Adrenaline Crush

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  7

  When we pull up to the house Jay’s black Subaru is parked in the driveway as far to the left as possible. He’s in the driver’s seat tapping at his electronic tablet, but once he sees us he tucks it under his arm and jogs over to open my door. He and Mom exchange friendly “hellos” as she heads into the house.

  “How was it?” Jay helps/carries me out of the car.

  “Ugh.” I crinkle my nose. “Instead of Ulysses they should call it the Useless Center.”

  “Total waste, huh?”

  “Well … I did meet this cute guy.” I twirl my hair wickedly. Jay pantomimes using his tablet like a knife to stab himself in the heart and I laugh. “Only one cute guy for me.”

  He rewards me with a kiss and eases me onto the lounger on our low front deck. His tablet is still in his hand, and I teasingly reach over and jab the home button. The thing he was working on flashes open and I stop.

  “What is that?”

  Jay looks down and seems flustered as he clicks back to his home screen.

  “No, I want to see.” With a sigh he reopens the file and hands it to me.

  I stare at the scene. The overgrown trees. The sparkling water. Those crazy arching rails. It’s the swim hole. I press my lips together and rub at the spot where Frankenfoot swallows my leg. Whisper the word “There.”

  Jay flinches. “I’m so sorry.” He tries to ease the tablet out of my hands, but I hold tight.

  I read the caption he’s written out loud. “This place is alive. The trees look like we’ve just caught them playing a game of freeze tag.”

  I smile. “Journalist my ass. You’re a poet.”

  “That was just a stupid thought I jotted down that day,” he says. “I assure you, I am not damaged enough to be a poet.”

  “So, what were you doing with this?”

  Jay takes the tablet from me and mumbles, “Just something I’m messing around with.” Louder he says, “But I want to hear about your morning. How was tea and crumpets?”

  With a British accent I say, “I discovered clotted cream is not at all as disgusting as it sounds. In fact, it’s quite lovely on scones.”

  “Well then,” Jay mocks. “You should try putting in a request for it at the New Paltz High cafeteria. Of course, their version will have actual clots.”

  “Bloody hell,” I say. “I am so over high school.” Jay laughs and I shake my head. “Oh, but I’m not kidding. Come September, I’m going to be homeschooled!” Saying it out loud for the first time makes it sound like really good news.

  Jay looks crestfallen.

  I ask, “What’s wrong?”

  “I kind of thought we’d, you know, be like a power couple working our way through senior year together.”

  “That’s sweet. But honestly, I’ve never really fit in there.”

  “But now you fit with me.” Jay’s green eyes meet mine.

  “True. But you’re missing the point.” I think a minute, trying to come up with a way to explain it. “I feel like … like I’ve been stuck watching some really boring movie for years and years and now I finally have permission to walk out early.”

  Jay laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Okay, I get it. School’s not for everyone.”

  He plans on getting into Columbia’s journalism program, and I feel ashamed for not having lofty Ivy League aspirations. My only solid goal was to hike the Appalachian Trail right after graduation and now that’s clearly off the schedule.

  Jay says, “Tell me more about this hippy-dippy place that’s stealing you away from me.”

  I sigh. “The workout stuff is nothing I can’t handle. But there’s this stupid group therapy thing and everyone’s so, I don’t know … tragic?”

  Jay leans forward to listen as I describe each person. His eyes widen as I tell him about Polly and her bear attack. Sparky captures his interest as well, but when I get to describing Pierce I pause a moment. I don’t really know anything about him.

  “This one guy is sort of assisting with the group,” I say. “He’s a bit older than us and has a prosthetic leg, but I have no clue what his story is.”

  Jay closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sun as if trying to remember something. I want to kiss his blond eyelashes. “Is the guy’s name P-something? Perry?” He snaps his fingers and answers himself. “Pierce!”

  “That’s it. Pierce.”

  “There was a huge article in the New Paltz Times three or four months ago about some kid who lost a leg. I remember it because a letter I wrote to the editor about the Earth Day parade ran in the same issue.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Oh, sure, don’t ask me about getting my letter published or anything,” Jay says.

