Girl Against the Universe by Paula Stokes

sharing.
    â€œGood idea.” I sit next to him on the sofa, praying I won’t leave any sweaty spots on the leather when I get up later. Crossing my legs, I adjust my skirt for maximum coverage. I aim the remote at the TV, and the screen comes tolife. I flip through a few channels and stop on Animal Planet. It’s a show about the ocean.
    Jordy adjusts his body on the sofa, his bare leg brushing against mine. He exhales deeply. “I sure hope this doesn’t have dolphins. I hate dolphins.” He smirks. “You know, I think you can get kicked out of San Diego for saying that.”
    I elbow him in the ribs. “I never said I hated dolphins. Just that everyone probably—”
    He holds his hands in front of his face as a pair of bottlenose dolphins appear on the screen. “My eyes. My eyes. Make it stop.”
    â€œYou’re an idiot.” I slap him on the leg with the remote, but I can’t keep from smiling.
    He drops his hands to his lap. “Finally! Finally someone sees the real me.” He lowers his voice. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to run away.”
    On TV, the two dolphins circle around each other, clicking and squeaking. I glance over at them and then back at him.
    I shake my head. “I don’t want to leave.”
    â€œOh yeah? Why not?”
    I blink innocently. “Because I’m hungry.”
    â€œOh, you’re a mean one. Just for that.” Jordy grabs the remote and turns the volume all the way up. The dolphin chatter is joined by the shrill call of a whale.
    â€œAh!” I cover my ears.
    The doorbell rings and Jordy springs up to answer it.
    I flail for the remote and punch the volume back down to normal.
    He strolls back into the living room a couple of minutes later and drops a greasy brown bag on the glass coffee table. I glance from the food bag to the table to the pristine leather sofa. “What’s the penalty for spilling on the furniture around here?”
    â€œDeath by landscaping, I think. How are you with a Weedwacker?” Jordy grins.
    I cringe at the thought. “I try to avoid sharp, whirring blades. But I’m good with these.” I hold up my hands.
    â€œYeah, but you’re going to need those for tennis, and my mom has been known to work people to the bone. Hang on a minute.” He disappears and returns with napkins, paper plates, and a woven Mexican blanket. He drapes the blanket across the white leather. Plucking the bag of burritos from the table, he wipes at the condensation on the glass with one corner of the blanket. Then he grabs a magazine from a nearby end table and uses it as a base for the food. “There we go. Now if we spill I can just toss this blanket in the washer.”
    I sit on one end of the sofa, a paper plate with a foil-wrapped burrito balanced on my lap. Jordy grabs a burrito for himself and then skims through the channels, pausing for a moment on a tennis match.
    â€œWhat is it?” I ask.
    â€œA repeat of the US Open finals.”
    I watch the players cover the court effortlessly as I biteinto my burrito. It’s a mix of piping hot French fries, spicy meat, and cool guacamole. The different flavors and textures all meld together in my mouth. I swallow and blot my lips. “This is amazing.”
    â€œYes it is.” Jordy squirts a packet of hot sauce on his burrito and takes a huge bite.
    I gesture at the TV. “So are you really good enough to play tournaments like that?”
    â€œI made it to the quarterfinals last year. This year all my friends went without me because my parents decided I should skip it.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m recovering from a knee injury.”
    â€œSeriously? You don’t seem injured to me.”
    â€œI’m mostly back to normal, but they thought if I did poorly in the Junior Open it would hurt my ranking. So I’m just playing local satellite tournaments until I’m