Girl Against the Universe

by Paula Stokes

  I smile at her, but at the same time I weigh the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies in my head. Maybe if I try to believe what Dr. Leed believes—that I’m not cursed, that none of the accidents were my fault—it’ll help with my therapy challenges.

  After class, Jade and I head to the locker room together and then down to the tennis courts.

  Once everyone is present, Coach gives us the good news: no one is getting cut this year. I’m going to play third singles behind Kimber and Penn. Jordy gives me a slap on the back. Penn gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Kimber gives me a smile that looks a little forced.

  Jade is going to play second doubles, and she’s thrilled about it. She prefers doubles to singles and is hoping she can move up to first doubles next year when Colleen and Luisa both graduate.

  Today’s practice is the best so far. I win a few points off everyone who I hit against, including Kimber, and my serve has never looked better.

  Jordy calls me later while I’m working through some trig problems. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Homework,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  “What’s it like taking classes online?”

  “Boring,” Jordy says. “And I’m easily distracted, which doesn’t help. But I should be able to get out sometime after eleven, if that’s not too late.”

  “Sounds good.” I’m nervous, but if I can pull this off, I’ll have completed two therapy challenges in one day.

  Everyone at my house is usually asleep by 10:30. I pretend to get ready for bed like always, slipping into my pajamas and making a point of brushing my teeth and washing my face with the bathroom door open so my mom and Tom can’t possibly miss me.

  Then I slide back into my room, close the door, and pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I twist my hair up into a messy bun. As I stare at my reflection, I decide I look a little more tired than usual. Digging in the top drawer of my dresser, I find a brown eyeliner pencil and pull off the cap.

  Then I come to my senses.

  I don’t need to look good for Jordy. I don’t want him to like me like that. Right now I have to focus on me, on getting over my fears. Two of the books about Ireland are stacked on the corner of my dresser. I’ve spread the books around my room so that everywhere I look I see another reminder. Ireland equals goal. Jordy equals . . . tall goofy guy who sucks at math. I smile as I think of the way he described himself. Jordy equals friend.

  But what if Dr. Leed fixes you?

  He won’t. And even if he does, that won’t magically change everything. I’m only meeting Jordy tonight so I can cross another challenge off my list and get one step closer to Ireland.

  And because he volunteered.

  And okay, fine, because he’s sort of funny and I like hanging out with him.

  But none of those things require eyeliner.

  I put on a little anyway.

  The floor outside my room creaks as someone walks by. Quickly, I dive into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, just in case my mom got up to check on Jake and decides to look in on me.

  The creaking stops, and the entire house falls silent. I curl onto my side and rest my phone next to my pillow in case I fall asleep.

  Right at 11:30, my phone buzzes with Jordy’s text message.

  Here

  I get out of bed and peek out my window. An unfamiliar car is parked across the street. I slide the window open and crawl out, narrowly avoiding the prickly pear cactus that grows along the side of the house. My blood pounds in my ears and I hold my breath as my feet hit the ground. This is the first time I’ve ever sneaked out. Ducking low, I dart across the grass and the street. I’m still crouching when I reach the passenger side of Jordy’s car.

  “Car” is actually an understatement. This is more of a street racing death machine, with two thick tailpipes and a pronounced fin on the back. It’s black and sleek with green and silver stripes painted down the sides. This car looks like it’s begging to get into an accident.

  Jordy leans his lanky frame across the front seat and opens the door for me. “Hey.” He’s wearing a backward baseball cap.

  “You might have mentioned you were picking me up in a race car. Didn’t I see this in The Fast and the Furious?”

  “Maybe in a chop shop getting broken down for parts.”

  “Whatever.” God, everything about him is so attention-getting. “Did you buy it with your tennis millions?”

  He snorts. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have no millions. Mitzi here barely ran when I bought her. Not that expensive.”

  “Mitzi?” I ask incredulously. If this car has a name, I’m pretty sure it should be something like Diablo or Black Death.

  “It’s a Mitsubishi Lancer. Honestly, I would have preferred something a little less flashy.” Jordy fiddles with the brim of his hat.

  “Right.” I cough into my fist. “Like you didn’t get it specifically to be a chick magnet.”

  “Clearly it’s a chick magnet, because my sister picked it out,” he says. “She’s into cars but doesn’t have a license yet, so she begged me to get something she and the kid across the street could fix up. It’s a sweet ride, but I’m always worried someone is going to steal it.”

  “Your sister . . .” I arch an eyebrow. “Penn?”

  “The only sister I have. You saw her covered with grease the other day. She’s all about cars, and she’s going to turn sixteen soon. I’ve been thinking about giving it to her.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “Yeah. I’m nice every once in a while.” Jordy clears his throat. “Like now, up in the middle of the night helping my friend with her shrink homework. So are we doing this, or what?”

  I pause. My eyes flick all around me, looking for signs—black cats, ominous clouds, anything that tells me this is a really bad idea. The night looks back at me, suburban, innocent, unthreatening. There’s no reason to be nervous.

  But I am. My breath hitches. “Wait. Have you ever been in an accident?”

