Girl Against the Universe

by Paula Stokes

  After a minute, she digs in her racquet bag and comes up with a shiny cellophane packet. She opens it and pulls out a handful of thin green rectangles. “Salted nori,” she says. “You want some?”

  I shake my head. My stomach is doing those figure skater maneuvers again. As Jade crunches her pregame snack, I go back to watching out the window. The bus turns off the highway, and the traffic finally thins out. My heartbeat slows, but we’ve still got a few miles to go. I continue to imagine exactly what I would do at each moment in time if something were to happen. I would call for help. Then I would do a quick survey of the girls and see who was hurt the worst. I would put pressure on bleeding wounds. I would make sure anyone with neck or back injuries stayed still. I would help everyone else out the back of the bus or one of the windows.

  I repeat these thoughts over and over in my head to stay calm, but I think what helps more is having Jade and Penn next to me. I figured they’d both think I was crazy for having a phobia of riding the bus, but it seems to be no big deal to either one of them. I don’t know if it’s surviving the therapy challenges or confiding in my new friends, but I feel stronger.

  I like the person I’m becoming.

  “I want to be this person,” I murmur.

  “Hmm?” Jade smiles at me.

  “Nothing. Just . . . thank you.” The bus makes a sharp turn into the parking lot of Dustin High School. “We’re here,” I say, joy and relief threading through my voice.

  “Let’s get this done.” Kimber strolls up from the back, giving each of us a fist bump on the way out. She pauses at my row, a smile quirking her lips. “Don’t let us down,” she says.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  My opponent is an Indian girl named Naima, who Kimber says normally plays second singles. Apparently the Dustin coach rearranged their lineup to sacrifice first singles in an attempt to win second, third, and fourth. It’s a shady move, but it’s legal. I’m more determined than ever to win after I hear that.

  As Naima and I warm up, I start analyzing her game. She has a solid topspin serve, weak but consistent ground strokes, and the footwork to get to absolutely everything.

  Everything.

  We each take a few practice serves and then get started. Naima wins the first game easily. Her serve shoots out wide or jams me inside on every point. She returns each forehand I pound at her as a topspin lob so that I have to wait for it to fall. It’s like she’s my exact tennis opposite. I find myself down zero games to three before I know it, just because of stupid errors I make. Jordy and Coach flag me down as Naima and I change sides.

  “You’re playing into her hands,” Jordy says. “She doesn’t have your strength. She doesn’t have your cross-court angles. All she’s doing is hitting back your shots and waiting for you to make a mistake.”

  “Which you keep doing because you’re impatient,” Coach says. “I know you said you have someplace to be later, but give them a call between sets and tell them you’re going to be late. And then settle down and let her make the mistakes for a while.”

  Jordy gives me a questioning look, but I shake my head. “Okay,” I say. “I will. You guys are right about me being impatient. I hate waiting for those stupid lobs to fall.”

  “Some of them are short enough that you can pick them out of the air if you want,” Jordy says. “Slam them right at her if you need to, just until she stops hitting ten or twelve of them each game.”

  I frown at him. “I’m not going to aim for her. You know that.”

  “Then aim at her feet, or angle your shots so far into the corners that she’ll have to run down to Court One for a chance to return them.”

  I chew on my lower lip. “Okay. Thanks for the tips.”

  Kimber has already won her first set, and Penn is currently winning four games to one. Dustin’s top two doubles teams both went to state last year, so chances are they’ll win those matches. My match could make a real difference here.

  I keep Coach’s words in my head and slow down, returning each of Naima’s strokes in a controlled manner, not going for winners until she hits something I can easily put away. I make my way up to the net a few times and Naima falters, attempting to lob over my head but coming up short. I take Jordy’s advice and pick the lobs out of the air, overhead-slamming them at the far corners of the court.

  She still wins the first set six games to four, but I’ve made things a lot closer.

  I win the second set six games to four. Looking around, I’m surprised to see that everyone except our third doubles team has finished playing. We have two wins and three losses. Third doubles is up in the third set, but I have to win or it doesn’t matter.