  “Right, because the New Paltz Times is so selective about what it prints on its letters page.” I shove him and he laughs.

  “Apparently, Pierce is only nineteen and he’s already some sort of war hero.”

  “What?” I’m shocked, because the blue-eyed guy with dark, shaggy hair who hobbled onto the deck this afternoon does not match the term “war hero” even a little bit. It does, however, explain Sparky jumping up to shake his hand.

  “He graduated a year or two ago. He went to school in Highland, otherwise we would probably have known him.” Jay shakes his head. “The article said he earned a Purple Heart for saving another soldier from burning to death when their Jeep caught fire. That’s how he lost his leg. Just crazy.”

  “Wow,” I say, and Jay starts snapping his fingers.

  “If I got an interview with that guy I could write a killer piece about his experience! A fallen soldier’s point of view. He can be my Christopher McCandless.”

  The book that Jay gave me relates the true story of McCandless’s life. I’m only about halfway through it, but I already know he renamed himself Alexander Supertramp, gave away all his money, headed into the wilds of Alaska, and ended up dead. Jay credits the author, Jon Krakauer, with using Into the Wild to turn the guy into a modern-day hero. “McCandless idolized nature and didn’t respect how dangerous it could be and it killed him,” Jay says now. “I can do something similar in an article about Pierce’s ideals costing him his leg. He’ll make the ultimate hero. Any chance you could get me an interview?”

  “I don’t really know him yet,” I say.

  “That’s okay.” He smiles. “Maybe you can ask in a couple of weeks. Just work on getting close to him for me.”

  I have to admit I’m a little curious what Pierce’s story is. It probably would make an interesting article. I nod and tell Jay, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  8

  The next day is a bit overcast, but the seven of us are sitting outside on the Ulysses deck in order to capitalize on the “better flow of energy,” according to Miss. Obviously.

  “Today we’ll be revisiting our actual traumas in closer detail,” she announces, and I cringe. I’m not like Harley, who loves to monologue about his near-deaths, showing scars and lumpy bones as narrative illustrations. I will never enjoy talking about my accident.

  Smiling, Miss says, “Pierce, why don’t you go first and show the group how it’s done?”

  He squints at his clasped hands and begins. “Being in Afghanistan is like living in a giant hourglass filled with sand. No air to breathe. Only heat, and shifting time. On the day of my accident it’s hot as always and our Jeep is loaded down with gear. We’re trying to blaze through this zone before sundown and Mickey’s joking around as he drives, making up some goofy rap song about killing bad guys. All of a sudden he yells, ‘Incoming!’” Pierce swallows. “I don’t even see what direction the attack is coming from. The Jeep is just … rolling over and over. The windshield’s gone dark with sand.”

  “We land hard and flames are everywhere. The next thing I know I’m swimming toward daylight with everything I’ve got. I’m disoriented and trying not to pass out from the heat, just … lost. And then I look down and see Mickey.” Pierce’s eyes flash wildly as his hand
s knead each other. Miss leans over to put a palm on his shoulder and he goes on. “I realize the Jeep’s on its side and Mickey’s slumped against the steering wheel.”

  I glance around the circle and see everyone’s leaning forward. Like we’re all hoping for a better ending than the one we know must be coming.

  Pierce’s breathing is heavy as he says, “So, I don’t think. I cut the seat belt. Grab Mickey … around his chest.” He curls his forearms up, pantomiming the rescue. His T-shirt is dark with sweat under his arms. “And I pull him toward the light.” He pauses and then rushes his words together. “The two of us got out but I didn’t get clear before the Jeep’s gas tank blew everything sky-high.” He pats his prosthetic. “Taking my leg along with it.”

  The woods that wall in the deck are thick with silence. The birds must be expecting rain. Holding their breath. I’m trying to picture the desert and

  the heat and

  the burning Jeep swallowing his leg.

  I lay a hand on mine, grateful it’s still attached.

  “Okay, Pierce, that was good,” Miss says. “You’ve certainly come a long way since that first session when you couldn’t even talk about being overseas.”

