Adrenaline Crush (7 page)

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 exercycle 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.”

“Great.” I start spreading tuna on slices of whole wheat. “I can get a nice early jump on the workload.”

The two of us spent a lot of time on the computer searching for the perfect self-paced homeschool program. Now she just needs to go down to the high school and sign me out. To be honest, we were both a little surprised at how easy it has been to make the switch.

“I thought only pregnant girls dropped out of school.” Harley reaches over my shoulder to grab two sandwich halves off the counter. He gives me a glazed-over grin and bites into half of one.

“I am not dropping out of school.” I glance at Mom's back end sticking out of the fridge and hiss at him, “She's going to see you're baked.”

He whispers, “Dad's the bulldog around here,” and laughs as he shoves the rest of the sandwich half in his mouth.

“Don't forget we go to the doctor's after Ulysses next Friday,” Mom calls from the fridge. “Aren't you excited they might be changing your cast?”

“That's a week and a half away, Mom. I think I'll pace myself on getting excited.”

Harley says, “You must be jonesing for a good climb by now.”

I shoot pickaxes at him with my eyes, but he just gestures to the sandwich I'm cutting. “You planning to eat that?”

With a sigh I announce I'm going to eat in front of the TV.

“Don't forget to take your vitamins.” Mom shakes a baggie filled with large brown and tan capsules. Harley walks haltingly from the kitchen with a bemused expression on his face, but Mom's concern stays focused solely on me.

*   *   *

An hour later I climb into bed and pick up
Into the Wild
. I'm completely rooting for Alexander Supertramp at this point, despite the fact that I know he's going to die.

Reading through heavy lids I come across a postcard Krakauer has quoted that Alex sent to friends in North Dakota. It says:
Hey Guys! This is the last communication you shall receive from me. I now walk out to live amongst the wild. Take care, it was great knowing you. Alexander.

I picture Alex filled with giddy anticipation as he forged his own way in the world. Living his life completely on his terms. Diving headfirst into the wilderness.

Closing the book, I slide my thumb along my inner wrist. I've always imagined words tattooed there.
Not all who wander are lost
. They fade in my mind as I toss the book on my nightstand and turn off the lamp.

When I shut my eyes I see myself

hurtling toward the water again.

Too fast.

Flipping the light back on, I bury my head halfway under my pillow and try to block out the scene Miss seems obsessed with having me remember. No matter what she thinks, it must be possible to have a perfectly normal life after a trauma without sharing every nuance of feeling with a roomful of strangers.

I shove my thoughts under the bed, but it takes me over an hour to fall into a dreamless sleep.

 

9

“What's the deal with Whitebread sneaking around here when I'm not home?” Dad greets me when I come down for breakfast. Mom and Harley both love sleeping in, so mornings are sort of our thing.

“Good morning to you, too,” I say mock-sweetly while clutching the kitchen counter. I grimace at the soreness in my legs as I hop toward the fridge.

“Sorry, Dyna.” Dad feigns chipperness. “Good morning, sweetheart!” His voice drops back to his usual baritone. “Now, what's with Whitebread—”

“Fine. Fine,” I cut him off as I slide the milk onto the table. “Jay's not sneaking around. And maybe he wouldn't avoid you if you didn't work so hard at intimidating him.”

“My job.” Dad shrugs.

“There's nothing wrong with me hanging out here with my
boyfriend
.” I emphasize the word just to watch Dad's eye twitch. “It's not like I can do any of my usual summertime activities.” I stretch to grasp a box of cereal in the pantry.

“You want me to make you some eggs?” Dad offers.

I shake my head. “No thanks.” Dad cooks amazing omelets, but I'm really hungry and if I let him get started, I may starve to death waiting for one of his culinary masterpieces.

“So, let's talk about this do-it-yourself education of yours,” he says, as I pour cereal into my bowl on the counter. “Are you sure you can handle all that work on your own?”

“Homeschooling's going to be a piece of cake.” Dad's nostrils flare out and I immediately realize this was the wrong thing to say.