage. My brother David Martin (a.k.a. “slasher” for his editing style) helped me to find my voice and my writing form, taught me about this little thing called “plot,” and helped me turn a glimmer of an idea into an entire book. It’s your turn now to cross the finish line, bro. Louise Parsons was the one who firs
t urged me to write for teenagers. Her friendship has been one of the greatest sustaining forces of my life—as has her jewelry! Who knew guardian angels came with such kick-ass fashion sense and thick Southern accents?

  Lastly, I would like to thank the strangers who took me at my word in the early days of my writing career and assured me that I would make it if I followed my dream. There is no doubt in my mind that the single greatest gift you can give another person is to believe in them.