  “Don’t get psyched out,” Jordy tells me during the break between sets. “The tide has turned in your favor. You’ve got the momentum.”

  “Momentum,” I repeat, liking the way the word sounds in my mouth. Jordy rests his hand against the chain-link fence, two of his fingers curling through one of the diamond-shaped holes.

  I reach up to touch his hand with my own. “But what if I lose?”

  He chuckles. “Then you lose. And you get her next time.”

  My chest tightens, and I’m suddenly conscious of the muscle fibers twitching in my legs. I’m conscious of everything—the soft jingling of the fence as one of our doubles players hits a ball against it in frustration; the murmuring of the rest of the team, who are now all in the first row of the bleachers; a single drip of sweat making its way down the back of my neck. I have never wanted to hug Jordy as much as I do now. I lean forward and rest my forehead against the metal for a moment, my fingers squeezing his. Then I look up at him again. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

  “You’re welcome. Now go get her.”

  I jog back to my place on the baseline with renewed energy. I dance back and forth, head up, shoulders back. I can do this. I know it.

  Naima serves a ball into the net. I take a couple of large steps into the court. Ready. Waiting. She serves a second ball into the net, and I cross to the left side of the court. This time she hits a solid serve and I have to lunge to return it. We rally back and forth, both of us covering the entire court.

  Eventually Naima hits the ball into the net, and I win the point.

  And then the next point.

  It takes a while, but I win the game.

  I’m up 5–4 and 40–15 when I approach the net on a soft-service return. Naima goes for a passing shot instead of one of her trademark lobs. I leap for it, watching the ball all the way to my strings. It ricochets off my racquet and lands just barely on the other side of the net. There’s no way Naima can get to it before the ball bounces twice.

  I win the match.

  We beat Dustin.

  Clapping erupts from outside the fence. I turn to see not just Jordy and Coach but the entire team lined up behind my court. Even Kimber is clapping.

  Coach shakes hands with the Dustin coach. Jordy finds me after the rest of my teammates finish congratulating me. He scoops me up into a hug and lifts me off the ground, spinning me in a slow circle. Then he sets me back down and kisses me. A couple of the girls hoot and holler.

  “Jordy,” I murmur between kisses. “What are you doing?”

  “Kissing you,” he says. “And I don’t care who sees.”

  Coach clears his throat. “All right, you two. This is a school-sanctioned event, remember?” He gives us a meaningful look and then wanders off with his clipboard.

  “Coach said you had someplace to go right after the match.” Jordy lowers his voice. “Do you need a ride?”

  Before I can answer, Colleen wedges her body between us. “Oh no you don’t, Lover Boy,” she says. “The MVP is coming with us.”

  “Right.” Kimber loops her arm around my shoulders like we’re best pals. “Party at my house.”

  I look around at the other girls, some of whom are still hugging and high-fiving each other. I can’t believe no one is making a big deal out of J
ordy kissing me. I can’t believe they called me the MVP. For the first time in a long time, I feel like part of something. I shake my head. “There’s nowhere else I need to be.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The bus ride back to school is its own kind of surreal. I take my same seat and pop in my earbuds, planning to keep watch out the window and be ready in case of an accident, but Kimber and the rest of the team have other ideas.

  First I’m forced to pose for several selfies with Kimber and Jade, which are immediately put online with captions like “Maguire for the win!” Then it turns out that Kimber and Colleen recorded some of my weak points during my third set, which they insist on replaying for me so they can give me tips.

  “See how your body is sort of facing the net when you start your backswing here?” Colleen shows me a slow-motion clip. “Try and remember to get yourself sideways, even for an overhead.”

  “Got it,” I say, nodding to her. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “You did all right, though,” Kimber says. “I didn’t think you had it in you to come back after you lost the first set. You should be proud.”

  “Thanks.” I’m pretty sure “all right” is high praise coming from Kimber. Maybe Jordy was right and she never had an issue with me. Maybe it was always all about tennis for her.

