Girl Against the Universe (10 page)

I wake up on Sunday thinking about Jordy again. I reach up for my mystic knot, twisting the clasp around to the back, for the first time considering wishing for something other than a safe day for everyone. But I don't do it. I can't. Other than hitting Jordy with the tennis ball, things have been going well lately. No point in jinxing that because of some boy's smile.

The smell of pancakes wafts from down the hall as I knock three times on my nightstand and dab my lucky perfume on both wrists. Quickly I mumble, “Today no one will get hurt.” I slide out of bed and recite my Chinese good luck prayer eight times in less than two minutes. I run a hand through my tangled curls and then twist the whole mess up into a giant bun as usual.

My mom is at the stove when I head into the kitchen. “I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of my special M&M pancakes,” she says.

“You were right. My mouth is watering. Do you need help?”

“Nope. I have everything under control.”

“Where's Tom?” I ask.

“He's playing golf with some of his work buddies today. It's just you, me, and the kiddos.” My mom smiles. “And Jake is sleeping in for once.”

My sister is sitting on the living room sofa watching cartoons. She always wakes up early, so I'm sure she finished eating already. I take my usual seat and toss a little salt over my left shoulder. I slide a couple of pancakes off the serving platter and onto my plate. “Mmmm.” Bending low, I inhale the warm, buttery scent.

“So that was some practice session yesterday. Five hours?” My mom's voice is light, conversational, but I can tell she's dying of curiosity.

“We practiced for about three hours, and then we ordered California burritos.” I cut into the soft pancake with my fork. “They have French fries in them.”

“Sounds delicious. So you like the idea of making the tennis team?” She hovers next to the table, picking at the edge of one of the pancakes while more bubble on the griddle behind her. “It was Dr. Leed who suggested you join a team, wasn't it? I wouldn't want you to do it if it made you miserable.”

I savor a bite of pancake and then swallow with a smile. “No, it's fun. I actually learned how to serve. We'll have to
go play again sometime, if you want.”

“I'd like that. Speaking of fun, Tom wanted me to ask if you would go with him and Erin to his work picnic on Friday night. It's at Balboa Park. They're going to have food and games, even a live band.” My mom flips another pancake on the griddle. “I'm going to stay home with Jake, but I think the three of you would have a great time.”

Not a chance. Tom works for a big company, and Balboa Park is huge. There'll probably be two hundred people or more there. Adults drinking, kids running around unsupervised—that's the perfect setup for a catastrophe. I swipe at my phone like maybe I'm checking my schedule. “I can't.”

My mom's face falls a little. “You can take two cars if that'll help.”

“Well, I have practice and then my appointment with Dr. Leed,” I remind her. “It'll be after six-thirty by the time I get home.”

“That's still plenty of time to shower and change. You could go to the picnic later.” Mom sets her spatula down on the counter.

Which would mean drunk adults and unsupervised kids running around
after dark
. Even worse. “I don't think so. You know I don't like that kind of stuff.”

“Maguire, I know it can't be easy to be in a new place again, but don't you think getting out would help?”

“I am getting out, Mom. I just need to do it at my own pace.”

She nods. “How are things going with Dr. Leed?”

“Good,” I say. My mom didn't press me to talk about what happened after the fire, so I didn't. I don't know if she thinks I freaked out because I'm the one who left the candle burning (a rare but massive oversight on my part) or if she has any idea it all ties together, that everything goes back to the accidents. She knows I'm superstitious, but I've never felt comfortable burdening her with all my fears, especially not after she got pregnant with Erin. And now that I have Dr. Leed, I feel like there's no point. I'd rather just pull myself together and then surprise her.
Look, Mom. Normal child.

“Have you mentioned Ireland to him?”

“Yeah. We're working on some stuff,” I say. “I promise you I'm trying.”

She scoops another pancake from the griddle and turns back to me. “I know you are.” She reaches out to touch my hair, but I can see the resignation in her expression. She doesn't think I can do it. She's given up on me already.

“You know what? I'm not hungry anymore.” Throwing down my fork, I leap up from the table and head to my bedroom. My mom opens her mouth to say something, but then she thinks better of it and turns back to the stove.

Erin peeks over at me with wide, curious eyes as I round the corner into the hallway. “What's wrong, Mack Wire?”

