Girl Against the Universe (17 page)

It's about 8:00 p.m. when we head home. Part of me doesn't want to leave. Part of me wonders if it was a mistake to even come. I completed another therapy challenge, but somehow things feel more complicated and dangerous now. I can't just kiss Jordy and then ignore him, even if that's the best thing for both of us.

I can't even stop thinking about him.

But I need to, because we're not just driving three hours to get home. We're driving on a lot of dark, deserted roads. As usual, he goes through a thorough check of his seat belt and mirrors before he even starts the engine. He turns to me before he pulls the car out of the parking lot. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier.”

“You didn't,” I insist.

“I probably shouldn't have kissed you in the first place. If my parents found out I was dating they would—”

“Are we
dating
?” I blurt out. A shock of fear moves through me.

Jordy's body sags a little. “I didn't mean to sound presumptuous. I just meant that even if we
wanted
to date, it would have to be a secret, and I wouldn't want to ask that of you. Now you probably think I'm some possessive psycho.”

“I don't think that at all,” I assure him. “This is just sort of new for me. I just . . . I'm kind of confused.”

“Me too.” He makes a point of signaling before leaving the park and pulling out onto the highway.

We fall into an easy silence—him focusing on the road, me focusing on the shadowy parts of the night and what they might hide. Halfway home, we stop for food, but otherwise the drive is uneventful, aside from the fact that three voice mails from my mom pop up simultaneously once we get back into cell coverage area. I send her a text and let her know I'll be home soon.

About an hour later, Jordy pulls the car over across the street from my house. Then he turns to me, his hand reaching out for one of mine. “Look, I know I don't own you because we kissed. You're free to kiss whoever you want.” He sighs. “But I don't want you to kiss anyone else, which I know is selfish. I just—right now my folks would freak about me getting distracted, and I don't know what to do.”

“I get it. You're singularly focused,” I say. “Seriously. I'm not mad. I'm not ready to date anyone.” Maybe I'm making
baby steps toward being able to get on that plane in a couple of months, but a relationship? That's an everyday thing.

Jordy squeezes my hand. “I have never felt so flustered around a girl before.” His lips twitch. “Are you sure you don't have magic powers?”

“I'm sure.”

“Right.” He nods. “So then we're friends?”

“Absolutely.” A tiny pang hits me at the word
friends
, but I remind myself that a few weeks ago I didn't even have any of those. Daniel told me getting better was a process. I need to recognize the progress I've made.

Jordy unbuckles his seat belt. “Come on. I'll walk you to the door.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I want to,” he says, sliding out of the car before I can say anything else.

We grab the gear out of the trunk and walk side by side across the street and up my parents' driveway, our hands bumping twice on the way to the porch. When we reach the front steps, Jordy drops the bag with the shoes and harnesses on the ground and turns to me. “You know, I'll be getting my mid-semester grade report in a couple of weeks, and I should be doing fine in my classes. So maybe after that I'll man up and tell my parents they can't run my personal life. That is, if you'd ever want to date or whatever.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “It's cool if you don't,” he tacks on quickly.

My heart expands inside of me at his words. Smooth-talking Jordy looks completely out of his element, his eyes flicking nervously around, his hands tucked deep inside his pockets. This is the real him, not the polished performer his parents want him to be.

But unfortunately there's only one me, a cursed me, and I'm not convinced that'll be drastically changing any time soon. “Oh. I, um . . .” Crap. Didn't we just agree to be friends like two minutes ago?
Is that all you want?
I don't know. Or maybe I do. Sure, it'd be great to date someone like Jordy, but that just doesn't feel like real life.

But the look on his face is so hopeful, so . . . vulnerable. I can't bring myself to reject him again. Not when deep down we want the same thing. “I'll think about it,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “Maybe I can add it to my therapy challenges.”

“Okay.” A huge grin sweeps across his face.

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pull him into a hug. I don't want this day to be over.

He holds me for a few seconds and then bends low and kisses me on the cheek. “Have a good night, Maguire.” He turns and jogs down the driveway. I watch him slide into the Lancer and pull away from the curb. Hopping down off the porch, I venture into the damp front lawn far enough so I can watch the black of the car meld with the black of the night. Red brake lights fade slowly, and then all at once, as Jordy's car disappears over the crest of a hill.

