Girl Against the Universe (11 page)

“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.

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 about 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, slow
ing 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.

“I got you,” Jordy says. “I got you.” I lean on him as he leads me across the lot. I don't know where we're going. I don't care. All I know is that I can breathe again.

We end up on the bench of the scenic overlook, the sky awash in tiny points of light, the ocean just barely visible on the horizon. Off in the distance, a lighthouse blinks, slow and steady. I try to match my breathing to its winking light. Gradually my sobs subside. I look down at the winding road, and my stomach twists into knots.

Jordy shrugs out of his Windbreaker and gives it to me. “You're shaking,” he says.

“It's not from the cold.” I let him wrap the jacket around me anyway.

“I'm so sorry.” He fumbles with the zipper, the wind threatening to steal away his hat as he tries to zip me up.

I take the ends of the fabric from his hands and zip the jacket. The sleeves come all the way down over my hands.
“You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

“I hate that I made you this upset.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

“Minor panic attack. No big deal.” I blot my eyes with the cuff of his Windbreaker. “It was my idea. All we did was drive to the top of a hill. I need to be able to deal with that.” I look out into the night. “The road just reminded me of the accident.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.” I purse my lips, shake my head. “At least not right now.”

“Okay.” Jordy stares out at the ocean for a few seconds. “What does your mom think about everything?”

“What? About me being cursed?”

“Yeah. That, the notebook. Why you are the way you are.”

“She doesn't know everything. I mean, she knows I had issues after the accidents and that kids avoided me for a while after the birthday party. She was there for my freak-out when the neighbors' house burned down. But she doesn't know about the notebook. I'm not sure if she realizes everything is connected.”

Jordy is still looking out at the ocean. “Did you tell Daniel everything?”

“Yeah.”

“That's good.” Jordy's shoulders twitch a little as he tries to hide the fact that he's shivering.

“We don't have to sit out here,” I say. “I know you're freezing.”

“I have an idea.” He hops up from the bench and jogs over to the car. He comes back with the emergency blanket from the first aid kit. He wraps one side around me and then sits next to me on the bench again, cocooning us in the crinkly silver material.

“I always wondered if these kept you warm,” I say. “Not too bad.”

The whine of a jet plane fills the air. I can barely make out the silhouette as it tears across the night sky, probably on the way back to the naval base at Coronado.

“As a bonus,” Jordy says, “this space blanket makes us invisible to the military's thermal imaging technology.”

“Really?” I turn toward him to see if he's kidding.

“Yeah. We are protected from the government's prying eyes,” he says. “But just let me know if you want to leave.”

“Okay.” I pull my legs up onto the bench and tuck them beneath the blanket. Even though the journey was hell, it's kind of nice up here. Peaceful. I like being around Jordy, too, even if it's a little harder for me to say it. I still can't believe I told him about my bad luck, but that's the weird thing about secret sharing. As scary as it is to think of him telling other people, there's also a comfort in not being the only one who knows anymore. And even if he thinks I'm completely bonkers, he's not treating me like a crazy person.

The wind steals the corner of the emergency blanket out
of my hand and sends it flapping in the night like an out-of-control spaceship. Jordy wrestles the blanket down and drapes it over both of our laps. My head brushes against his arm as I angle my neck to look up at the sky. “Wow. You can see so many stars,” I say.

“Yeah. Makes me feel sort of small.” Jordy rests his head against mine.

My lips quirk into a half smile. “You're a giant.”

“Nah, I'm just a speck.”

“Then I'm a half a speck.”

He nudges me in the ribs. “Your hair alone makes you more than half a speck.” He reaches up and gently removes the elastic that's keeping my bun in place.

My hair tumbles down around my shoulders, the breeze sending thick spirals forward in front of my eyes. “What is this obsession with my hair?” My mouth suddenly goes dry.

“I don't know. It's cool, and you keep it hidden away from everyone. It makes me wonder what else you're hiding.” Jordy lifts a hand to my cheek.

For one terrifying moment I think maybe he's going to kiss me, but then he flicks a strand of hair stuck to my lip back away from my face. Pulling back, I scoff. “Is that Charming Asshole Jordy I hear? He of the slick lines for the fangirls and the cameras?”

“Ouch,” he says, dropping his hand to the bench. “There's nothing fake about me being here with you, Maguire. I hope you can see that.”

“Sorry. I don't know why I said that. I got nervous or something.”

He blinks rapidly. “Do I make you nervous?” The beginning of a smile forms on his lips.

“A little,” I admit. “But so does everything.” I fidget beneath the emergency blanket. “We should probably get going before one of us gets busted for sneaking out.”

“Okay.” Jordy walks a little behind me on the way back to the car, as if he wants to be in position to support me if I start to collapse again.

The trip back down the hill is almost as excruciating, but he talks me through it, one-tenth of a mile at a time. “It's okay,” he says softly. “You're okay. We're almost there.” He repeats these simple but soothing phrases until we're back on the neighborhood streets.

We pull up in front of my house a little after 1:00 a.m., and I sneak back in without being detected. A few minutes later I receive a text.

           
I'd call that a success. Wouldn't you?

I text him back. One word.

           
Thanks.

Pulling my luck notebook out of my purse, I flip to the last page. I draw a line through therapy challenges one and two. Five more to go.