Girl Against the Universe (5 page)

“Dolphin Boy?” I murmur. It's the guy from Dr. Leed's office.

So he's a tennis star. Interesting. He and Coach are deep in discussion, poring over Coach's clipboard as they head toward us. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can see Jordy's animated gestures. One of his shoes hits a crack in the pavement and he stumbles. He flails his free arm in an attempt to regain his balance and nearly drops both his bag and the ball hopper. I imagine the metal basket hitting the concrete, all of us spending the next twenty minutes collecting runaway tennis balls.

Just as I'm trying to decide if my bad luck is to blame, Coach Hoffman reaches out and grabs Jordy's elbow to steady him. Crisis averted. Jordy laughs, and I smother a smile. As he hits the edge of the track, he scans the group, sizing us up. His eyes linger on me for a second and I look down, feigning a sudden need to tighten my shoelaces.

“All right, everyone take a lap,” Coach tells us.

He and Jordy stand at the edge of the track chatting while
all the girls take off running. Jade and I quickly move to the front of the pack. I run side by side with her, careful not to veer in front of her or accidentally hip-check her as we turn the first corner. My mystic knot pendant bounces against my breastbone. I reach up and tuck it under my collar, but it flops back out almost immediately. Giving up, I lengthen my stride, sucking in a huge breath of air as we pass the football goalposts. I do a quick five-second check. The girls are spread out behind us. There's nothing dangerous as far as I can tell.

“You're fast,” Jade says.

I slow my pace a little. “I run a lot,” I tell her.

The sun ducks in and out of the clouds and the wind hits my skin with just enough force to keep me from getting sweaty. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe joining an activity is just what I need. I mean, it can't hurt, right?

Without warning, Kimber cuts in front of me, her leg muscles flexing and contracting beneath her dark skin with each stride. I jerk to the left to avoid crashing into her. My feet get tangled up and I trip, landing on my hands and knees. The rough track bites through the top layers of my skin and into the bloody part beneath.

Okay, so it can hurt.

Jade pulls up short beside me. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Hopping to my feet, I dust the major dirt particles from my scraped knees and keep running. Everyone else passed us when I fell, and now they're all over a quarter of a lap ahead of us.

“You should probably go clean yourself up,” Jade says. “God only knows what sort of germs are living on the bottom of everyone's shoes.”

It's a good point, but I don't feel like making a spectacle of myself on the first day of tryouts by freaking out over some skinned knees. My bad luck never hurts me directly, so it's not like I picked up some flesh-eating bacteria or anything.

“Girls!” Coach Hoffman yells. “Come on. More running, less chatter.”

Jade rolls her eyes at me but picks up her pace again. We sprint the last quarter of the lap but still come in last. Coach makes a point of looking down at his stopwatch as we finish. “Go on. Catch up with the others.”

Everyone else has made two lines across the middle of the football field. Jordy motions to Kimber and the girl who was sitting next to her, and they obediently leave their places in line and trot over to him.

“If you didn't know, this is Kimber and Colleen,” he says. “Singles and doubles captains. They're going to lead the warm-up.”

“What do you want us to do?” Colleen shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The wind blows her honey-colored hair back from her face.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

“I got this.” Kimber steps forward. “Everyone listen up,” she barks, like she's preparing to lead a platoon of soldiers through their morning workout. “Fifty jumping jacks. Now.”

Jordy and Coach do their stand-around-and-talk thing again while Kimber takes us through a series of exercises I'm pretty sure are designed to make us too tired to actually stand, let alone play tennis afterward. One of them is a squat–push-up–jump thing called a burpee, and Jade mutters something about refusing to do it on principle because the name is stupid. I start giggling in the middle of a push-up and almost face-plant onto the grass.

When we're finally finished, Coach makes some notes on his clipboard, and I wonder if half of us will be cut from the team for crappy push-up form. Jordy picks up the hopper of tennis balls, and we all head down a grassy incline beyond the edge of the track to the tennis courts.

