Adrenaline Crush (6 page)

She gestures toward the massive space like a game show hostess and announces, “Welcome to the Ulysses Outer Healing Wellness Center.”

The pink Barbie doll glides around demonstrating how all of the equipment works. I can't imagine what sort of hospital mix-up led to her and Miss becoming sisters.

Pierce heads directly for a cluster of exercise bikes and mounts one. I watch him clip his sneakers into the pedals and start riding as if the bike can take him someplace he's in a rush to be.

Workout Barbie guides me to lie down on the mat and shows me a series of leg lifts and stretches that I'm supposed to do three times a day. “Envision healing. Envision strength. Envision power,” she chants in my ear as I obligingly do cheater sit-ups and envision quitting.

When she leans over to help me change position, I notice a shirt tag peeking out from the back of her collar. It makes me almost like her for a moment until she introduces me to these hateful things called toe crunches. Breathing through clenched teeth, I focus on seeing Jay this afternoon.

Time runs so thick in this place I feel like I'm stuck in a Jell-O mold. Looking around I think,
Suspended with all the other fruits.

*   *   *

I practically knock Mom over with my hug when I spot her talking with Miss out on the deck. Miss is doing a very nice job of pretending to be professional.

“So, how was it?” Mom asks as we climb into the car.

“Oh, I'm not coming back,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Um, I'm pretty sure you are. I've put twelve weeks down on the credit card, and even with insurance paying half this place is pricey, Dyna, believe me.”

I groan. I can picture her and Dad arguing over the cost in our crowded kitchen. Dad's shop, the Tattoo Guru, is the most successful tattoo parlor in town, and Mom does nicely selling her sewn creations, but our normal budget does not include therapy sessions run by insane people. “I'm sure you can get a refund, Mom. This really isn't my thing.”

“Well, obviously it hasn't been your thing, Dyna,” Mom says, laughing. “It's not as if a person wakes up one morning and decides, hey, I've got nothing better to do. I think I'll give physical therapy a shot.” The image of Rita with her gray braids flashes in my mind.

“It's not the physical therapy part that sucks.” I rub at the soreness in my leg. “It's all that touchy-feely sharing-circle crap. Actually, it's not even touchy-feely. It's just … twisted.”

“Twisted?” Mom keeps her attention glued to the road.

“The lady running the place is nuts. She called me a
cheerleader
.” Mom snickers and I go on. “She expects us to all go camping with the girl who got attacked by a bear.”

“A girl got attacked by a bear?”

“Yes, and Miss won't be happy until we all get eaten in the forest.”

“You used to love camping when you were younger. Maybe you should open yourself to their methods. The article said they get the absolute best results anywhere.” She looks at me. “Don't you want to get back to normal?”

“Trust me. This place is
not
a gateway to normal.”

I launch in about Workout Barbie's pink assault on my vision and Mom holds up her hand to stop me. “You want to avoid getting your ankle fused, don't you?”

“Of course, but…”

“This place is your best bet.” Her lips are set and I see a flash of her old temper. “Subject closed. New topic.”

We ride in silence for a time until I realize something. “Wait a minute. School starts back up in another month. They won't excuse me from classes for three hours a day. I'll never graduate.”

“Actually.” Mom glances at me. “I've looked into homeschooling for your senior year and I think it could be a reasonable solution.”

I try to imagine never going back to New Paltz High School as Mom explains that nowadays everything's done online. “It will give you time to really focus on your healing.”

I have to admit, a free pass from senior year does sound sort of awesome. No dealing with crowded hallways on my crutches. No dealing with crowded hallways period.

But then I'll be stuck at the Ulysses Center with all their inner-outer healing crap. I imagine myself sealed in glass, as helplessly trapped as Miss's doomed blue butterfly.

“Did you notice Miss Brauhn's pendant?” It's the type of thing Mom loves.

“God, yes,” she says wistfully, as if that's what convinced her the center is legit. “It was a perfect Karner butterfly specimen.”

“You mean Ulysses, right? It's a Ulysses butterfly.”

“I think I know a Karner when I see one, Dyna. I've sketched enough of them.” Mom laughs. “They're common around here, and you'd have to go to Australia to find a Ulysses. They look a lot alike, but that was definitely a Karner.”

“Oh. Great.”

Any hope that the Ulysses Center might not be a total waste of time flies right out the open car window.

 

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 me his tablet.

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 hands 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