Girl Against the Universe (22 page)

“Let's do this like ten times in a row,” a boy in a backward baseball cap suggests.

“Ugh,” the girl across from him says. “No way, dude. Not unless you want me to puke all over your shoes.”

Jordy guides me forward, and now the two of us are essentially trapped in the covered line area. I try not to imagine a fire breaking out, or a masked gunman pulling an assault rifle from a duffel bag and mowing down fifty people.
You can't control the Universe
, I tell myself.

The reality is, all I can control is me.

And sometimes not even that.

I blink back tears, dropping my eyes to the ground and struggling to compose myself. Almost instinctively, my hand reaches out to rap the wooden railing three times.

Jordy rubs my lower back gently, leaning down to rest his chin on my shoulder. “I'm sorry I didn't call you,” he says. “It was selfish. I should have accepted that you weren't ready. I should have still been there for you as a friend.”

“I'm sorry I left you that night.” One of the tears leaks out. “I'm glad we're both here now.”

“Me too,” he says.

“How are things?” I plaster a smile on my face. “You're back playing international tournaments, and your sister said something about an agent?”

“Things are good. Nothing is definite. I just decided it was time to get all the information. That way my parents and I can have a reasonable discussion.”

“Good for you.”

He nods as we move forward a few feet. This part of the enclosure is still decorated for Halloween, with tissue paper bats and ghosts hanging from the rafters and a selection of bloody machetes displayed on a pyramid of hay. “Lovely,” I mutter. “Shouldn't there be turkeys and stuff instead of murder weapons?”

Jordy cups his hands over my eyes. “I find turkeys almost as creepy. They've got that weird red pouch that hangs off their faces. What is that about?”

“It's called a wattle.” I peel his hands away from my face. As much as the Halloween décor is freaking me out, it's worse when I can't see what's happening. I do a five-second check. Everything is fine. We're halfway through the line now. “It's something boy birds use to attract mates.”

“Gross. Now I find turkeys even creepier,” Jordy says. I smile. “Anyway, I want to give the pro tour a try,” he continues. “I feel like so much of my life has been in preparation for this moment. I can't bear the thought of four years of college tacked on to that. I mean, maybe someday I'll want to go to college, but maybe not.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “But what if you hit the men's tour and don't . . . have success?”

Jordy shrugs. “Then I either keep trying or give up. I can always work for a club or give lessons. I hear I'm pretty good at that.”

“You are great at that,” I say. And then, “I envy your ability to be so relaxed about everything.”

“I love tennis,” Jordy says. “Playing makes me happy. To make money doing something I love so much is living the dream. But if I never hit that point where tennis makes me rich, I'm okay with that. I know my parents have sacrificed a lot in order to make that opportunity a real possibility, but if things don't come to that, I hope I don't let them down too badly.”

“I'm sure they just want you to be happy.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Underneath all the superficial worries about me having the best equipment and the best schedule and the best draws in every tournament.”

“And the best hair.” I reach up and tug on one of the blond pieces.

“Ugh. Sometimes I want to cut it all off just to piss off my mom.” He grins. “Would you still be seen with me if I were bald?”

I can't help it. I start giggling at the thought. The harder I try to stop, the more I laugh.

Jordy pokes me in the ribs. “I'm going to assume you're having some sort of nervous laugh attack,” he says, “and that the real answer to that question is, ‘Of course, Jordy. The combination of your winning personality and hot body renders your hair insignificant in my attraction to you.'”

“Stop it.” I blot my eyes on the collar of my shirt. “Okay, you got me. That is
exactly
what I was thinking.”

We're about ten people from the front of the line now. A car pulls into the enclosure and stops with a sharp hiss. Exhilarated passengers raise their safety bars with sharp cranking sounds. My smile fades a little.

“Almost there,” Jordy says. “How have I been doing with distracting you?”

“Excellent, actually. It helps to focus on other people's problems . . . and potential baldness.”

“You should have seen the look on your face back when
those kids got in line behind us. Like a trapped panther. I thought you were going to vault over the railing and make a break for it.”

“I almost did,” I admit.

Jordy looks down at me. “I will hold your hand the whole time, if you let me.”

“Um . . . I plan on holding the lap bar the whole time.”