  “No.”

  “And how long have you been driving?”

  “For two years. I have my unrestricted license. I’ve never gotten a ticket. I even got an A in Driver’s Ed.”

  “Okay. Give me a second.” I rest my hands on my thighs, my knees wavering beneath me.

  Jordy slides out of the car and jogs around to my side. Gently, he places his hands on my shoulders and turns my body so the car is supporting me and we’re facing each other. I realize he’s dressed all in black.

  “Are you robbing a bank later?” I joke weakly.

  “Sneaking out of my house requires a bit of effort.”

  “You sneaked out to do this?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “But my mom worries constantly that I’m antisocial. She’d probably be happy to catch me sneaking out.”

  “I’m usually in bed by now. But it feels good to do what I want for once, instead of just doing what’s expected of me.” Jordy reaches down and takes my hands in his, squeezes them gently. “I know you can do this, Maguire. Just think—it’ll be one step closer to that trip to Ireland.”

  I nod. Mom. Dad. Grandma Siobhan. Right now Ireland feels like a dream, like it’s not even a real place. “I just need a minute. I haven’t driven with anyone but my mom since the accident. And with her I needed sedatives for months. Even now it’s still hard sometimes.”

  “We can just sit in the car for a while and see if you feel any better, if you want.”

  “Okay,” I say. We both slide into the car. Exhaling deeply, I lean back against the leather seat and look up at the upholstered ceiling. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

  “You’re welcome. But it’s not exactly a huge expenditure of effort on my part.” He shrugs. “Plus, like I said, it gives me a reason to break out of jail.”

  “Sorry I’m being so lame about it. I know you probably have to be up early.”

  “You’re not lame,” Jordy says. “We’re all
afraid of things.”

  I glance over at him. “What are you afraid of?”

  He tilts his head to the side and thinks for a moment. Then he ticks things off on his fingertips. “Grasshoppers. Sharks. Drowning. Disappointing my parents.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Grasshoppers?”

  “Have you ever seen one of those up close? They look like tiny aliens.” He shudders. “And nothing should be able to jump twenty times its height. That’s just wrong.”

  “But you could squish like five of them with one of your giant feet,” I point out.

  “Stop.” Jordy squeezes his eyes shut. “Have you ever stepped on a grasshopper? You can feel their bones or shell or whatever—”

  “Exoskeleton,” I say.

  “Yeah, that. You can feel it crushing beneath you and then there are soft parts and then there’s this pile of . . . stuff and it sticks to your shoe.” He shudders again. “Let’s not talk about grasshoppers anymore, please.”

  I crack a smile. My heart rate slows a little. “Okay. Why do you think you’re going to disappoint your parents?”

  Jordy turns the key in the ignition but doesn’t start the car. “Just to make the seat-warmer work,” he explains. He taps one foot against the floorboards. “My sister thinks I’m a wuss, you know?”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t—”

  “No. She does. And she’s sort of right that I let my parents run my life. But they’ve made a lot of sacrifices for me. My dad used to be a freelance video game designer, but he took a corporate job that paid a ton more and had better benefits after I was born. I’m sure he thought at some point he’d go back to doing what he loved, but then I started playing tennis and seemed to have a natural aptitude, so instead he and my mom took out a second mortgage so they could have the court put in the backyard. My mom quit her job so she could manage my day-to-day stuff.” Jordy turns to face me. “Basically, they stopped doing what they loved so that I can do what I love.”

  “And you love tennis.”

  “I do. I really do. Sometimes the off-court stuff—the interviews, worrying about image and endorsements, etc.—gets me down. But there’s nothing I love more than the feel of playing.” He smiles. “Except my family, of course. So yeah, it’s easy for Penn to say I should demand to be in charge of my own life, but what if my parents are right? What if I insist on going straight to the pro tour and never achieve the success they want for me?”

  “They’re not going to judge you based on your ranking,” I protest.

  “No, but if I do it their way I have a college degree to fall back on. It just means four more years of having absolutely no life of my own outside of school and tennis. But if I bail on school after I graduate next year, I can focus on my game and still have a little bit of time for me.”

  “That’s tough. I can see both sides.”

  “Me too. I think that’s some of why I’m glad you let me help you tonight. Okay, sure. I like being around you, and this gives me an opportunity. But it’s also because I think you can have a normal life, and you’re cheating yourself out of it.”

  Once again, I feel a twinge of envy at his easygoing confidence. I look out through the windshield. The neighbor’s trash cans are casting a shadow across the sidewalk. A gust of wind blows grass clippings down the street. “How can you just say stuff like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “That you like being around me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. What if I don’t say it back?”

  “You didn’t say it back,” Jordy points out. “But you’re here, so I’m going to assume you don’t mind my company.” He looks over at me. “And if you blew me off totally, it’d be a little embarrassing, but I’d survive.”

  “How are you so okay with embarrassing stuff, especially when what happens to you gets spread around to so many people?”

  “I don’t know. When I first started competing, I went to this sports psychologist. He said there were two options for handling awkward moments. A, you pretend it never happened, which is sort of pathetic and delusional, and you’re really only fooling yourself. Option A means even if everyone plays along, they still talk behind your back—you give up the power.”