  Jordy is waiting for us back at school. “I was going to offer to give you a ride home, because of your tire,” he says.

  Penn hops off the bus behind me. “I can put her spare on. She’s not going home, remember? We’re all going over to Kimber’s house. Impromptu celebration.” She glances back at Kimber and Colleen. “I’m not sure if boys are allowed.”

  Kimber strolls over. “No boys, but he can come because he doesn’t really count.” She reaches up and ruffles his hair. “Not to me anyway.”

  “You guys go.” Jordy tosses his keys to Penn. “I’ll put Maguire’s spare on and drive her car over to Kimber’s.”

  Penn bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. “Holy crap. You’re going to let me drive Mitzi?”

  “If Maguire is okay with that,” he says. “Otherwise maybe let her drive?”

  “I have no desire to drive Mitzi,” I say. “But what if we get pulled over?”

  “I got my provisional license last week,” Penn says breezily. “I’ll tell them I’m driving other people under the medical-necessity exception. One of you will just have to look extra sick.”

  “On it!” Jade doubles over and clutches her stomach. “We didn’t want to break the law, officer,” she says in a thick Southern accent. “But I do declare, I’m feeling quite under the weather.”

  They both burst into giggles. I roll my eyes at Jade and turn back to Jordy. “I think I can trust her to go a couple of miles, but I can call my mom about the tire. It’s not your job to fix it.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says. “It won’t take me that long.”

  Penn looks suspiciously at her brother. “You sure you won’t drop her car on your foot? I don’t want Mom and Dad to blame me if you do.”

  “Just go.” He takes my keys. “Have fun. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I watch the road and the mirrors as Penn drives Jordy’s car back to their house. Jade sits in the backseat, shaking out her hair and using her phone’s reverse camera as a mirror to apply eyeliner.

  “Why are you putting on makeup?” I ask.

  “No reason,” Jade says. “No reason at all.”

  Penn glances in the rearview mirror. “You got a thing for Kimber’s brother or something?”

  “Kimber has a brother?” Jade asks innocently.

  “Darius,” Penn says. “Freshman at San Diego State.”

  “Darius. Hmm. I think he might have been in my French class last year.” Jade puts the eyeliner away and pulls out a lipstick. “Is he single?”

  “No idea.” Penn pulls Jordy’s car up onto their driveway. “See. Safe and sound.”

  It feels like another accomplishment, one I didn’t even have on my challenge list. I can barely believe that I’ve gone from not feeling safe in the car with my stepdad to riding with a brand-new driver. And now I’m headed to a party.

  The three of us get out and walk up the street to Kimber’s. On the way, I think about Ireland. I can almost see myself in an aisle seat, watching attentively while the flight attendants go through the safety precautions.

  Music blares from inside Kimber’s house. I knock gently on the door and then, when no one answers, a bit more firmly. After a few seconds, Colleen opens the door, a red plastic cup clutched in one hand.

  “Ladies! Welcome.” She gives each of us an entirely too-friendly hug. I can smell alcohol on her breath.

  Kimber’s living room is arranged similarly to Jordy’s, with a pair of leather sofas flanking a big screen TV, a brick fireplace adorned with tennis trophies off to the side. “Everyone is outside,” Colleen says. “Come on.”

  I do a quick check of the living room—there’s no fire in the fireplace, no electrical cords stretched across any walkways, no obvious hazards that I can see. So far, so good.

  Jade tugs me toward the sliding glass door that leads out onto the deck.

  Kimber, Mae, and the rest of the doubles players are seated at a big round patio table. Behind them, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the grassy lawn. A giant tree takes up one corner of the yard, a tree house perched in its major branches. I try to reconcile Kimber with being the kind of kid who hung out in a tree house, but I can’t. I slide into an open seat across from her and next to Penn.

  “I ordered pizza,” Kimber says. “Meat and vegetarian. It should be here in twenty.”

  “Cool,” Jade says. “I am starving. And thirsty.”