I force a smile at her. “Nothing. I'm fine. I promise.”

I slip into my room and close the door behind me quietly so I won't wake up the baby. Flopping down on my bed, I
bury my face in my pillow. My mom wouldn't ask me to go to a work function with Tom if it weren't something that meant a lot to her. I swear under my breath. If only I could be normal. I look up Balboa Park on my phone. It's even worse than I imagined, with its streets and ponds and fountains. All the five-second checks in the world wouldn't be enough.

I sit up and take three deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. I rap three times on my nightstand. A neat pile of library books about Ireland sits on the floor next to my bed. I checked them out to motivate myself, but now I feel like they're mocking me. I pick up the thickest one and start reading it from the very beginning.

I'm only on the fourth page when my mom knocks gently on the door.

Hopping up from my bed, I stride across the room and open the door a crack. “What?”

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry for upsetting you.” She looks down at the book in my hand. “You got books from the library?”

“Yeah. I was just curious about the weather and customs and stuff. I haven't gotten very far.”

She nods. “Can I come in?”

I open the door.

She slips into my room. “Do you resent me?”

“Mom, no,” I say. “Why would you think something like that?”

She closes the door. “You started retreating into your
shell right about the time Tom and I got married and I told you I was pregnant with Erin. At first I thought it was just you becoming a surly teenager or the stress of relocating, but sometimes I wonder if you don't like being around us because you feel like I replaced your dad and brother. I can't remember the last time we all did anything together as a family.”

Oh, God. I avoid family stuff mostly to keep Tom and the kids safe, and my mom has been thinking it's because I'm mad at her? “I don't resent you,” I say. “I'm happy that you were able to . . . get past everything.”

She sighs deeply, as if I've just confirmed her worst suspicions. “I'll never be ‘past everything,' okay? Losing your dad and brother was horrible. It was like realizing I failed to protect my family, even though I know there's nothing I could have done. What happened that day affects every part of my life, Maguire. I'm terrified all the time. I'm afraid Jake is going to die of SIDS. I'm worried about Erin going off to preschool next year. I'm worried about Tom when he works late. I'm worried about you at a new school, about you driving places by yourself. Please, please don't think I just started over with a new family.”

“I don't, but I didn't know you worried about all that stuff.” Maybe my mom and I have more in common than I thought. I set the book about Ireland back on the stack. “How do you not go crazy thinking about it all?”

“It's hard. I try to take one moment at a time. Sometimes
when I'm feeling down, the whole world is just one terrible and scary thing after the next. That's when I try to focus on the good things that have happened to me since then.” She ruffles my hair. “Like seeing the smile on your face when you came home last night.”

Did I smile after hanging out with Jordy?

“You're smiling again.” My mom sits on the edge of my bed. “Tell me about this guy. Is he cute?”

Kind of.
“It's not like that,” I say. “He's just helping me because he knows me a little bit from Dr. Leed's.”

“And that does not answer the question of whether he's cute.”

“Yeah, he's cute,” I admit. “He's got a great smile.”

“I want to see.” She points at the laptop on my desk. “Google him.”

Oh, Lord. That didn't even occur to me. Jordy “Everyone Knows Who I Am” Wheeler's whole life is undoubtedly on the internet for public consumption. Reluctantly I grab my computer and type his name into the search box. I click on the images tab and about two hundred smiling pictures pop up.

My mom tries to wolf whistle, but it just comes out like a stream of air. I make a face at her and then click on one of the thumbnails—Jordy in a tux. I blow it up and read the caption. It's from an Arthur Ashe Foundation benefit dinner.

“Oooh. What a babe!” Mom giggles like a middle school girl getting asked to her first dance.

“No one says ‘babe' anymore,” I tell her. “But he's a nice guy, and I'm lucky he's helping me.”

“Is he a good teacher?”

“The best,” I say. “I wish you could make it to one of our matches. He revamped my serve in only a couple of days. All he had to do was watch me and he realized my toss was off, so he helped me fix it.”

Her body wilts a little. “I wish I could. It's just that Jake's so young. I hate leaving a tiny baby with a babysitter I don't know and—”

“It's okay, Mom. I understand.” It would be a lot for her to handle, managing both Erin and Jake while watching one of my matches. And Tom is never home until after six, so he wouldn't be able to help.

