Page 28 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

Yoga is yet another thing my mother forced me into when she thought I was beginning to gain weight.

I told her it was just my boobs growing, but she disagreed.

In the end, though, it worked in my favor. I actually love yoga.

I’d never let on, of course. Having attachments to things make you weak, according to Momma.

If she knew for even a second I enjoyed yoga, she’d take it away from me. She’d find a new, worse way to punish my body for its curves and imperfections.

So I have to hide it.

There’s something so calming about using my body for what it was meant for—strength, movement, and balances—rather than as a tool.

My mom believes my body is for public consumption.

It’s a status symbol, separating me from those less conventionally attractive.

An ornament for a rich boy’s arm.

One day, this body will make you wealthy.

Unlike Maryann, my mom didn’t have exotic dancing on the brain. She wants me to stay fit and on top so I can marry rich and live the same life she lives—as if her constant struggle to stay atop the social heap is something to aspire to.

I don’t know what I want my life to look like.

But whatever it is, it won’t look anything like hers.

Everyone claps after the meditative music clicks off and begins rolling up their mats. Maryann is far across the room from me.

Unsurprisingly, she leaves without sticking around to chat more.

My mother, however, is somehow at my shoulder instantly, her mat tucked under her arm.

“Let’s go,” she says, gritting the words out between thin lips.

As soon as I stand up, she leans in close and pinches me in the side hard enough I let out a small whimper. “Ow!”

“Shut up. That’s what you get for making your mother look like a fool.”

In the next instant, she lets me go and waves to the other yogis gathered in a circle near the door, a megawatt smile plastered across her face.

* * *

The lecture is the same as always.

I’m a reflection of my mother.

My behavior is a reflection of my mother.

My appearance is a reflection of my mother.

Everything I do is directly connected to my mother.

Therefore, she has to be in full control of my life.

Or so the story goes.

“Do you think we live the life we do because I walked around like a slob, making rude comments to people, and being friends with losers?” she asks, not actually expecting me to respond. “No, I worked for it. Every day. I should be relaxing now. I should be able to sit back and enjoy what I built. But instead, I have to kill myself to make sure you don’t ruin everything.”

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