She gives the class the command to shift into something called warrior two, and I’m positive this is where I die. My legs burn as I try to bend my front knee. My arms are stretched out to the sides, wobbling like I’m holding invisible dumbbells. Everyone else looks strong and poised, like statues. I look like I’m about to collapse into the lake.
Honestly, I wish I would.
It looks so refreshing . . .
Sneaking another glance at her perched serenely at the front of the dock, I can’t help but think Lucy looks perfect.
Calm. Steady. Arms in a clean line, her gaze is focused on some invisible horizon.
Meanwhile, my arms are shaking like I’m bench-pressing a bus, and I can feel sweat dripping down my back, into my ass crack.
“Keep your breath steady,” she instructs. “Feel the strength in your stance.”
There’s no strength here.
Only suffering.
My back leg twitches, and I stumble, waving my arms wildly to save myself from toppling sideways. I manage to stay upright—barely—but the mat lets out a loud squeak under my foot that echoes across the dock.
Lucy’s gaze snaps to me, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Doing okay back there?” she calls out quietly, walking toward me like a teacher about to check my work. She stands next to me; her presence makes everything worse—not because she’s intimidating, but because now I feel like I’m performing.
And doing a shitty job.
Stopping short of my mat, arms crossed, she stares down to where I’m doing what can only be described as an interpretive version of warrior two or whatever it’s called.
“I’m fine,” I lie, wobbling so hard that I look like my wheels are about to fly off. “This is part of my process.”
“Your process?” Her brow lifts.
I nod solemnly, front leg starting to shake like I’m holding up the weight of the entire dock.
Water.
I need water . . .
“Yeah. I call it warrior one point five. It’s an advanced technique, so you probably haven’t heard of it.”
“You’re an advanced disaster,” Elijah chimes in from his mat two spots over, grinning ear to ear. “Kick him out of class, Lucy!”
“She can’t kick me out. I’m her favorite student,” I shoot back, smirking up at her. Flirting.
Hot for teacher, ha ha.
I glance up in time to see her eyebrows lift, a slow, deliberate challenge in her expression.
Her favorite?
“Oh, really?” she says, her voice calm and controlled and professional—not flirty in the least. “If you’re my favorite, then you’re who I choose to demonstrate warrior three for the class.”
The blood drains from my face. “Say what now?”
Next to me, Elijah hoots. “Yes! Show us!”
“Warrior three,” Lucy repeats with a nod. She ignores Elijah and fixes her attention on me. “It’s a balancing pose. You’ll love it. Hands forward, one leg back. Like you’re flying.”
Flying? We’ve already established I can barely stand.