“Maybe I can convince Tom to take a day off work.”

“That'd be cool.” I shut my laptop and set it on my bed. “But if not, there's always next year.”

“Maybe by next year I'll feel comfortable trusting Tom alone with the kids.” She grins.

“He's not so bad,” I say. “And if we go to Ireland, he'll be watching them by himself, right?”

Mom gets that dreamy, wistful look in her eyes again. “Don't feel pressured into that. I know it's a lot to ask.” She lifts herself from my bed and glances around the room.

Two walls are all bookshelves. I have over five hundred books, all alphabetized by author. The other walls are blank, as are the top of my desk and dresser. It occurs to me my
room looks more like a library than a place where someone actually lives.

“You keep everything so clean.” Mom shakes her head. “You're a much better kid than I was.”

“You must've been a hellion.” I give her a half smile. “Sorry about earlier. I might not make the party, but I'm trying really hard to make that plane.”

“Okay.” My mom brightens, and just like that I feel like crap again.

It's been two weeks since I started my list of therapy challenges, and I haven't even completed the first one. I've still got a long way to go.

The next week passes in a blur. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are what Coach calls the “official tryouts.” On Wednesday and Thursday, we go through a series of skill stations designed to test us on forehands, backhands, passing shots, drop shots, overheads, and serves. I do okay on all of them. On Friday, Coach has us run three miles to test our endurance, and then we play singles against each other. I win games against Jade, Colleen, and Mae, but I lose easily to both Penn and Kimber.

Jordy calls me on Saturday. “How are you doing?” he asks.

I'm crashed out on my bed, working my way through some physics homework. I set my textbook to the side. “I hurt all over,” I tell him. “I tried to go for a run this morning but didn't make it very far. I have sore muscles in places where I didn't even know I had muscles.”

He laughs. “Welcome to competitive athletics. I still have
those days occasionally.”

“I hope I make the team.”

“From what I saw you did great,” he says. “I bet you're a lock.”

“Do you have inside information?” I ask hopefully.

He chuckles. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Well, if I do make it, a lot of it is because of you,” I say. “So thanks again.”

“You're welcome,” Jordy says. “I like helping people with their game.”

I see an opening. My pulse races a little, but I remember Dr. Leed telling me I need to push myself. “What about helping them with therapy challenges? Is that offer still on the table?”

“Sure. Are you still working on riding in a car with someone?”

“Yep.”

Do you need to ride for a certain length of time? Go anywhere specific?”

“Nah. Maybe twenty minutes. Anywhere you want to go is fine.”

“All right. How does Monday night sound? By then you'll know you made the team and you'll have one less thing to worry about.”

“Let's do it,” I say.

We hang up, and instead of going back to my homework I reach for one of the Ireland books. I flip from picture to pic
ture, marveling at the castles and countryside. I close my eyes and imagine my mom and me there, riding horses across the moors with Grandma Siobhan.
You can do this
, I tell myself.
You just have to be brave.

Monday is the slowest day of school ever because I'm waiting to find out for sure that I made the team. I'm fairly certain I did, but I hope Jade makes it too. I see her once in the halls between classes, but then not again until the end of the day in psychology class.

She leans back in her seat, her feet propped on the chair in front of her. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“You're going to be fine,” I assure her.

“Easy for you to say, Manager's Pet. Have you been enjoying your private lessons?” She licks her lips suggestively.

“Hey.” I bend down and pretend to fumble in my backpack for something so she won't see me blush. “Coach is the one who decides who gets cut, not Jordy.”

“Oh, relax. I was just kidding.” She clucks her tongue. “You have the best skin, you know it?”

“What?” I peek over at her as Ms. Haynes heads up the main aisle to her desk.

“It's so pale and perfect, yet blushy at the same time.” She grins. “You always look like you're in love.”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “I'm just one of those people who always look pink.”

“Uh-huh,” Jade says.

Today's lecture is about self-fulfilling prophecies—how if a person expects something good or bad to happen, he might subconsciously help bring about the expected result with his behavior. Ms. Haynes shows a video clip about the power of positive thinking, and it reminds me of my daily affirmations.

