Page 33 of One True Loves

“Ah, see! I knew it!” he shouts. And he points his finger at me. “Youwereseasick!”

His smile transforms. High eyebrows, lips pressed togetherinto that same know-it-all smirk. I can’t explain why it bugs me so much, but suddenly whatever easiness was slowly growing between us feels like it disappeared.

“And, uh, actually,” he continues. “Eating too much right now might make it even harder to adjust when you get back on the ship, so—”

“What, have you been waiting all day for me to admit that?”

“No,” he says, a little chastened. “But—I was—Iamjust trying to help. Why couldn’t you just admit that when I was asking you about it? Instead of acting like I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

I sigh and shake my head. So much for being wrong about this guy.

“Well, congrats. You’re right again, Alex.” I turn back toward the café. “Let’s go see if they’re done yet.”

Chapter Nine

The next day is a sea day, which means I’m trapped on the ship holding in vomit while our boat heads toward Greece. When I turn down checking out the waterslides with Etta and Dad because hurtling down a twisted metal tube and being thrown out into the abyss seems like the literal worst option in the world, my mom suggests yoga.

“It’ll be good for you,” she says when she drops by our room to check on Wally and bring me another few cans of ginger ale. I don’t even know if they’re helping at this point or just adding to the sloshiness of my stomach. “Deep breathing, focusing on the present. It might help trick your body out of feeling this way.”

Yeah, sure.

But I decide to go anyway. Our room is too crowded with Mom in here fussing over Wally, feeling his forehead and making sure he’s not sick. He promises her he’ll be on our outingtomorrow, but she still knocks on our door three times before lunch. Plus, anything has got to be more effective than staring at the ceiling and praying for land while my head spins and my skin gets all clammy. I got up five times last night and sprinted to the toilet, sure that this would be the time I finally puked.Hopingit would be. Because then maybe I could get it all out and move on with my life. But nothing.

Hell, maybe yoga really will make a difference. I need to be open.

As I walk into the wellness room on the fourth deck, though, I see that all of my initial skepticism was correct, as usual. I’ve somehow walked onto the set of a yogurt commercial.

Everyone is white. And I’m the youngest in the room, by at least twenty years. But also the least in shape? They all have perfectly toned arms and visible clavicles and muscle-y Lululemon-clad legs. One lady is doing some weird stretch on the floor where she pushes her butt straight up in the air and presses her legs above her head, I don’t know, for funsies? Like, chill, people, you’re not getting extra credit for being weirdly flexible. Also, if I even thought about doing that leg thing right now, I would definitely break something. And then vomit.

I almost nope right out of there, but a man sitting in the front on a throne of folded blankets waves to me.

“Welcome, traveler,” he says, holding his arms outstretched. He has long blond hair that falls onto his shoulders in greasy clumps, pulled back with an indigo-dyed headband. He’swearing a tank top and leggings in two different shades of moss green and has toenails so long that they must be a political choice. He looks like Teen Events Director Chad’s crusty older brother.

“Please, choose a mat and sit down. We are about to begin.” His voice is so serene, his expression so peaceful, that my body follows his directions before I’ve even made the conscious decision to do so. And just like that, I’m locked into an hour-long yoga session with Wellness Chad and his boneless middle-aged followers. I can see how people end up in cults.

“My name is Phoenix Asher.” Yeah, okay, bro. “Today I will be acting as your guide as you go on a journey to discover your body, mind, and—welcome, traveler. Please, choose a mat and join us.”

And what? What else will I discover, Phoenix? But he’s distracted by someone else entering the studio. And when I turn around, I’m real distracted too.

It’s Alex.

Of course it’s Alex. Probably gearing up to “um, actually” Phoenix and his followers on the correct way to do poses. And wearing tight black pants he has no business looking so good in. Out of anywhere he could be on this massive boat, he’s here.

I made sure to sit as far away as possible from him at the table last night. And our only interaction this morning at breakfast was when he saw me grabbing a pastry from the buffet and made a judge-y face, mumbling something about germs. But if I’m actively trying to avoid someone, it’s just my luck that he’llend up on the only remaining mat in the room, way too close to mine.

“I didn’t know you practiced yoga,” he whispers to me as he sits down. He arranges his legs in an intentional way—like everyone else in the room, I realize.

“I don’t just practice it. I do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s smirking and I want to smack it off his face.

“Now, if we could have all individual conversations end, as we will be taking this journey together,” Phoenix says. His voice is calm and light, but his message is clear: shut up. The lady with a white bob in front of us, who was folding herself clear in half a moment ago, turns to give us a dirty look.

“We will start by sharing a little about ourselves because, as I have shared, this is a collective journey.” Why does this guy keep dropping the word “journey” like he’s aBachelorcontestant? Is he going to ask us if we’re here for the right reasons next? “I would like everyone to share their names and their current experiences with yoga, as I begin to take in your energy.” He waves his hands, as if our energies were a scent he was wafting toward his nose.

“I will go first. I have been practicing yoga since the day I left the womb and entered this world, in a perfect child’s pose, but it wasn’t until I met my guru, Doug, that I came to have the relationship with yoga that I do now.”

Doug? Doug is... not what I was expecting. Like, I’m not trying to be all ignorant or whatever, but there are a lot of namesI would assign to gurus before Doug. I press my lips together so no giggle slips out. While everyone else’s faces remain solemn, I can’t help but notice that Alex is smiling too.

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