Girl Against the Universe

by Paula Stokes

  “It’s a tough district. No shame in fifty-fifty. Maybe we could hit around sometime, if you want?”

  “Oh.” Once again I am completely caught off guard. “I don’t think I’d be much competition for you.”

  He shrugs. “You never know till you try. Either way, one of the best ways to improve your game is to hit with someone at a higher level.”

  He’s basically repeating things Jordy has said to me. I can’t tell if he’s flirting or honestly just interested in helping me with my tennis game.

  “Give me your phone,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Give. Me. Your. Phone,” he repeats, as if maybe I’m a little slow.

  I can’t figure out how to refuse him, so I fumble in my pocket for my phone and hand it over. As Shawn accesses my contacts menu, someone knocks on the front door. Saved by the pizza, I think.

  But it’s not the pizza.

  Shawn glances up as Jordy strolls out onto the back deck. “Hey man, what’s up?”

  “Not much,” Jordy says. “How’s college treating you?”

  “Not too bad,” Shawn says. “You know where you’re going to go?”

  “I don’t even know if I’m going to go . . .” Jordy trails off. He’s staring at the phone in Shawn’s hand. My phone.

  “Shawn!” Darius hollers from the other side of the deck. “I found the cards. You in or what?”

  “I have to go school some people,” Shawn says, handing my phone back to me. “But it was nice meeting you, Maguire.”

  “Yeah. You too,” I say. Glancing down, I see that Shawn has added himself to my embarrassingly small contacts menu as “Shawn Kane—the hot guy you met at Kimber’s house.”

  He crosses the deck, stopping halfway to turn around and mouth “call me.” Then he slides into a chair next to Darius.

  Jordy pulls my car keys from his pocket. He sets them on the wooden railing of the deck, his jaw going tight. “Did Shawn Kane just tell you to call him?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “He offered to practice with me.”

  “Oh. Your car is parked across the street from my house.” Jordy slides my keys toward me, but he doesn’t say anything else.

  I lower my voice so no one else can hear. “I’m not going to. But he seemed nice and I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  Jordy gestures at my untouched drink. “What are you drinking?”

  “I think it’s a margarita or something. I’m not drinking it, though. I don’t drink.”

  “Can I drink it?”

  “Sure.”

  Jordy takes a long drink from the plastic cup. Looking straight ahead, he says, “I mean, you can call him if you want. He’s a decent guy, and a solid tennis player too.”

  “Is he better than you?” I ask curiously.

  “Not at tennis.” Jordy swishes the remaining liquid around in his cup. “I’ve beat him all three times we played each other.”

  I nudge him in the ribs. “Not at tennis? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He looks down at me, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes evident in the soft glow of the fading daylight. “It means this is harder than I thought.”

  “What is?”

  He lowers his voice. “Sharing you.” Before I can reply he continues, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to come to this party. I want you to get over your fear of being around other people, but man, I hate watching other guys hit on you.”

  “I don’t think he was hitting on me,” I protest.

  Jordy snorts. “Come on, Maguire. We both know that he was.”

  “Jordy,” I say softly. I reach out and touch his arm.

  He turns to face me. “Do you want to go for a walk? I need some air.”

  We both know that there’s no more air on the sidewalk than there is on Kimber’s deck, but I nod at him. “Let me just tell Jade where I’m going.” I look over at the round table, but she’s not there. She must be in the bathroom or something.

  Jordy drains the rest of the drink from the red plastic cup while I send Jade a text and tell her I’ll be back in an hour. He leaves the empty cup on the deck and heads for the sliding glass door. We cut back through Kimber’s house.

  I do a five-second check as we step outside, looking for anything strange or out of place. All I see are the quiet silhouettes of the upper-class neighborhood—sloping roofs, spiky palm trees, manicured lawns cut short into submission.

  Our walk takes us exactly where I expect it to—Jordy’s house.