“This must be the theory one hundred percent of self-help books are based on,” Jade whispers. “Good news. I think we both made the tennis team, so I guess that means we both made the tennis team. Now to start thinking about my starring role in the winter play.”

I smile at her, but at the same time I weigh the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies in my head. Maybe if I try to believe what Dr. Leed believes—that I'm not cursed, that none of the accidents were my fault—it'll help with my therapy challenges.

After class, Jade and I head to the locker room together and then down to the tennis courts.

Once everyone is present, Coach gives us the good news: no one is getting cut this year. I'm going to play third singles behind Kimber and Penn. Jordy gives me a slap on the back. Penn gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Kimber gives me a smile that looks a little forced.

Jade is going to play second doubles, and she's thrilled about it. She prefers doubles to singles and is hoping she can move up to first doubles next year when Colleen and Luisa both graduate.

Today's practice is the best so far. I win a few points off everyone who I hit against, including Kimber, and my serve has never looked better.

Jordy calls me later while I'm working through some trig problems. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Homework,” I say.

“Me too.”

“What's it like taking classes online?”

“Boring,” Jordy says. “And I'm easily distracted, which doesn't help. But I should be able to get out sometime after eleven, if that's not too late.”

“Sounds good.” I'm nervous, but if I can pull this off, I'll have completed two therapy challenges in one day.

Everyone at my house is usually asleep by 10:30. I pretend to get ready for bed like always, slipping into my pajamas and making a point of brushing my teeth and washing my face with the bathroom door open so my mom and Tom can't possibly miss me.

Then I slide back into my room, close the door, and pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I twist my hair up into a messy bun. As I stare at my reflection, I decide I look a little more tired than usual. Digging in the top drawer of my dresser, I find a brown eyeliner pencil and pull off the cap.

Then I come to my senses.

I don't need to look good for Jordy. I don't want him
to like me like that. Right now I have to focus on me, on getting over my fears. Two of the books about Ireland are stacked on the corner of my dresser. I've spread the books around my room so that everywhere I look I see another reminder. Ireland equals goal. Jordy equals . . . tall goofy guy who sucks at math. I smile as I think of the way he described himself. Jordy equals friend.

But what if Dr. Leed fixes you?

He won't. And even if he does, that won't magically change everything. I'm only meeting Jordy tonight so I can cross another challenge off my list and get one step closer to Ireland.

And because he volunteered.

And okay, fine, because he's sort of funny and I like hanging out with him.

But none of those things require eyeliner.

I put on a little anyway.

The floor outside my room creaks as someone walks by. Quickly, I dive into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, just in case my mom got up to check on Jake and decides to look in on me.

The creaking stops, and the entire house falls silent. I curl onto my side and rest my phone next to my pillow in case I fall asleep.

Right at 11:30, my phone buzzes with Jordy's text message.

           
Here

I get out of bed and peek out my window. An unfamiliar car is parked across the street. I slide the window open and crawl out, narrowly avoiding the prickly pear cactus that grows along the side of the house. My blood pounds in my ears and I hold my breath as my feet hit the ground. This is the first time I've ever sneaked out. Ducking low, I dart across the grass and the street. I'm still crouching when I reach the passenger side of Jordy's car.

“Car” is actually an understatement. This is more of a street racing death machine, with two thick tailpipes and a pronounced fin on the back. It's black and sleek with green and silver stripes painted down the sides. This car looks like it's begging to get into an accident.

Jordy leans his lanky frame across the front seat and opens the door for me. “Hey.” He's wearing a backward baseball cap.

“You might have mentioned you were picking me up in a race car. Didn't I see this in
The Fast and the Furious
?”

“Maybe in a chop shop getting broken down for parts.”

“Whatever.” God, everything about him is so attention-getting. “Did you buy it with your tennis millions?”

He snorts. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have no millions. Mitzi here barely ran when I bought her. Not that expensive.”

“Mitzi?” I ask incredulously. If this car has a name, I'm pretty sure it should be something like Diablo or Black Death.

“It's a Mitsubishi Lancer. Honestly, I would have pre
ferred something a little less flashy.” Jordy fiddles with the brim of his hat.

“Right.” I cough into my fist. “Like you didn't get it specifically to be a chick magnet.”

