Girl Against the Universe (23 page)

The week flies by. I wake up on Sunday shaking with anxiety. I tell Mom and Tom that I'm going to hang out with Jordy, and luckily they don't press for details once I promise to text them if we're going to be out of cell-service range. On the way to Jordy's house, I struggle to focus on my driving. I keep thinking about what it all means—that I have a boyfriend. That we'll go on dates, maybe to prom. My life is totally about to change, and I should be excited, but I can't shake off this nagging sense of dread. Like none of this is actually happening.

Like the past couple of months have been a dream and I'm about to wake up.

When I pull up and park in front of Jordy's house, he's sitting on the porch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He watches me walk up the driveway.

I sit next to him, gently bumping my knee with his knee. “So are you going to tell me where we're going?”

“Nope.” He runs his hand along the scar on my thigh, the only evidence remaining of my ill-advised jump from my bedroom window.

His touch warms me from the inside out. I purse my lips into a fake pout. “Come on. What is it? Bungee jumping? Skydiving?”

He gives me a cryptic smile. “It's weird to think about being done, isn't it? Are you going to keep seeing Daniel? Maybe add to your list of challenges?”

“I think my mom said my treatment package is twenty sessions, so I'll still have a few left. I don't know. I'm less nervous and I'm doing fewer checks, but I wouldn't say I'm ready to go it alone. I guess we'll see how I feel when I get back from Ireland.”

“Cool.” Jordy stands up and stretches his long arms over his head. As we walk down the driveway, he wraps an arm around me. “How are you feeling about your trip?”

“Better. Still scared, but I have a whole month to keep riding the team bus and some local buses. And then my stepdad is going to take me to San Jose with him for a work thing.” I smile as I think about my conversation with Tom. “We're going to ride the bus up there and maybe take a plane home.”

“That's perfect!” Jordy opens the door for me and then jogs around to slide behind the wheel. “And remember, you don't ever have to go it alone. If you want me to ride a city bus with you or something, just say the word.” He squeezes
my hand and then clicks his seat belt and checks all his mirrors. He signals before pulling away from the curb.

We wind through his subdivision, taking the back exit. He makes a left and a right and merges seamlessly onto a highway that leads to downtown San Diego. I start guessing things to do that are close to the city. “Gaslamp Quarter? Maritime Museum? SeaWorld?”

He shakes his head to all of them. We pass straight through the city and head toward the coast.

“Ooh, surfing?” I ask. “Snorkeling?”

“No.”

“Shark diving?” Man, I hope it's not shark diving.

“I'm not going to tell you, Maguire.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's the idea, right? If you don't know where you're going, then you can't try to control things.” He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I'm hoping you won't be mad at me when you see what it is.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Instead of answering, Jordy flicks on the radio.

I reach out and turn it off. “Sorry,” I say. “I'm not ready to drive with distractions yet.”

“No worries.” He smiles without taking his eyes off the road.

I try to think of all of the possible things we might do involving the ocean. Surfing, snorkeling, shark diving, sailing—all risky activities. But none of them seem like they
would make me angry at Jordy.

But if we were going to get wet, he would have told me to bring dry clothes. Unless of course he didn't want to tip me off about where we were going. Or maybe he has dry clothes in the trunk.

I watch the miles of highway fly by. We slow to a snail's pace outside of Los Angeles, but Jordy only shakes his head when I look at him expectantly. We sit mired in traffic for the better part of an hour, but eventually it thins out and we leave the glitzy skyline painted with smog behind. I sit back and try to relax as we continue along the Pacific Coast Highway. But then a terrible thought flickers through my mind.

“How far is this place?” I ask, my throat going dry.

“Not much farther now,” Jordy says, his voice also uneven.

I turn in my seat to face him. He's staring straight ahead, both hands tightly gripping the wheel. “We've been driving for over three hours. Where exactly are we going?”

No answer.

“Are we going where I think we're going?” This highway is good for only two things—travel to the ocean and travel to the cities along the coast. Another hundred miles north of us is San Luis Obispo, the city where I was born.

The city where my father, brother, and uncle are buried.

And outside the city, the place where the three of them died.

Jordy mutters something about a faster route. We leave
the coastline, turning north into a wooded area. I pull out my phone and Google a map of California. This road will take us to SLO. The car starts to feel like a trash compactor, like the walls are closing in on me. I should have known—the party at Kimber's, the roller coaster. History repeats itself. Of course the Universe was leading me back to what started it all. “Sometimes forgetting is more therapeutic than remembering, don't you think?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“But you
haven't
forgotten.”

He's got a point. I can't forget. I will never forget. I think of that day every day when I do my morning rituals. “How do you even know where it happened?”

“You're not the only one who's been doing internet research.”

“You spied on me?”