  There’s a stack of red cups and a pitcher of what looks like limeade but smells like alcohol in the center of the table. Penn and Jade each pour themselves a drink. Jade grabs a cup for me, but I shake my head.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Aww. Something else you two have in common.” Colleen nudges Kimber, who gives her a glare.

  “There’s bottled water and soda in the fridge,” Kimber says. “I’d get it for you but . . .” She gestures to her left and right. “I’m a little trapped back here.”

  “No problem. I’ll grab it.” I glance around the table. “Anyone else need anything while I’m up?”

  “I’ll take another sparkling water.” Kimber pulls the ponytail holder from her hair and shakes out her dark brown tresses.

  I head back inside and screech to a stop when I see that the kitchen is full of boys. Three boys, to be exact, all in jeans and T-shirts. They look a little bit older than me. They’re all clustered around the fridge.

  The tallest of the three turns around. He’s got the same dark skin and piercing gaze as Kimber. “Who might you be?” he asks.

  “Hi. I’m Maguire. I’m a friend of, I mean, I play tennis with Kimber.”

  One of the other boys laughs. “I love how no one actually describes themselves as your sister’s friend.”

  “She doesn’t have friends,” the tall boy says. “She’s got opponents. Maybe a few assistants on a good day.” He winks at me. “I’m Darius. And this is Shawn and Kyle. Please tell me you guys ordered food. Everything in the fridge is labeled low fat or low sodium.”

  “That’s child abuse,” I say.

  “Right?” Darius grins. “A growing boy needs his fat and sodium.”

  “Your sister said something about pizza.”

  “Excellent,” Darius says. “You guys chilling out on the deck?”

  “Yeah.”

  The boys head for the door, and I start to follow them. Then I realize I forgot the water, so I double back to grab a couple of bottles.

  By the time I get back outside, my original seat is taken, and I end up sitting next to Shawn. The boys chat about stuff going on at college while Kimber talks about our upcoming matches. I mostly nod and smile, trying to keep track of both conversations but not really engaging i
n either. My eyes scan the table, the deck, and the yard at regular intervals. Eventually, somebody suggests playing a drinking game. Darius heads back inside to find some cards, and I slide out of my chair and walk to the far end of the deck. I pull the ponytail holder out of my hair and rub my scalp with my fingertips. Leaning my arms on the wooden railing, I close my eyes and let the cool breeze wash over my skin.

  “Hey,” a deep voice says.

  I open my eyes. Shawn is standing next to me, and I get a good look at him for the first time. He’s broad-chested, with short, rusty-colored hair and bright green eyes. When he smiles, I notice that one of his front teeth is a little crooked. It’s the kind of flaw that would bother me if it were mine, but somehow it works with the rest of his looks. “I brought you a drink,” he says. He has the faintest hint of a Southern accent. He holds out a red plastic cup.

  “I don’t drink,” I say. “But thanks.”

  Shawn puts the cup on the railing between us. “How come I’ve never seen you around before, Maguire?”

  “I just moved to Pacific Point this summer.”

  “Ah. I graduated last year. I used to play on the boys’ team. And also the junior tour. Kimber and I went to a lot of the same events.”

  “So you probably know Jordy too, then,” I say.

  “I do.” Shawn hops up on the railing and sits facing me. “Are you one of his many female fans?”

  My cheeks redden. I have no idea how to respond to that. “He helped me with my serve,” I say finally. I stare down at the backyard. Shawn seems completely stable, but if he fell backward he’d fall about fifteen feet. “You’re making me nervous sitting up there.”

  “Aww. Worried about me? That’s cute.” He hops down and leans against the railing. “So how do you like it here?”

  “It’s not bad.”

  He bumps his forearm against mine. Next to his sun-kissed skin I look like I’m made of vanilla ice cream. “I’m guessing you spend all your free time at the beach?”

  I smile. “Not really.”

  “How are you enjoying being part of the team?”

  “I’m having fun, but I’m not doing so great. Right now my record is fifty-fifty.”