  Pierce rubs the back of his neck.

  She says, “Would you mind telling us exactly what was going through your mind when the Jeep blew up?”

  He looks at her for a beat then cups his hand to the side of his mouth, tilts his head up and calls out, “Ooooh shiiiiit!”

  Frank lets out a loud laugh, and I feel like clapping, but Miss just says, “Fine. We’ll go around the circle now. Starting with Dyna.” I need to find a new seat.

  With a groan I close my eyes and reach back in my mind to that sweltering day. I dig up the bright image of the cliff flying past me, the blur of Jay, water coming too fast. “This is stupid.” I open my eyes.

  “This is important,” Miss says in a soothing voice which, coming from her, sounds pretty sinister.

  I close my eyes again and play along. “Okay, so it’s a gorgeous summer day and I’m at the best swim hole on the planet. I’ve just done this beautiful freestyle rock climb to a cliff about sixty feet in the air.” I take a breath at the memory. “Anyway, I decide to crawl back down using these weird metal tracks angled from the top of the cliff. I plan to jump into the swim hole once I climb low enough, but I’m still near the top. And the water below me is … too shallow.” I clear my throat. “The wood plank I’m sitting on starts to pull loose from its stakes.” I peek one eye open, see Rita nod her gray head encouragingly, and I snap it shut again, trying to concentrate.

  In my mind

  I’m sitting on a rotted chunk of fate.

  It lets loose and

  the rusty rails float up and out of my reach.

  I’m overwhelmed by hopelessness.

  Falling.

  I open my eyes. “I must’ve passed out because I don’t really remember anything after that.”

  Miss looks disappointed, but Pierce reaches over to pat my hand. He knows I’m lying. I don’t know where that thought comes from, but suddenly I’m convinced Pierce can read minds. Can read my mind. I don’t look at him.

  Sparky is up next and starts to describe the sensation of having three hundred thousand volts course through his body. I stare at the empty bird feeders and focus on the way I feel when I’m tucked into the perfect crook of Jay’s arm.

  He drove me here today and is off somewhere writing on his tablet until I finish. Mom is in New York City buying material and Harley’s skydiving out at the Ranch, so Jay and I plan to spend the afternoon making out and playing dirty-word Scrabble at my house.

  When I corral my mental presence back into the healing circle, Polly has already shared and Frank is pantomiming being flung around the inside of his truck. He’s wearing a T-shirt today that says STUBBY, and he flails his arms and legs comically as he turns his terrible accident into a hilarious story. I let myself join in laughing with the rest of the group.

  Next Rita gives what she calls her “testimony,” which consists of her describing her fall while skiing, but with extra details that make the whole experience sound like a huge blessing from Jesus. When she gets around to “Amen” we all go inside for physical therapy.

  I do a few stretches and foot rolls on the mat before climbing on the exercycle and knocking the tension down to the lowest setting. Slowly, I churn Frankenfoot around as I pick at my thumbnail.

  Frank is test-driving a prosthetic arm so Workout Barbie gives him extra attention while making her rounds. I picture her closet looking like the inside of a cotton-candy machine.

  The cycle beside me whirs to life. I look over to see Pierce pedaling briskly with his good leg, a determined expression on his face. Like he’s still searching for some war to win. Glancing at his screen, I see he’s already climbing past 60 RPMs. I’m ashamed to note my machine’s display is still blinking with the big red words “Begin Workout Now.”

  I awkwardly churn Frankenfoot a little faster until my machine finally registers that my workout has, in fact, begun. Beside me Pierce continues to pedal faster and punches his resistance up to six. Annoyed, I give my tension button two jabs and immediately feel burning in my good leg since it’s the one doing most of the work. My speed drops again and the blinking machine mocks: “Begin Workout Now.” With a grunt I push faster and finally get the taunting message to go away. Struggling to keep my pace above 33 RPMs, I notice Pierce is zipping along at over 80. Droplets of sweat start to form at his temples.