“It's okay for you to look me up, but not the reverse?” he asks. “How is that fair?”

I don't answer, because it's not fair. “I'm scared,” I say. “I don't know if I should go back there.” The warm day suddenly feels chilly. I hug my arms around my chest.

“What about last week? You said your gut wanted to finish.”

“My gut would like to change its answer.”

Jordy glances over at me. “Do you really want to turn around?”

“I don't know.” Trees fly by on either side. The road narrows. I haven't seen another car in a while. We're all
alone—me, Jordy, and my memories. “No. I guess not, but please realize things aren't as easy for me as they are for you.”

“Things aren't easy for me either,” Jordy says. “I know my issues seem silly and weak compared to yours, but it was hard for me to stand up to my parents, to tell them I was going to make time for a life beyond tennis and studying.”

I fiddle with the strap of my seat belt. “What did they say?”

“They were pissed. They accused me of trying to sabotage my future, said that I was just setting myself up for failure.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That they were wrong. I don't have to cut back on tennis to care about other stuff. It's not like I practice ten hours a day every day. I can be with you and play on the tour. I just might have to organize my time a little differently.”

“You really believe that, don't you?”

“I have to believe it. There are pro tennis players who are married with kids. There are guys doing the tour who work other jobs. I should be able to have a girlfriend if I want. Playing tennis is not worth giving up everything.”

I turn and study the landscape outside of my window—the trees in the foreground, the ridge of mountains way off in the distance. Everything is green and gray.

Everything is gray.

“What about you?” he continues. “Would you give up
everything
to stay in your safe little bubble if it meant not feel
ing responsible for anyone being hurt?”

I pick at a ragged cuticle. I feel like the answer should be yes; two months ago it would have been yes. But now I don't know. How do I weigh the presence of joy against the absence of guilt?

Jordy lets out a deep breath. “Dammit, Maguire. Your answer should be no.” He turns to me. “You deserve a chance to be happy. You can't live your life for everybody else.”

I don't respond. Something moves at the side of the road. A bit of brown amidst the green and gray. A deer. She leaps out of the woods and onto the pavement, but Jordy's still looking at me. “Watch out!” I gasp. I brace myself by grabbing for the door handle.

Jordy's head snaps around. He swears loudly as he hits the brakes. I pitch sideways in my seat, my head slamming against the window. Rubber burns, rank and hot. Jordy swings the steering wheel to the right. We skid. I try to scream but nothing comes out. The car tilts wildly. I catch a glimpse of the deer's slender legs moving out of the roadway as Jordy's car careens off the pavement.

My head hits the window again and I see stars.

I see glass.

I see blood.

And then I don't see anything at all.

The pain awakens me, sharp and shredding, like someone is putting my left arm through a meat grinder. My eyes are caked with dirt and blood. The air is full of haze. My first thought is that I'm dying. If you've never been close to death, life probably seems pretty solid. The truth is, it can be destroyed in an instant, like a photograph. One moment your world is slick and shiny. But then the Universe crumples everything into a ball. And even if you don't get crushed, if you fight to straighten things out, your life will never be the same again.

The world is full of holes and uneven seams, wrinkled places that you can't make smooth, no matter how hard you try.

I have to try.

I lie smashed against what I think is the floor but turns out to be the passenger door. The car must have flipped onto its side when we went into the ditch. Bits of broken glass cut
straight through my shirt and into my skin. My black curls snake out from my face like they're trying to slither away from the wreckage.

I try to sit up, but can't. I'm not even sure which way is up. It takes a fair amount of effort just to turn my head. Jordy is still strapped into his seat. Blood drips from a cut above his eye. He's pale. Too pale. Reaching over, I shake his shoulder gently. His arm flops back and forth like he doesn't have any bones.

No. He's not dead. He can't be.

This is my fault,
I think. I should've stayed in my room, in my bed, reading under the covers where it was safe. Why did I leave? Why did I risk everything?

I did it for a lot of reasons.

I wanted to go to Ireland with my mom, to honor my family.

I wanted to be good at something for once.

I wanted things to be different.

I wanted Jordy's attention, as much as I hate to admit it.

Mostly I did it because I wanted to believe. That I wasn't cursed. That the past wasn't my fault. That the future still held possibilities.

But maybe the only possibilities for me are ones that involve hurting the people I love.

The inside of the car begins to blur, darkness sneaking up on me slowly, gently, like a blanket unfolding.

You did this.

Maybe I did.

Bad Luck Maguire.

Maybe that's who I am.

But maybe I can choose to be someone else.

“Jordy.” The word falls from my lips in pieces. I reach out for him again. There are two ways this can end.
Fight or give up
, I tell myself.
But choose. For once in your life, don't let the Universe choose for you.