“In that case I will hold your arm.”

“Deal.”

“And I won't even tell you to put your hands up on the final hill.”

“Good, or I will punch you,” I say.

“Fair enough.”

Another car races into the station, and everyone exits to the right.

“Here we go,” Jordy says. He stands behind me as I step down into the car. Then he slides in next to me.

All we have to keep us safe is a lap bar shared between the two of us. Jordy pulls it flush, but there's a bit more of a gap there than I would like. I try to ratchet down the safety bar one more click, but it won't go.

“It's far enough,” he assures me.

He's right. Besides, it's not like I'm worried about my own safety. I crane my neck to see into the car in front of us and then glance over my shoulder to make sure everyone behind us has their lap bars fastened. So far, so good.

The ride attendant pulls a big lever, and we start moving.
The first section of the track is in a dark enclosure. Then we shoot out into the sunlight and I can see the parking lot, and beyond it the beach. As we slowly climb the first big hill, my heart descends into my gut, one clickety-clack at a time. Briefly, I close my eyes, but it's even scarier when I can't see what's happening. I fix my gaze on the gentle lapping of the waves. The welcoming, seemingly innocent water.

There's a big sign at the top of the hill that says “DANGER” and warns riders to keep their hands and feet inside the car at all times. I try not to think about everyone else on the ride with us. Flesh-and-blood people who can die so easily. I try not to look down either. If I look down, I know I'll see what I saw the day of the accident—wood splintering, metal cars bouncing off the ground, people splayed out amidst the wreckage like broken dolls.

I grip the lap bar until my knuckles blanch white and my joints start to ache.

We hit the top of the hill.

For a moment, everything freezes. The roller coaster comes to a complete stop.

I will not look down.

I will not see broken bodies.

Then, twisting.

Falling.

My heart pulls loose from my gut, clawing at my throat, exploding out through my lips. We hit the bottom of the hill and I gasp, but then the coaster pulls us up and into a turn. I
slide left against Jordy. My knees slam into the lap bar and my teeth rattle in my gums. Then another hill, this one gentle enough not to rearrange my insides.

I force myself to focus on a plan, like how I did on the team bus. What would I do if our car derailed? Or if a section of the track collapsed and we crashed to the ground? Yell for everyone to brace themselves and protect their head and chest. Brace myself. Protect my own head and chest.

Another hill.

Call for help. Survey the scene.

Three hills in rapid succession.

Give CPR. Provide pressure to bleeding wounds.

A sharp turn. This time Jordy slides against me.

Keep people with possible back injuries from moving. Enlist the help of bystanders.

I remind myself that I'm not alone. Penn is here. Jade is here. And Jordy, his hand curled around my forearm as promised. I focus on his touch.

Slowly, we climb again. This is it, the grand finale, the final hill, steeper than the first hill.

I am so close. We are all so close. I inch my left hand from my vise grip around the lap bar to Jordy's hand.

“That's my girl,” he says.

Freefall.

Weightlessness.

That moment where everything rushes past so quickly that it melds into a blur of nothingness. Then my whole body
shudders as we roar toward the station, my bones shaking loose from their joints. I barely hear the screams. I barely hear the hiss of brakes as my body jolts forward and then backward.

We're back at the start. We did it.

I did it.

Jordy nudges me. “You getting out, or do you want to go again?”

“Ha,” I say. “Maybe in ten years or so.” With trembling muscles, I step from the roller coaster car onto the wooden platform. I pause for a moment, clinging to a metal railing, finding my breath again. I sense Jordy behind me before I feel his hand on my lower back. He shelters me with his arms as people push past us.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You're really pale.”

Instead of answering, I turn into his body, my head coming to rest against his chest, my arms looping around his neck. “Thank you.”

“You're the one who did it.”

“But you helped.”

“But you didn't need my help.” He presses his lips to my temple.

He's right. He's so right. For so many years I let fear make me a prisoner. I stood at the edge and looked down. I just needed to find the courage to jump. If I can do this, I can get on a plane. And if I can get on a plane, maybe I'm ready to face some other fears too. Without warning, I turn my head
and lift my chin, aligning my lips with Jordy's.