  The driveway is bare. The lights are all off. I’ve been alone with Jordy plenty of times, even at his house before. But something feels different about tonight, like everything is getting ready to change, whether I’m ready for it or not.

  CHAPTER 28

  I follow Jordy inside, waiting while he punches in the security code.

  He turns away from the blinking panel and heads for the stairs. “Come on,” he says. “My room is on the second floor.”

  My heart starts pounding as I follow him; sweat beads on the back of my neck. I don’t think it’s from climbing the stairs.

  The door to Jordy’s bedroom opens with a soft creak. He reaches an arm around the doorframe and flicks on the light. There’s a desk and chair, a set of shelves that runs the full length of one wall, a big screen TV, and a video game console, its wires twisting across the floor. And then there’s his bed, queen-sized, unmade.

  I force myself to look away from the tangled sheets. The shelves are full of trophies—big ones, small ones, ribbons, plaques. I pretend to concentrate on them and not on the fact that Jordy has invited me into his private space. He didn’t even feel the need to tuck away his dirty laundry or scattered papers and magazines.

  “What are we doing?” I whisper.

  He loops his hands around my waist and pulls me into a loose embrace. “Hiding from the rest of the world.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question. I’m so tired of my parents and the secrets and everyone’s expectations. All this stress is like dragging around an anvil. No wonder I’m feeling exhausted.”

  I run one hand up and down his arm. “I don’t have expectations for you.”

  He presses his lips to my forehead. “I know. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one.”

  I rest my cheek against his chest and inhale his scent—a complex aroma of soap, cologne, and alcohol. He’s upset—I can feel it, but I don’t know how to fix things. “So you manage to find time for video games, huh?” I say, gesturing at the console.

  “Very little,” Jordy says. “Sometimes I play before I go to sleep. It’s weird—it helps me wind down. Do you play?”

  “Not really,” I admit.

  “Do you want to?” His voice catches in his throat.

  “Sure.”

  Jordy flicks off the room light and turns on a small desk lamp, bathing everything in comforting shadows. He does a belly flop onto his bed and pats a spot on the mattress. “Get comfy.”

  I settle uneasily on the edge of his bed and take the oval-shaped controller he puts in my hand. He flicks a button on the remote, and the start-up screen for a game called Killdead Enterprises appears. “Basically the idea is to kill all the zombies. Don’t kill the hostages. The left and right arrows turn you. The forward and back make you go forward and back, and the trigger button shoots,” he says. “There’s more, but that’ll get you started.”

  Jordy presses a button on his controller, and the screen changes to what looks like a military base. The zombies come slowly at first, and then quicker. I find myself getting into the game, enjoying the challenge of spotting and targeting each threat as it appears. When we get to the end of the level, there’s a zombie cyborg creature that Jordy explains is the boss. “We have to shoot him like a hundred times.”

  “Fun.” Biting my bottom lip, I target the boss and start firing, mashing buttons as fast as I can. He dodges left and right, occasionally retreating behind what looks like a small water tower. When the boss disapp
ears from the screen, I fire a blast of machine gun bullets at one leg of the tower.

  “What are you doing?” Jordy asks.

  “Wondering if we can crush him with this tower thing.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” He shoots at another leg of the tower, and it teeters dangerously. “Wait till he comes back on-screen.”

  When the zombie boss appears again and starts throwing axes at us, I fire rapidly on him while Jordy takes out the second leg of the water tower. It’s enough to send it crashing to the ground, right on top of the boss, who promptly dies. The end-of-level scene appears, and Jordy and I get a huge point bonus.

  He pauses the game and turns to me. “I never even thought of that. You are smart.” He holds his hand up for a high five.

  “Not that smart.” I slap his palm.

  “Yes, you are.” Jordy catches my fingers and squeezes them gently.

  I exhale slowly, my eyes locked onto his. I pull my hand free from his grip and shake it out. “I think I might have sprained something,” I joke.

  He reaches for my hand again. “Lucky for you I’m currently enrolled in a class called Sports Medicine.”

