Under the Lights

We chat for a few more minutes and then hang up, promising to talk again this weekend. I still have fifteen minutes before I have to leave, so I quickly check my Instagram and “like” some of Zander’s recent pictures, leaving a mushy comment on a selfie of the two of us from a premiere we went to last week. Then I flip through Ally’s pictures and “like” a bunch of those, too, even though the sight of her sharing fries and doing makeovers with people who aren’t me is more than a little depressing.

On a whim, I check to see if Bri has an account. There are about a zillion Brianna Harrises, though, and I don’t have time to look through all the little icons to see if any of them feature light-green eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, framed by red waves. I switch over to Twitter instead, respond to the few tweets from people I actually know, plus a couple from random fans, and then toss my phone into my purse.

My mother’s in the kitchen, and I pass through on my way out to give her a peck on the cheek and accept an apple in return. I’ve told her a million times that I get queasy during yoga if I eat right beforehand, but she’s afraid I’ll pass out if I don’t. As usual, she won that argument, the same way she’s been winning every minor battle since she and my father allowed me to go on my first audition when I was a kid, on the condition I prove myself “responsible enough to handle it,” whatever that means. The major fight — to continue on this path or to go to college — is still a quiet, passive-aggressive push-and-pull…for now.

But for all that my parents infuriate me sometimes, I know they love me and want to make sure I’m well taken care of. And if I move out on my own, who knows how long it’ll be before I find someone else who’ll feel that way about me?

* * *

I show up to yoga a few minutes late for the eight o’clock class, my rolled-up mat stabbing me in the butt as I try to let myself into the chokingly hot room as quietly as possible. Raoul, the teacher, just twitches his nose when he spots me; he’s used to me showing up late, even if he’s not terribly Zen about it. I roll out my mat and move quickly through the two poses I missed before catching up to everyone else at the tail end of Awkward Pose.

“Calm” isn’t exactly the word anyone would use to describe me, but the whole ninety minutes of chill-out time kinda works for me, even if the room is a bajillion degrees. I like having to clear my head of all the drama and obligations that fill it during the week. And as attached as I am to my phone, I’m even kinda glad Raoul would kick my ass if I so much as favorited a tweet under his watch.

So it’s pretty unsettling to look up during Standing Bow and see a familiar pair of light-green eyes making contact with mine in the mirror.

Unsettling enough that I break pose and nearly fall on my butt.

In the mirror, I can see Brianna struggling not to laugh as I literally bend over backward to avoid crashing to the ground. I suck a curse back into my lungs, knowing that while Raoul will forgive lateness, he’ll throw a total fit if anyone dares disturb the quiet sanctity of the studio. We’re not even allowed to wipe off our sweat under his watch. He’s almost as psycho as Jade.

Almost.

I get narrowed eyes from Raoul, but he’ll never get truly pissed at me because I once snuck him an old sweatband of Liam’s. (Our little secret, of course.) I force myself back into position and close my eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, including Brianna Harris.

But I swear, I can still feel her eyes on me.

It’s easy enough to look away through the next four poses — they all involve looking in directions other than forward anyway — but when we shift into Tree Pose, our eyes meet again, just for an instant, and I can’t help wondering what she’s doing here. I’ve been coming to this class for a year, and I’ve never once seen her. If she’s spying on me again…

I narrow my eyes at the mirror, and now she’s the one who startles a little in her pose. Good. It’s nice to see her be the one caught off guard for once. But the longer I hold my stare, the more I realize she’s doing just fine in the sweltering heat, and she knows not to mop up her sweat, and once she’s back in pose, she stays put. Actually, she looks a whole lot more graceful than I do. And is that an Om tattooed on the back of her neck, partially concealed by her ponytail?

Maybe she’s not just here to spy on me.

Forget about her, I order myself as we drop into toe stands. Clear your damn head, Vanessa Park. So I do. For the rest of the ninety-minute class, I forget about Brianna, and that Josh Chester is a pain in my ass, and that my best friend lives across the country, and that my parents want me to be someone I’m not, and that my career has an uncertain future, and that I need to get my own place. With the exception of the occasional superfast water break, I do nothing but pose, breathe, and sweat.