“Maguire,” he says.

I kiss him. And then it's my turn to hold him up. I wrap my arms around his waist and crane my neck to look up at him. “I'm not afraid anymore,” I say. “Well, I am. But I'm ready. I'm ready to face my fears.”

Jordy gives me a long look, one that makes the bottom drop out of my stomach. “What are you saying?”

“I want to be your girlfriend,” I tell him. “If you still want that.”

And out of all the things I've done since August—making the therapy challenge list, trying out for tennis, kissing Jordy—nothing has been half as scary as saying that out loud.

And now it's Jordy's turn to kiss me. “I would like that very much,” he says.

The two of us stand pressed together as another group of riders exits the Giant Dipper and heads back to the main path. Jordy hugs me so hard my insides feel squished. He lifts me a few inches off the ground and spins me around in a circle.

“Careful,” I warn. “I'm still a little shaken up. I don't want to throw up on you and wreck the moment.”

“Nothing can wreck this moment,” he says. But he lowers me back to the ground. “We'd better go find the girls before they start to worry.”

We stroll out the exit hand in hand. Penn and Jade are waiting right outside. They both bombard me with hugs.

“I can't believe you did it,” Penn says. “You're amazing.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Jade agrees. “Did you have fun?”

I start to say no, but then think of that final moment
when I held Jordy's hand—that instant of weightlessness when my mind finally let go of the fear. “Maybe a little, in a ‘I feel like I just got the crap kicked out of me' way.”

“Hey,” Penn says abruptly as we all head for the parking lot. “Were you guys holding hands a second ago?”

“Maybe,” I say.

She turns to Jade with a grin. “Pay up.”

Jade narrows her eyes at Jordy and me. She pulls a ten-dollar bill from her purse and hands it to Penn. “I should've known better than to bet against the awesome romantic power of a roller coaster.” She coughs. “I can drive home if you two want to sit in the back together.”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” I say wryly.

“So was this your last challenge for Daniel?” Jordy asks. “In preparation for your plane trip?”

“Technically I have one more.” I think about the discussion Daniel and I had in his office, about how I need to relinquish control to someone else. “Lucky number seven.”

Jordy slings an arm around my shoulder. “I don't think you're going to need it.”

“Maybe not,” I say. “But my gut says I should finish.”

I drop Jade off first and then park my car across the street from Jordy's house. I turn off the ignition, and everyone gets out. Penn gives me a quick hug. “Thanks for driving. I'll see you at practice.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I tell her. “You have no idea
how much this day meant.”

She glances over at her brother, who is messing with his phone and doing a crappy job of pretending not to eavesdrop on us. “Pretty sure I do.”

“Not just about that,” I say. “You guys helped me do something I never even imagined was possible.” I hug her again. “Right now almost everything seems possible.”

“Good.” Penn tugs on the end of her braid. “Okay. I'll let you two . . . talk.”

Jordy gives her a murderous look and she giggles before turning away and heading up the driveway to the Wheeler house.

After she's gone, Jordy and I stand next to my car for a few minutes. “Do you want to come in?” he asks.

I imagine the look on his mom's face when she sees us together. I shake my head. “One scary thing per day.”

“Okay. Just know I'll be next to you for that one too, when you're ready. And you kicked ass today. I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Speaking of kicking ass, now that you're talking to me again, how was Brazil really?”

“Brazil was stellar.” Jordy tosses his hair back from his face. “Amazing people. Amazing food. I wish I had made it to the finals. I still feel kind of sluggish, like I'm not quite myself. But just getting back out there on the circuit helped a ton.”

“I'm feeling better too. Like the challenges are more than
just therapy. Like they're . . . a ceremony—a way to tell the Universe that I'm done letting it scare me.”

Jordy smiles. “Substitute in ‘my mother' for ‘the Universe' and I'm right there with you.”

“Well, it sounded to me like you were making progress with her,” I say.

“That's because I finally have something I'm not willing to let go of.”

I blush. “I wanted to ask you something. Daniel said part of my problem is that I'm a control freak. He said I should have someone else set up my last challenge for me. That I should relinquish control completely.”

Jordy steps in close, one hand coming up to touch my face. “You want that someone to be me?”