It's a little after eleven when I slip inside the house and shut the front door behind me. Tom is waiting up, a tablet computer on his lap, the TV playing silently in the background. “Must have been a good hike.” He points at my gear bags. “What's all that?”

Crap. I forgot to leave those outside my window. “We went rock climbing,” I admit. “I didn't want my mom to worry. Is she asleep?”

He nods. “Did you have a good day?”

I smile. “I did. Sorry I didn't call sooner. We went to Joshua Tree. I couldn't get a signal.”

“Maybe tell us where you're headed next time if you're going to be out of range? Or at least tell your mom?” he suggests.

“You're right, Tom. I'm sorry. I will.” I point toward my room. “I'm pretty tired. I'm going to crash.”

But when I crawl beneath the sheets a few minutes later, I can't fall asleep. First I grab my luck notebook and cross off another challenge. After thinking about it for a few seconds, I decide to add the part about Chad almost rappelling off the end of his rope under the section for bad things. But I give it an asterisk, and at the bottom of the page I note how I was able to help him and everything was fine.

Slipping my notebook back into my purse, I grab my phone from my nightstand and text Jade.

           
Me: Guess what I did today?

           
Her: Is it tall and slightly clumsy with great hair?

           
Me: Funny. We went rock climbing!

           
Her: Seriously? That's very cool.

           
Me: I haven't gone in years. It was amazing!

           
Her: I think that's more exclamation points than I've ever seen you use. Do you have any salacious tidbits to report?

           
Me: No. Come on. You know we're just friends.

           
Her: Friends with benefits?

           
Me: No! Well, we might have kissed. But that's it.

           
Her: Aww. So like grade school friends with benefits;) Please describe said kiss in detail.

           
Me: No.

           
Her: You're so mean to me. You're lucky I like you. This is juicy gossip that I'm sitting on.

           
Me: Not THAT juicy. Random question. Do you believe in bad luck?

           
Her: Why? Did you break a mirror or something?

           
Me: No. Sometimes I just feel unlucky.

           
Her: Why?

           
Me: Stuff that happened in the past.

For a moment she doesn't respond. And then she calls me. “What kind of stuff?” she asks in a low voice. I'm guessing that if her mom catches her on the phone this late she'll get in trouble.

“My dad, brother, and uncle died in a car accident when I was eleven.”

Jade pauses. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

I swallow back a lump in my throat. “It's not just my family. Bad things seem to happen when people are near me. I don't want anything to happen to Jordy.”

“So you like him, and that scares you.”

“Yeah. I have this phobia of other people being hurt when I'm around—it's why I don't ride the team bus, why I don't eat in the cafeteria, why I go to the therapist. Before I started at Pacific Point, I was basically a loner.”

“Whoa,” Jade says. “That's intense.”

“That's a nicer word than I usually use to describe it.”

“Well, you can't help how you feel,” she says softly. “A lot of fears people have are irrational on the surface.”

“Yeah. Jordy actually told me he was afraid of grasshoppers.”

Jade snorts. “It doesn't get much more irrational than that.” She pauses. “Have you read the psych homework yet?”

“No.” Normally I have most of my homework done on Saturday. I'll have to catch up tomorrow.

“It's about attribution errors. Most people take credit when something good happens, but blame others or their environments when something bad happens. Maybe you're just flipped around. Do you ever remember to take credit for the good things you do?”

It reminds me of what Daniel said when he was talking about selective attention, how my brain zeroes in on “evidence” of my curse without noticing all the times I don't seem to have bad luck. “What good things?”

“Well, you seem to make Jordy happy, for one. If you quit doing that just because you're scared he might get hurt someday, both of you lose out.” Jade sighs dramatically. “At least that's how I see it. My mom won't let me date until I'm twenty, so I probably shouldn't be giving relationship advice.”

As usual, Jade manages to make me feel better. And she's right—if I run away now, both Jordy and I will probably regret it. “Don't worry. Your mom won't be able to keep you from dating once you graduate.”

“You don't think? She wants me to live at home and go to UCSD.”

“So tell her no?”

“Clearly you've never met my mother.”

“Wow. Your mom sounds like Jordy's mom. Penn told me some people have arranged marriages, and he has an arranged life.”

