The Ex Games(24)
Author: Jennifer Echols

My mom’s soothing voice rose a bit more. “Open your body toward the wall, then sink into Triangle. Feel the stretch. Breeeeeathe. Continue to send strong and stable roots into the ground.” This was her code for me to make sure the elderly people were not about to fall down.

I folded over into Triangle Pose. With my head hanging down, I looked through my legs straddled wide on the mat. The old folks appeared to me like they had pretty stable roots, or as stable as possible for hundred-year-olds doing yoga.

I glanced up at Nick, whose head was very close to mine. His face was turning red.

“The Triangle Pose is not for everyone,” I said drily.

Nick eyed me uneasily. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing to his head. Then he said, “You invited me here.”

I shook my head, and my ponytails brushed the wood floor. “You misunderstood me. You were making fun of me for not going off the jump. Suggesting that you do yoga was my subtle way of telling you to go to hell.”

“From here, move your hand behind your foot for Reverse Triangle. Breeeeeathe.” My mom was practically shouting into her headset now. She might as well change the ohm-like yoga music with chirping birds to a nice, relaxing polka.

Reverse Triangle put Nick’s head away from me, behind his muscular thigh. But even from several feet away, I heard him exclaim, “Ouch!”

“You think that hurt?” I asked out of the corner of my mouth. “Wait until Half Moon.”

“Half Moon does hurt,” someone nearby agreed. It was hard to tell who, with everyone upside-down.

“And roll up into Mountain Pose, with hands to heart’s center.” My mom stood, closed her eyes, and placed her hands in the prayer position on her chest. “Breeeeeathe and relax as two teenagers take a walk, leaving the haven of the yoga studio in peeeeeace and quiet.” She opened one eye and lifted her eyebrow at me.

“Come on,” I hissed at Nick. As my mom’s voice droned on, I rolled up my yoga mat and whacked Nick in the back of the head with it. He looked up from his obviously painful Reverse Triangle and glared at me. Finally, he took the hint and rolled up his own mat. We wandered among the adults balancing precariously and dumped our mats into the bin by the door.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I whirled to face him in the hall. “Thanks, Nick. I’ve never been kicked out of my own yoga class before. My mom will probably dock me forty-five minutes of minimum wage.”

He tilted his head to look at me from a different angle, and the scowl he’d been wearing since I’d whacked him in the head melted away. His words melted me in turn as he grinned brilliantly at me and said, “I really like your hair that way.”

Without meaning to, I self-consciously reached for my hair. Around the health club, my mother always wore her red hair in one ponytail or one long braid down her back. I used to, too. But since I’d grown as tall as her, people mistook us for each other. I couldn’t walk through the hall without middle-aged women stopping me to recount their hot flashes last night or to complain that the baby had the croup.

But I needed to pull my hair up for yoga, so I wore it in two ponytails. At first I worried the style was too little-girlish for me. Then, because of some of the looks I was getting from men at the health club who weren’t regulars, I’d started to wonder whether the hairstyle had the opposite effect, reminding them of Britney Spears’s schoolgirl getup.

Nick was giving me the same look. And this time, instead of being taken aback or feeling squicky about it, my heart raced and my face grew hot, my body’s response to the call of Nick. The yoga music and my mother’s soothing voice filtered through the door, reminding us we weren’t exactly alone, and occasionally a lady in sequined track pants speed-walked past us in the wide hallway that doubled as an indoor track. But I couldn’t stop glancing at Nick’s soft lips. If a dark corner had been available, I would have kissed him right then, despite everything he’d said to me last night.

No, I would not let him charm me. I said, “Nick, for real. Why are you here? You didn’t suddenly decide to pop into my mother’s yoga class after four years of health club membership.”

He still grinned at me with his head tilted, like he found me so amusing and did not take me seriously at all. Then he folded his arms on his chest, so his biceps strained at the sleeves of his T-shirt, courtesy of the arm curl machine. “Why can’t I tell you you’re pretty? You’ve got issues, Hoyden.” He turned and walked into the men’s locker room. The door closed gently behind him.

I stood in the hallway, listening to the muffled drone of my mother’s voice, the slow yoga chords filtering through the studio walls, and the swish of the speed-walker’s pants somewhere around the corner. I stared at the men’s locker room door like my x-ray vision would switch on any second. Ugh, mistake—lots of our members came to the health club to get back into shape, with good reason. Still I stared at the door, wondering what in the world was up with Nick. If he liked me, why was he mean to me? If he didn’t like me, why did he show up here? Was it possible that Josh was right, and Nick’s dis last night was a sign he actually had a thing for me? Again, this seemed very seventh grade. Maybe he was a case of arrested development.

Not in his biceps, of course. Or his abs. Arrested development emotionally.

The door burst open and I tensed like a rabbit, ready to bolt before Nick saw me staring at the door where he’d disappeared.

It wasn’t even him. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to shower. It was two regulars who walked out laughing and called a hello to me as they passed.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I skittered into the women’s locker room before Nick really did catch me staring. I’d wasted enough of my winter break worrying about Nick. I had plenty more to enjoy: no homework, meeting Chloe and Liz at Mile-High Pie for supper in a few minutes, lots of slope time, and a renewed push tomorrow to master the jump. Not for Nick’s sake, but for mine.

As the locker room door thumped shut behind me, I pictured the lid closing on this box of troubles I’d opened with Nick’s name on it. Unfortunately, when I emerged from the locker room again a few minutes later, ready for Mile-High Pie, Nick was standing in the hall in jeans and his puffy parka, talking with my mother.

Yoga class had let out. My mother was all about chatting up the members, even the teenagers, even the ones she kicked out of her classes (apparently). I ducked around them, into the crowd spilling out of the studio. Better let my mother cool down for a few hours before I faced her about interrupting her Reverse Triangle. I flounced down the staircase. With every step down, I felt myself relaxing a little more, looking forward to a few hours out with my girlfriends, away from Nick.