  “Does it include information on video game injuries?”

  “Most repetitive motion injuries are similar.” He massages my palm with both of his thumbs. Then he uses his thumb and forefinger to massage the area between each of my fingers.

  It feels so good that my whole body relaxes. I drop my head forward and let my eyes close. “I give you an A,” I say. “You’re practically making my mouth water.”

  “Really?” He stretches the word out. “I like the sound of that.” With his other hand, he reaches out and lifts my chin. He drags his thumb across my bottom lip. “You’re amazing, you know it?”

  “Because I killed a zombie?” I ask weakly.

  He laughs silently, his eyes still locked onto mine. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and talented, and kind.”

  “And cursed,” I remind him, my voice hoarse.

  He traces my jawbone with his knuckles. “I don’t care about your curse.” Without warning, he leans in close. His mouth brushes mine gently. One hand slides under the bottom of my shirt. His fingertips caress the bare skin of my back.

  I lean into him, my lips urgent against his. The next thing I know we’re both lying on his bed, our arms and legs tangled together. His soft mattress threatens to swallow me whole. I kick off my shoes and curl onto my side so we’re facing each other.

  Jordy reaches across me to stroke my hair. “I just keep seeing the look on your face when Shawn gave you his number.”

  “And what look was that?”

  “Surprised. Sort of flattered.”

  I move closer to him. “That’s exactly how I felt. But that’s it—nothing more. I don’t need to hang out with him or anything.”

  “It just made me realize how stupid I’m being about my parents, thinking they’ll be easier to persuade after I show them my mid-semester grades. They want me to go to college and be all about tennis and studying.” He brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips against each of my knuckles. “But I want to date you and I want to go pro next year, and no matter when I tell them, it’s going to be a big, nasty confrontation. I need to just man up and face it.”

  “How are you so sure this is what you want?” I’m not sure if I’m talking about his feelings for me or going pro.

  “I just am. I know how I feel.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Do you know how you feel?”

  I know how I feel, but what I don’t know is whether my feelings are strong enough to overcome my bad luck, whether caring about Jordy is a good thing or a bad thing. I can’t explain that to him, though. Not here, with our noses brushing and bodies just inches apart. I should get up, move away, but I don’t. It’s like when you stand too close to the edge of a cliff and part of you really wants to jump. You know it’s crazy, but once the idea takes hold of you, it’s hard to break away from it.

  “Here’s what I feel like.” I roll onto my back and pull Jordy on top of me. Brushing his hair back from his eyes, I run one fingertip around his lips. His scent, the weight of his body, the look in his eyes—all of it excites me. Suddenly I don’t just want to jump off that cliff anymore. I want to dive headfirst into the swirling waves, even though I’m not sure if I can swim. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

  Jordy’s mouth crashes down onto mine. I taste the mix of sweetness and alcohol from whatever he drank at Kimber’s house, but I don’t mind. He bites gently on my lower lip. My hands slide under the fabric of his shirt, my fingertips gently exploring his stomach and ribcage.

  He tugs his shirt over his head. He drops it on the floor and kisses me again. My fingers crawl upward, stroking his pecs, his shoulders. I feel the soft prickle of chest hair. Beneath my palm, Jordy’s heart beats slow and steady. I don’t know how he can be so calm when everything feels so electric, so turbocharged. My body is asking for things it’s never wanted before.

  Jordy’s hands trace their way up my hips, tugging my shirt up just far enough that the bare skin of his stomach is brushing against mine. I kiss his jawbone, run my mouth along his neck, listen to the soft noises escaping from his lips.

  His eyes snap open. He rolls to the side of me. “Screw dating. What does ‘dating’ even mean? I want you to be my girlfriend.” He laces his fingers through mine. “Say you’ll be my girlfriend right now, tonight, and I’ll wait up for my parents and tell them everything.”

  “Jordy,” I say weakly. “If this is just because you saw me talking to Shawn . . .”

  “It’s not,” he says. “You make me want to be brave—to face the stuff that scares me.”