I nod. “I trust you.”

His smile is positively radiant. He's looking at me like I just asked him to prom or something instead of asking him to set up a therapy challenge. “The Giant Dipper is going to be tough to beat,” he says. “Let me think about it.”

Jordy calls me later that night. “I got it. I came up with something to do for your last therapy assignment. I also told my mom we're hanging out again, but we can wait until afterward to make things with us official if you want. Hell, we can wait until you get back from Ireland if you want.”

“Official . . . Is there some sort of Wheeler girlfriend ceremony I don't know about?” I ask, only half joking. I
imagine his mother producing a stack of release forms for me to sign okaying a criminal background check and review of my report cards.

“No, but it'll be harder to shield you from my parents if Penn and I are using the G-word. They'll probably want to invite you over for a nice dinner and interrogation.”

“Yeah, like I said earlier, I'm not quite ready to meet your mom in the daylight.”

“Okay, there's no rush. She'll come around. She doesn't think you're some scandalous groupie who's after me for my fame or anything.”

“Ha. Kimber seemed to think that.” I tell him about my bathroom conversation.

He chuckles. “Wait. You thought the two of us hooked up?”

“Everybody thinks that, Jordy. Because of how possessive she is around you. Besides, you told me you guys kissed. I just assumed you used to be together.”

“Well, instead of assuming, maybe ask me next time,” he says. “That was my first kiss. It happened at tennis camp when I was thirteen—more because both of us were curious about kissing than because we wanted to kiss each other. Now she's almost like a sister looking out for me. That's how we are.”

“Yeah, she told me,” I say.

“Is there anything else people are saying about me that has you concerned? Rumors I should know about?”

I want to say no, but maybe this is the perfect moment to get rid of all my doubts. So I tell him what I've heard about him hooking up with girls at parties and then ignoring them.

Jordy sighs deeply. “Okay, here's the real story. I've been doing the online-classes thing since eighth grade. It's been great for my game, but I missed out on a lot of social stuff early on. When I started playing in bigger events, the local players always seemed to be having after-parties. My parents let me go so I could get to know the other guys on the tour. There were girls at these parties. I was an idiot. Shit happened.”

“So it's true then,” I say softly.

“I hooked up with girls, but I never took advantage of anyone, if that's what you're asking. And I never lied about my intentions. There was one girl from around here who really seemed to like me, and I liked her too. We dated for a while, but my mom caught me skipping out on a practice session to meet up with her. Then I lost a couple of important matches, and someone posted a photo of us kissing online. My parents found it and told me I had to choose. I could be a normal teen with a normal social life, or I could keep training to hopefully turn pro. But they weren't going to spend thousands of dollars a month on my coaching and tournament fees if I was going to blow matches because of a girl.”

“Ah,” I say.

“Plus I was sixteen and the girl was eighteen, and I knew she was going off to college in Florida, so the decision
seemed obvious. I texted her and said I wasn't allowed to date anymore and then avoided her at a few events. Pretty lame, I know.” He sighs. “I tried to apologize after she left for college, but she didn't want to hear it, and I don't blame her.”

“Alyssa?” I ask.

The silence at the other end of the line is deafening. Then Jordy says, “Did Kimber tell you about her too?”

“No.” I sigh. “I looked you up online.”

“Oh,” he says. “Sometimes I forget that I'm not allowed to have any secrets.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I guess I got scared. I didn't dig very deep.” My excuses sound lame, even to me. “I won't do it again.”

“I'd appreciate that. If there's something you want to know, just ask me.” He pauses. “Things are different now, okay? I'm not the same person I was back then. I know what I want. I can balance a personal and professional life. And if my parents refuse to accept that, then I guess I can go pro on my own.”

“But you told me you needed your parents.”

“Yeah, well, I'm hoping it won't come to that,” Jordy says. “My parents and I need each other. I just have to make them understand that I'm not a little kid anymore.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I'm running a youth workshop next Saturday, and what I have planned for your last assignment is kind of an all-day thing. Maybe we can do it next Sunday?”

“Sounds good to me.” Anticipation courses through my blood. I try to imagine what it's going to feel like to be finished.

“Next Sunday it is then,” Jordy says. “Your final challenge.”