“Jordy, wake up.” I nudge his shoulder again. No response. Lifting my hand to his neck, I search for a pulse. I think I feel one, but I'm not sure.

A drop of blood runs across his forehead and drips onto my injured arm. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I bite my lip, embrace the pain, fight to stay conscious. Wriggling out of my seat belt, I scan the wreckage for anything useful. Everything fell out of the center console when we flipped. Everything including pens, napkins, insurance cards, and Jordy's cell phone.

I grab the phone with my right hand. The screen is shattered. It won't turn on. “Shit.” I look around for my purse, but it's nowhere to be found. I refuse to panic. There has to be something. A black strap in the periphery of my vision catches my eye. Of course. Jordy's emergency kit. I can't reach it with my right hand, and my left arm refuses to bend like it should. I end up craning my neck and grabbing the strap with my teeth. Gagging, I pull the black bag into the front seat.

With shaking fingers, I unzip it and find the emergency phone. I flip open the cover with my thumb. The screen comes to life. “Oh thank God.” With my left arm braced against my body for support, I call 911 and say we've been in an accident.

“What is your location?” the dispatcher asks.

“I—I'm not sure. I can't think of the name of the highway.” I'm not sure whether it's panic or if I have a head injury, but the number refuses to come to me. “North of San Diego, heading toward San Luis Obispo.”

“It's all right. We can GPS you,” she assures me.

“Should I try to get out of the car?”

“Stay put unless you smell gasoline or there's a fire,” she advises. “Try not to move at all. I'm going to stay on the line with you until help arrives.”

“My friend was driving,” I rasp. “He won't wake up. I'm not sure if he's okay.”

“Help is coming,” the dispatcher says. “What's your name?”

“Maguire.”

“Maguire. Is your friend still in the car with you?”

“Yeah, he's still in his seat belt, but his head is bleeding.”

“Can you tell if he's breathing? Maybe put a hand on his chest?”

I reach across my body and press my right hand against Jordy's chest. I'm relieved to feel movement.

“He is.”

“Okay, Maguire. Then put gentle pressure on his head wound if it's bleeding a lot. But don't try to move him, okay? And try to keep his neck stable.”

“Okay.” I put the phone on speaker and set it next to me. Then I press my right hand gently to Jordy's forehead.

His eyes flick open for a moment. “What. Happened,” he chokes out.

“There was a deer. We went off the road. Help is on the way.”

Jordy lifts a hand to his ribcage. “It hurts to breathe.”

“Just hang on,” I say.

“You know . . . this . . . not your fault . . . right?” Each bit takes him an entire breath to expel.

Tears flood my eyes, hot, desperate to fall. I'm not sure whether it's relief that Jordy is awake or the fact that he's injured and bleeding and the first words out of his mouth are meant to comfort
me
. “Yeah,” I tell him, not because I believe him but because it's what he needs to hear. “I blame the deer.”

A sharp laugh erupts from his lips, followed by a grunt of pain. “You . . . okay?”

“Yes. Now stop trying to talk.”

Jordy makes a movement with his head that I think is supposed to be a nod. Then he swears under his breath. “My side . . . it hurts so bad.”

“Maguire?” The tinny voice of the dispatcher is barely audible through the phone's speaker.

“Yes?”

“Help should be arriving momentarily,” she says.

“Okay.” Sirens sing in the distance. “I hear them coming. And my friend woke up.”

“Good. I'm going to disconnect then. Just sit tight. The first responders will get you out of the car safely.”

“Okay,” I say again. After a couple of seconds I add, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” the dispatcher says. The screen goes dark as she ends the call.

The sirens grow louder. An ambulance bleats a shrill horn as it screeches to a stop. Blue-and-red lights reflect off the inside of the car. Jordy seems to have lost consciousness again. A door slams. There are shouts. Then a medic bends down to look through the windshield. “Miss,” he says. “We're going to get you out, okay?”

“Him first.” I gesture at Jordy. The medic looks ready to argue, so I quickly add, “He's bleeding. He said it hurts to breathe.”

“Okay. Hang tight.”

A group of firefighters approach the car dressed in their hats and heavy coats. They break the windshield glass and secure a big plastic collar around Jordy's neck. Then they stabilize his body and cut him free of his seat belt, working as a team to move him from the car to a stretcher.

All I can do is watch. Helpless. No control.

No one is going to die.

I hope.

Paramedics load the stretcher into the back of an ambulance.

I'm next. Everything starts to fade out as my body is quickly and safely removed from the car and placed onto a stretcher. As the medics wheel me toward a second ambulance, my eyes skim over the carnage, the streaks of black rubber on the road, and the dense foliage that lines it. Somewhere back in the trees, I swear I see the soft dark eyes of a deer looking out at me.