Jade laughs out loud and then swears under her breath. Lowering her voice again, she says, “Yeah. That about sums it up. But if I can get into NYU, she'll have to let me go, so that's my goal.”

“My mom is the exact opposite. She wants me to go
away to school. ‘Have the authentic college experience,' she's always saying.”

“Your mom sounds perfect.”

“Yeah, kind of,” I say. “Sometimes I forget just how cool she is.”

After I hang up with Jade, I spend at least an hour unknotting my hair and thinking about Jordy. What if by some teensy chance I successfully complete all of my therapy challenges and get on that plane to Ireland? If bad things stop happening around me, could I actually see myself dating him? Closing my eyes, I fall back onto my bed and imagine his lips on mine.

But then I think of what Jade said the day I met her:
Jordy still manages to get plenty of action . . .
Sighing, I sit up, grab my computer, and type his name into the search box. Hundreds of hits come back, more than I could ever possibly go through. I skim the listings looking for anything about a girlfriend, but they're mostly just recaps of Jordy's matches. I switch to images and click through several pages of thumbnails. There are pictures of him with a few different girls. The only ones I recognize are Penn and Kimber. One girl shows up repeatedly, a pretty brunette with a pixie haircut. I
enlarge one of the pix of the two of them. The caption says, “Jordy Wheeler and Alyssa Gordon meet fans at the CAJR Tennis Open.”

Feeling like a complete stalker, I Google Alyssa Gordon. She graduated from Pacific Point and is now a sophomore at Florida State and a member of their tennis team. I flip through a few articles about her, but I don't see anything mentioned about Jordy. Next I type Jordy's and Kimber's names into the search box and get several pictures of them too, but none of them look anything but innocent.
Enough, Maguire.
I put my laptop away and try to get some sleep.

On Tuesday we have a match at a high school across town. I wear my uniform to class, something a lot of the team does on days when we have away matches. As Jade and I are strolling out of psychology class together, I say, “I'll see you at Dustin.”

Whistling to myself, I head out into the parking lot. A couple of girls from my classes nod or smile at me as I pass. I smile back, looking forward to today's match. It's a crucial win for us, since Dustin is in our district and they beat us last year. I'm feeling as confident as I've ever felt.

Until I reach the bottom of the school's cement steps and catch a glimpse of my mom's car.

“Son of a . . .” I hurry across the parking lot, bending down to verify my worst fear. One of the back tires is com
pletely flat, like I ran over an entire box of nails on the way to school.

Swearing under my breath, I check my phone. Ten minutes until the bus leaves. I race back into the school and find Coach Hoffman in his office. “I don't know if I'm going to be able to make the match today,” I say breathlessly. “I have a flat tire.”

Coach arches an eyebrow. “So ride the bus like everyone else. You have to be there today, Maguire. We need every single win we can get to beat Dustin.”

“But I—”

“A win today means a higher seed at districts,” he says. “I know you like to drive yourself, but you're just going to have to suck it up for once.”

I lift a hand to my throat, my fingers clutching my mystic knot pendant through the fabric of my uniform polo. “What if I can't?” I ask. “I have an . . . appointment right after the match, and I need my car to be able to go straight there.”

Coach nods, his blue eyes studying me carefully. “Well, if you can't come, we can put an alternate in your spot. Maybe Missy or Alexandra.”

Missy and Alexandra are freshmen. Neither of them would stand a chance against the girl from Dustin. “What about Mae? You could move Luisa or Colleen up to fourth singles and then—”

“I'm not rearranging my doubles teams,” Coach says
firmly. “Like I said, we need every point we can get in today's match.” He looks pointedly at me. “Including yours. Perhaps you can call whoever you're meeting afterward and say you might be a little late. Or maybe they can pick you up?”

“Okay.” I drop my chin to my chest. “I'll see what I can do.”

Coach checks his watch. “Bus leaves in five. Hope to see you on it.”

Slinking out of Coach's office, I turn the corner into the next hallway and rest my back against the wall. There's only one person I know with a car who might drive me. But just as I pull my phone out of my backpack and start to call Jordy, I think about my latest therapy session. I'm supposed to be riding public transportation by now. If I can't get on a bus with my team members, then how can I get on a plane full of strangers?