  I push myself to 45 RPMs, which is still pretty slow, but a shot of pain prods my ankle. “Oh!” I wince, and Pierce breaks his concentration to look over.

  “You okay?” he asks, which is sort of hilarious. I mean, there he is cycling with one leg and all I can think about is how much I want to stop pedaling and go home.

  “Sure.” I press on.

  I glance over and see the slightest smile haunting the corner of Pierce’s mouth. He catches me looking, raises an eyebrow, and begins to pedal even faster. I give an involuntary gasp as he punches his tension up to nine, but I’m too afraid of reinjuring my ankle to bump up my speed or tension any more.

  But I don’t slow down either.

  By the time I open the door to Jay’s Subaru I’ve regained my breath but feel weak from the neck down.

  “Good workout today?”

  I sink into the passenger seat with a groan. “They pushed me really hard.” As I say the words I realize Workout Barbie actually didn’t speak to me at all. She only smiled when she came by and noted my numbers on the exercycle.

  Pierce is walking unevenly across the parking lot and our eyes meet through the windshield.

  “Oh wow, is that him?” Jay reaches up and presses the control to open the sunroof.

  Pierce moves right past my window, and our eyes stay locked until the last moment when he gives a long slow blink and then looks away. “Um, yeah. That’s him.” Turning my head, I watch him step onto a worn path leading into the woods.

  Jay puts his arm around my seat and twists to back up the car. “No rush, but it will be so great if you can get that interview for me.” I nod, wondering how far Pierce has to walk home each day.

  “Want to go for a stroll later?” I ask as Jay pulls away from Ulysses. The sun has finally made an appearance through the clouds.

  “Sure, Dyna-girl.” He smiles. “But first there’s an orange couch that has our names on it. I’m going to make sure you rest and recover before releasing you back into the wild.”

  An hour later we’re in my living room with a reality show droning on in the background as we play dirty-word Scrabble. The game awards triple points for any words related to sex, and I’m winning. Jay claims I have an advantage because I have a raunchier vocabulary than he does. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies as he leans in for a kiss. He hasn’t mentioned us going for a walk, but my ankle still twinges a bit from my workout.

  Besides, once I pull off turning the
word “late” into “titillate,” Jay can’t keep his hands off me. He gently props Frankenfoot on a pillow safely out of the way and the two of us sink into our delicious make-out position that makes time get all floaty.

  We’re lost in each other until Harley bursts in calling, “Heads up!”

  Jay is slingshot to the other end of the couch and pretends to be absorbed in watching the commercial playing on television. I can’t help but laugh as I wipe my mouth and ask Jay, “How did you get over there so fast?”

  Leaning over our abandoned Scrabble game, Harley takes the letter R from my rack and adds it to the word “bone.” “Hey, look”—he grins at Jay— “‘boner.’ Triple word score.” Jay blushes and my brother gives a low whistle as he heads up the stairs.

  “I didn’t realize how late it was,” Jay says as he briskly scoops the Scrabble tiles into their pouch. “I’d better get going.”

  “What’s wrong? Nervous my dad will walk in and think you’re corrupting me?”

  “Who’s corrupting whom here, Miss Titillate?” He grins and kisses me while his hand caresses my arm. We linger a moment, but pull apart before things start up again. “I need to work out before dinner,” he says. “And by the way, my family is seriously torturing me about meeting you.”

  “I know, I know.” I gesture to Frankenfoot. “When I’m ready.”

  My legs are stiff when Jay helps me up from the couch. We share a swoony kiss at the door and I promise to meet his family soon-ish. Besides perfect-sounding parents, I imagine Jay’s three protective older sisters “weeding out the weak” with some method that’s as emotionally crippling as my father’s.

  It turns out Jay didn’t need to rush out, since Dad is working late at the Tattoo Guru anyway. When Mom gets home from the city, we decide to make sandwiches for dinner. It’s a sound move, considering the deficiency of our combined cooking skills.

  “I ordered your homeschool supplies before I left this morning,” Mom tells me as she piles tomatoes and kale on the cutting board. “They should be here in two weeks.”