  “And option B?”

  “B is when you own it, no matter what it is. You play it off, you play it up, you laugh. Everyone still talks, but at least it’s to your face. Option B is all about making things work for you.”

  “And how’s that working for you?”

  “Pretty well, I think,” he says. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a little something. Just to make you feel extra safe.” Jordy reaches around to the backseat and grabs a small black duffel bag. He drops it on my lap. “Check it out. It’s the Jordy Wheeler Deluxe Emergency Kit.”

  I remove the items one at a time: an extra phone, a first aid kit, an emergency roadside kit, and a US Army survival guide. I have the same survival guide at home and similar kits stashed in my mom’s trunk. “You really thought of everything.”

  “I tried,” he says softly. “But if you’re not ready to do this, I’ll be around for a do-over when you are.”

  I’m not ready, but it’s like Dr. Leed says—if I want to go to Ireland, I have to push myself. I reach back and buckle my seat belt. “Let’s go.”

  Jordy nods. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you—to either one of us.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Some people think they can just decree that everything will be fine. The world doesn’t work like that. I’m not sure the world gives a crap about anyone’s promises, well-meaning or otherwise.

  Sometimes the Universe just takes what it wants.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jordy makes a big point of buckling his seat belt, checking his mirrors, and signaling before he pulls away from the curb. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment but then force myself to open them. I can’t possibly prevent an accident if I’m not paying attention. He slowly drives to the end of my street and turns left. My entire neighborhood is dark. I exhale a heavy breath and fold my hands in my lap. So far, so good.

  “You’re doing great,” he says.

  “How far are we going?”

  “Not too far.” He turns again, and a pair of headlights appears on the horizon.

  I slouch back in my seat and try to relax. If I’m ever going to have a normal life, I need to be able to ride with other people. That means figuring out how to handle being on the road with other people, too.

  We pass the car with no issue. Jordy looks over at me. “See. No worries.”

  We leave my neighborhood and head toward an unincorporated area. As we turn onto a state highway, three more cars pass in rapid succession. I dig my fingernails into the flesh of my palms but manage not to visibly flinch.

  Jordy exits onto a service road that winds along the side of a hill. It’s still completely safe—paved, with a guardrail, well maintained. I look straight ahead. My right hand curls protectively around the door handle.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I mutter.

  But as we turn sharply on the switchback, my pounding heart starts to crowd out everything else in my chest. My stomach drops low. I fight for each breath. It’s not just the hill that’s getting to me; it’s the sharp turns too. I’ve survived moving twice with only moderate anxiety because it was just Mom and me in the car and she stuck to the major roads. Big, straight highways. This road has a thousand dark corners, too many blind curves. The tall trees, the hint of salt in the air. It’s all the same. I close my eyes again and I’m back in my dad’s car, five years ago.

  Dad’s humming to himself as he drives. Uncle Kieran is in the passenger seat, alternating between controlling the radio and doing something on his phone. My brother and I are in the backseat. Connor keeps poking me in the ribs.

  “Stop it,” I tell him.

  “No.” He starts singing that playground song abou
t boys and girls kissing in a tree, only he’s inserting my name and the name of the kid who lives down the street. “He totally likes her, Dad,” he says. “He’s always asking me if she can hang out too.”

  My dad laughs. My uncle turns down the radio slightly.

  “That’s just because I’m better at stuff than you are,” I shoot back. “You throw like a girl.”

  “Oooh.” Uncle Kieran turns around from the passenger seat to grin at both of us. “Them’s fighting words.”

  Connor pokes me again. “She’s just trying to act tough because she knows she loooooves him.”

  “Shut up,” I say. I lean sharply toward Connor as my dad navigates the twisting mountain road.

  “Make me,” Connor taunts, reaching out to poke me again.

  “Oh, I’ll make you.” I slug him in the arm. “I’ll shut you up for good.”

  And then Dad swears loudly, the kind of language he only uses when he thinks my brother and I aren’t listening. At first I think it’s because Connor and I are fighting, but then I see the truck bearing down on us, in our lane, the metal grill leering like the face of a monster. There’s nowhere for my dad to go . . .

  A sharp gasp escapes my lips. Tears push their way out of my eyes, and I look toward the side window. The night looks back at me, dark silhouettes of Southern California pines in their feathery dresses.

  “Maguire.” Jordy touches my arm.

  I pull away. “Both hands on the wheel.” My words come out strangled and broken.

  “Hang in there.” Jordy makes another sharp turn, slowing the car almost to a stop to navigate the curving road. Then he pulls into a parking lot for a scenic viewpoint.

  I hold my breath until he shifts into park and turns off the ignition. Then, suddenly and violently, I start to cry.

  “Oh God, Maguire. I am so sorry.” Jordy jumps out of the car and comes around to my side. He unbuckles my seat belt and half-drags me out of the car.

  My muscles are gelatin and I start to sink to the cool ground of the parking lot. The night air is chillier up here. Goosebumps form on my skin.