Penn and Jade slide out of the locker room together. Jade sees me and raises a hand in greeting. “What's up? You change your mind? Slumming it on the bus today?”

“I don't know,” I say. “I have a flat tire.”

“Where's Jordy?” Jade asks.

“Yeah. Where's Jordy?” Kimber repeats, coming up behind the three of us. “You two seem inseparable lately. I'm expecting that serve of yours to be excellent.”

“It's gotten a lot better,” I say cooly, refusing to let her intimidate me.

“My brother is meeting us at Dustin,” Penn says. “He's
going straight there after a meeting with some potential agent.”

“Agent, eh?” Kimber says. “Good for him.”

“What does that mean?” I ask Penn.

“It means he's thinking about taking control of his own life,” she says. “Someone must have really inspired him.”

Kimber gives me a long look, the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Must be that therapist he's always talking about.” She turns and saunters toward the back exit.

“You need help with your tire?” Penn asks.

“Just take the bus,” Jade says. “Otherwise half our singles players will be late.” Her face pales. “Oh, sorry. I forgot about your thing.”

“We can help you if you
want
to ride with the team,” Penn says. “It can be like when you drove me to Jordy's match.”

There's still a tiny bruise under her eye from her fall at the tennis complex. “I'd prefer it not be like that,” I say.

Penn bounces up and down on her toes, her blonde braid swishing back and forth. “I meant just the driving part. I promise not to fall on my face on the bus.”

“I'll help any way I can.” Jade pats herself on the chest. “After all, Jade is good luck!”

I smile. I remember thinking that same thing the first day of tryouts. I look back and forth between the two of them. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, bit by bit.
You can do this
, I tell myself.
No one is going to die.
It's only
about ten miles of flat roads. It's a school bus. Even if we get in an accident, a school bus almost always wins, right? And once I survive I can cross off therapy challenge number five and start to think about what I want to do for the last two. “Okay. I'll take the bus.”

“High five!” Penn holds up her hand.

I slap it weakly. “Maybe we should wait until we get there to celebrate.”

“Nah. You got this,” Jade says. “Let's roll.”

The three of us head around to the back where the bus is parked.

“All aboard.” Coach makes a circling-the-wagons gesture with the hand that isn't clutching his clipboard. I get in line with everyone else and make my way up the stairs and onto the bus.

I haven't been on a school bus since I was eleven, and the blast of stale air that hits me in the face as I head down the aisle brings back memories of being smashed into a seat with Connor. I push the memory out of my head and quickly turn into an empty seat. Jade flops down next to me. Penn sits right in front of us.

“Glad you're joining us, Maguire,” Kimber calls from across the aisle.

I'm not sure she's ever called me by my name before. Go figure. Maybe she's one of those girls who only lords it over people who act meek in her presence. Well, that's not going to be me anymore. And if Jordy and I do start dating some
day, I'm not going to let her give me a hard time about it.

Once we're all on, Coach counts us. “Penn,” he barks.

“Yes?” She coils her braid around one hand.

“Will your brother be joining us today?”

“He's meeting us there.”

“Got it.” Coach takes his seat right across from the driver.

Penn sits sideways so she can see me, her legs stretched out on the seat, her back against the bus window. “Is it best if I don't talk again?” she asks.

“Anything is fine,” I say. “I'm just glad you're here.”

“Okay.” She tucks her earbuds into her ears and closes her eyes as we pull out of the parking lot, a serene smile playing at her lips.

I try to match her Zen by tucking my own earbuds into my ears and closing my eyes too. But every second of darkness feels like relinquishing the limited control that I have.
You have no control.
Not technically true. Even a few seconds of being able to prepare for an impending disaster can change the outcome.

Just not my family's outcome.

I turn and watch the road through the smudgy side window. The bus gets caught in a snarl of traffic, and for about ten minutes my heart clenches up each time our driver slams on the brakes. But the good thing about gridlock is that it's hard for anyone to get hurt when we're all only traveling ten miles an hour.

Still, I have to slide my fingertips under my legs to
keep my hands from shaking.

The driver hits the brakes again, and I pitch forward slightly. I glance around to make sure everyone is okay.

Jade looks past me, out the window. “We're halfway there.” She pats my arm. “I'm glad you told me. I got your back.”

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.