“Everyone take a couple of balls and just get loosened up,” he says. “No playing for points yet.”

“Do you want to rally with me?” Jade asks breathlessly. Her silky black hair is starting to pull loose from her ponytail. She removes a little sweat towel from the pocket of her tennis dress and mops at her forehead.

“Sure.” I try not to even think about what I look like after all of those exercises. I blot my face with the back of my hand while Coach unlocks the gate and all the girls in front of us enter the courts one by one. Jade and I are last.

Jordy looks us over as Jade grabs a couple of balls from the hopper. “Dolphin Hater. I guess now you know my secret.” He looks down at my skinned knees. “What happened?”

“I'm kind of . . . accident-prone,” I mumble.

“Me too,” he says. “Did you see me almost fall on my face earlier?”

“Must have missed it,” I lie. I don't know if I'm doing it to spare him the embarrassment or because I don't want him to know I was looking at him. Probably a little of both.

“I'm sure you'll get a repeat performance at some point.” He shakes his perfectly messy hair back from his face.

“Wait. You hate dolphins?” Jade asks. “That's unnatural.”

“That's what I told her.” Jordy plucks a stray bit of fuzz off a bright green Penn #6. He tosses the ball to me, followed by a second one.

Jade glances back and forth from Jordy to me, a puzzled look on her face. “So you two know each other?”

“I've seen him around, but I didn't know his name,” I say.

“We go to the same shrink,” Jordy explains.

My jaw drops a little. “Hey! You're not supposed to blab people's private medical business.”

“No bigs,” Jade says. “Practically everyone at PP has a shrink, or wishes they did. My mom makes me go to this old lady once a week so I can talk about the stress of being a teenage girl or whatever.” She motions for me to follow her. “I can hold one of your balls,” she says, plucking it out of my fingers. “But you should really get some tennis clothes to go with that fancy racquet.”

My running shorts only have one tiny pocket, made for
keys. Mom and Tom probably would have bought me tennis apparel if they knew everyone else would have it. “We'll see if I make the team first,” I say.

She nods knowingly. “My mom will probably call up Coach Hoffman and scream at him if I get cut. She's always on my case.” She shakes her index finger at me and makes her voice sound like an old lady's. “You need those extracurriculars if you want to get into a good college.”

My mom has starting asking me about college, but I can't think that far in advance. If I do I lose focus on the moment, and that's when someone gets hurt. I figure I'll enroll in an online program, at least for the first couple of years—something safe I can do from the privacy of my bedroom.

I follow Jade down to the far end of the tennis courts, where two other girls are already hitting around on Court Six. “Mind if we share with you?” she asks.

The girls smile and move over so that Jade and I have half of the court. My heart revs up a little at the thought of actually playing against strangers. I scan my surroundings for any possible hazards and then tell myself to relax. It's not like I can kill anyone with a tennis ball.

Actually, there is one tennis-related death on record. (I Googled it. Research is part of being prepared.) It was at Wimbledon; an umpire got hit by a ball going more than a hundred miles per hour, and then he fell and hit his head on the court. I'm pretty sure I don't hit anywhere near that hard.

I reach up and touch my mystic knot. Then I bounce the
ball three times and lob it over the net. Jade turns her body sideways and sends it back at me, her racquet slicing downward so the ball bounces low and I have to lunge to get to it. I return it and then retreat to the baseline. The ball sails back and forth between us as we fall into an easy rhythm. I do a five-second check of the surroundings between each rally, stopping once to warn a girl on the next court about her untied shoelace.

After fifteen minutes, Coach tells us to change partners. Each player shifts one court or section to the right so we're all rallying with someone different. I end up opposite a girl named Mae who hits hard and flat, just like I do. We both cover the court well, and our rallies go twenty or thirty hits before someone messes up.

Coach Hoffman strokes his goatee as he watches us, the beginnings of a smile on his sun-darkened face. “Faster feet, Maguire,” he instructs. “Don't forget to get back to ready position so you're prepared for anything.”