“Clearly it's a chick magnet, because my sister picked it out,” he says. “She's into cars but doesn't have a license yet, so she begged me to get something she and the kid across the street could fix up. It's a sweet ride, but I'm always worried someone is going to steal it.”

“Your sister . . .” I arch an eyebrow. “Penn?”

“The only sister I have. You saw her covered with grease the other day. She's all about cars, and she's going to turn sixteen soon. I've been thinking about giving it to her.”

“That's nice of you.”

“Yeah. I'm nice every once in a while.” Jordy clears his throat. “Like now, up in the middle of the night helping my friend with her shrink homework. So are we doing this, or what?”

I pause. My eyes flick all around me, looking for signs—black cats, ominous clouds, anything that tells me this is a really bad idea. The night looks back at me, suburban, innocent, unthreatening. There's no reason to be nervous.

But I am. My breath hitches. “Wait. Have you ever been in an accident?”

“No.”

“And how long have you been driving?”

“For two years. I have my unrestricted license. I've never
gotten a ticket. I even got an
A
in Driver's Ed.”

“Okay. Give me a second.” I rest my hands on my thighs, my knees wavering beneath me.

Jordy slides out of the car and jogs around to my side. Gently, he places his hands on my shoulders and turns my body so the car is supporting me and we're facing each other. I realize he's dressed all in black.

“Are you robbing a bank later?” I joke weakly.

“Sneaking out of my house requires a bit of effort.”

“You sneaked out to do this?”

“Didn't you?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “But my mom worries constantly that I'm antisocial. She'd probably be happy to catch me sneaking out.”

“I'm usually in bed by now. But it feels good to do what I want for once, instead of just doing what's expected of me.” Jordy reaches down and takes my hands in his, squeezes them gently. “I know you can do this, Maguire. Just think—it'll be one step closer to that trip to Ireland.”

I nod.
Mom. Dad. Grandma Siobhan.
Right now Ireland feels like a dream, like it's not even a real place. “I just need a minute. I haven't driven with anyone but my mom since the accident. And with her I needed sedatives for months. Even now it's still hard sometimes.”

“We can just sit in the car for a while and see if you feel any better, if you want.”

“Okay,” I say. We both slide into the car. Exhaling
deeply, I lean back against the leather seat and look up at the upholstered ceiling. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

“You're welcome. But it's not exactly a huge expenditure of effort on my part.” He shrugs. “Plus, like I said, it gives me a reason to break out of jail.”

“Sorry I'm being so lame about it. I know you probably have to be up early.”

“You're not lame,” Jordy says. “We're all afraid of things.”

I glance over at him. “What are you afraid of?”

He tilts his head to the side and thinks for a moment. Then he ticks things off on his fingertips. “Grasshoppers. Sharks. Drowning. Disappointing my parents.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Grasshoppers?”

“Have you ever seen one of those up close? They look like tiny aliens.” He shudders. “And nothing should be able to jump twenty times its height. That's just wrong.”

“But you could squish like five of them with one of your giant feet,” I point out.

“Stop.” Jordy squeezes his eyes shut. “Have you ever stepped on a grasshopper? You can feel their bones or shell or whatever—”

“Exoskeleton,” I say.

“Yeah, that. You can feel it crushing beneath you and then there are soft parts and then there's this pile of . . . stuff and it sticks to your shoe.” He shudders again. “Let's not talk about grasshoppers anymore, please.”

I crack a smile. My heart rate slows a little. “Okay. Why
do you think you're going to disappoint your parents?”

Jordy turns the key in the ignition but doesn't start the car. “Just to make the seat-warmer work,” he explains. He taps one foot against the floorboards. “My sister thinks I'm a wuss, you know?”

“I'm sure she doesn't—”

“No. She does. And she's sort of right that I let my parents run my life. But they've made a lot of sacrifices for me. My dad used to be a freelance video game designer, but he took a corporate job that paid a ton more and had better benefits after I was born. I'm sure he thought at some point he'd go back to doing what he loved, but then I started playing tennis and seemed to have a natural aptitude, so instead he and my mom took out a second mortgage so they could have the court put in the backyard. My mom quit her job so she could manage my day-to-day stuff.” Jordy turns to face me. “Basically, they stopped doing what they loved so that I can do what I love.”