  “Some of which scares you for good reason,” I say. “Let’s stick to the plan. You focus on school and tennis. I’ll finish my therapy challenges. Then . . . we’ll figure it out. You know how I feel about jinxing things.”

  “I do,” he says. “But sometimes I feel like maybe you’re just using your fears as an excuse not to get close. That you’ll blow me off no matter what happens.”

  “That’s not . . .” As I struggle to formulate a response, his mouth traces its way up the ridge of muscle in my neck. He reaches down to stroke the skin of my bare leg. “Jordy.” I can hear the pleading sound in my voice, but I’m not sure if I want him to quit or keep going. “I’m pretty sure you know how I feel,” I whisper. Every sensation seems amplified by a million.

  “I can see how you feel about this,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive places on my neck again. “I’m asking how you feel about me. Be my girlfriend, Maguire.”

  I pull away and sit up in the bed, threading and unthreading my fingers in front of my body. For most other girls, this would be easy. But I know that even if I survive all my therapy challenges and make it to Ireland and back, that won’t mean I’m not cursed, it won’t mean I won’t someday reflect bad luck on Jordy or his family, it won’t mean I won’t regret whatever decision I make here.

  But I also know this isn’t a choice I can put off forever.

  I want this, whatever it is. I want to see where things go. I want to let myself feel. But just as I’m about to tell him yes, that I’ll be his girlfriend, a car door slams outside.

  “Shit.” Jordy flinches so sharply we both almost fall off the bed. He leaps up and strides across the room to the window.

  I sit up slowly, finger-combing my disheveled hair. My whole body is warm. Everything feels a little cloudy and unreal. “What is it?”

  He swears under his breath. “My parents.”

  I snap out of my haze. “We should get downstairs.”

  “Right. Except it’s too late. They’ll be inside before we can get back down there.”

  “What will they do if they catch you with a girl in your room?”

  “Lecture me for hours. Ground me forever. Possibly ask you to take a pregnancy test.” He grabs his shirt from the floor and pulls it back on.

  “What—”
<
br />   “Sorry. Stupid thing to say. I’m panicking.” He tosses his hair back from his face. “You know what? Screw it. I said I wanted to tell them. This is a sign. I’m going to tell them right now. We’re together. I’m going pro. That’s how it’s going to be. I want them to be part of my career, but if they can’t live with that then I guess I’ll have to start paying for my own coaching and tournaments, which I’ll be able to do once I can score some bigger sponsors.”

  “No, wait,” I hiss. “These aren’t the kind of decisions you make in two seconds.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this stuff for months,” he says firmly.

  “Okay. But I can’t meet your mom like this.” I rake my hands through my hair again. “What is she going to think?”

  “She’s going to think we were up here fooling around. Big deal. It’s not like we’re naked.”

  “Jordy! I don’t want your mom to think of me like . . . whatever. This is not a sign. It’s a cosmic beatdown waiting to happen. Hide me,” I beg. “Sneak me out later. Tomorrow we can figure everything out when we’re both thinking clearly.”

  “I am thinking clearly,” Jordy says. “And I’m sick of hiding,”

  “I’m not!” I give him my best pleading look.

  Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. “Stanford?” A woman’s musical voice calls.

  I lie down and pull the quilted comforter over my head. As hiding places go, it’s not much, but it’s the best I’ve got.

  “Jesus, Maguire,” Jordy mutters. “Fine. But that is not going to work if she turns on the overhead light.”

  I roll onto my stomach and flatten myself out as much as possible, willing my body to sink into the mattress, willing the comforter to fall around my frame in indecipherable, non-girl-shaped folds.

  “Stanford? Are you in there?”

  “Come on in,” Jordy says, his voice seemingly relaxed.

  I hold my breath as the door to his room creaks open.

  CHAPTER 29

  “I thought I heard voices. Who were you talking to?” Jordy’s mom asks.

  “What? Oh. Chris. I was on the phone.”