I do my best to follow his instructions, running back to the baseline center and squaring my body with the net after each shot. Coach nods with satisfaction. He strolls from court to court, occasionally asking people to switch things up.

About an hour later, I find myself down on Court Two opposite Jordy. I didn't even realize he was hitting around with us until this moment. I can't believe I have to rally with some guy who plays in pro tournaments. Maybe I should fake like I need to use the restroom.

“Dolphin Hater. You look scared.” Jordy strides up to the net and motions for me to meet him there.

Trying to look calm, I jog up to where he's bouncing a ball off the face of his racquet repeatedly.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Maguire.”

“Like the baseball player?” He holds out his right hand while his left hand continues to bounce the ball off the strings.

I switch my racquet into my left hand and give my fingers a quick wipe on my shorts before shaking his hand. “No. It's an Irish name,” I explain. “My dad's Irish. Well, he was. He died.”
Oh my God, Maguire, stop talking.

Jordy's eyes soften. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“It's okay. It was a long time ago,” I say. “My mom's remarried and everything.” I cough. “I don't know why I'm giving you my whole life story.”

He winks. “Girls say I'm easy to talk to.”

Next to us, Kimber races forward, lunging for a well-placed drop shot. She hits it wide and heads back to the baseline with a scowl. “Are you going to play, Jordy, or just stand there and flirt with the new girl?”

“You always think I'm flirting with everyone,” he says.

Kimber smirks. “Probably because you
are
always flirting with everyone.”

“Ignore her,” Jordy tells me. “She doesn't understand the concept of being friendly.” He gets in position to start a rally, and I quickly back up to the baseline. He bounces the ball
and sends it over the net, so deep in the court I almost have to play it off my shoelaces.

I scoop it up and fire it back at him. He draws me into the net with a short ball and then hits a forehand right at me. I punch the ball back at him, and he lunges for it, setting me up with another easy volley.

“Good,” he says when I angle the ball out of his reach.

“But you set me up,” I protest. “Anyone could have won that point.”

“Not anyone,” he says. “A lot of high school tennis players will do just about anything to avoid playing net. At least you're not afraid.” He points at the baseline. “Now get back there.”

I hurry back to my spot as Jordy fires another ball at me. Some of our rallies go as long as mine did with Mae, and I'm surprised at my own abilities. I feel like a legit tennis player, even though I can see Jordy running me from side to side, tiring me out, while he barely has to move to return all my shots.

“You're fast,” he says. “But you're just reflecting back my power. What happens if you really put your weight into it?”

I concentrate on putting my whole body into each stroke, and sure enough my shots fly low and hard over the net. And then I mistime one and hit it off my back foot. The tennis ball sails all the way over the fence and up the hill, bouncing off the track before rolling to a stop somewhere on the football field.

I swear under my breath. “I'll go get it.” I set my racquet down on the court and jog behind Court One, where Kimber and Coach are engaged in a heated ground-stroke battle. I round the corner and head for the gate. Jordy is right behind me, his racquet still clutched in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He twirls his racquet on his index finger. “I figured I'd come with you. Sometimes the balls are hard to spot in the grass.”

“Um . . . okay.”

Jordy walks beside me as we head up the hill toward the track. “Sorry about the shrink thing. I should have known some people might want to keep that a secret.”

“Not you, I guess.”

“Nah. Sometimes I feel like it's one of the most real things about me.” He pauses. “So Irish, eh? I thought Irish people had red hair and freckles.”

“I think that might be a stereotype perpetuated by cereal boxes.” Other than my pale skin, it's true that I don't look Irish at all. My dark curly hair is from my mom's side of the family. Some of her ancestors were Greek. But it's not like my dad had red hair and freckles either.

“Are you trying to tell me you're not magically delicious?” Jordy flashes me his perfect grin.

I can feel the blush make its way into my cheeks. I have no idea how to respond to that. Is he . . . flirting with me? Instead of answering, I turn away from him, toward the
goalposts, squinting into the sun.