“Easily,” I say, “really, really easily,” and we laugh.
Thayer crosses his arms over his chest. “You know, Sutton, I’ll bet you’re not half as high maintenance as you pretend to be.” He frowns, as though considering, then nods. “I’ll bet that under the right circumstances, you’re the kind of adventurous girl who thinks garlic ice cream is for wimps.”
I know he means it as a compliment, but I shiver. The thing is, ever since I was little, I’ve had a secret, deep-down fear that being adopted means I’m second best, and sometimes I just demand things to see how far I can push people—to see how much they actually care about me. It’s weird that Thayer seems to just get that, intrinsically. No one has ever guessed at it.
“I can be pretty adventurous,” I admit. “But maybe not garlic-ice-cream adventurous. Everyone has their limits.”
“So what kind of ice cream would you eat?” Thayer asks. “Chili pepper?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “I like some spice.”
“How about miso?”
“Totally—I love sushi.” I point to him. “What about prosciutto?”
“As in ham?” He makes a face. “Not sure about that one.”
I feign shock. “Have I grossed out the unflappable Thayer Vega?”
“Maybe,” Thayer says, and we both chuckle. Suddenly, something strikes me: standing here, hanging out on the Donovans’ front walk, talking to Thayer like he’s … a guy feels so normal and natural. More than that, it’s fun, and it fills me with a sparkly feeling I can’t ignore.
But then a voice inside me speaks very, very loudly: This is just a prank. Nothing more.
I straighten, hitch my shorts back up over my hips, and clear my throat, suddenly clamming up. “Well, I should get going.”
“Wouldn’t want to keep your adoring public waiting,” Thayer quips.
I bite my lip. “No, definitely not.” My eyes dart across his lithe body again, just for good measure. “Don’t work too hard.”
“I won’t,” he assures me. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”
I raise my eyebrows, feeling a skip in my chest. “You will?”
He nods. “I’m hanging out with Laurel.”
Of course. “Cool,” I say. I’m about to turn and wander back home when Thayer reaches forward, placing a hand on my forearm. The contact sends a thrill straight to my core. “Watch out,” he says, gesturing to the rake I was about to step on.
“Right,” I say, regaining my balance. But I feel like he meant watch out in another way, too. Watch out, Sutton. You’re getting in over your head.
6
ZEN AND NOW
“And … breathe …”
It’s Tuesday evening, and Alexis, my favorite instructor at Prana Yoga, winds her way through the studio, her cleanly pedicured feet nearly soundless against the sleek, blond bamboo flooring. The silver toe ring nestled around her left third toe makes a tiny click with each step, but it’s barely audible over Charlotte’s labored ujjayi breathing. It’s not very yogic, and I have to restrain myself from pinching her so she’ll quiet down.
Om, I remind myself. Breathe. I focus on the clicks of Alexis’s toe ring tapping out a steady, rhythmic Morse code and draw my concentration inward. If I can make my mind blank, maybe I’ll stop thinking about Thayer’s lazy smile. Or the way he touched my arm before I left the Donovans’ yard yesterday. Or how he said watch out like it meant something. Or the fact that I actually slept with my arm tucked around Scooby last night. And when I woke up at 2 A.M. and couldn’t find him, I kind of freaked out a little. He’d only been on the floor, but really—how old was I? Didn’t I stop sleeping with toys when I was three?
I bend my right leg until my thigh is nearly parallel to the floor, sinking lower into the release of the muscle as Alexis gently nudges my extended front arm into proper alignment. “One long line,” she reminds me, nodding as I make the adjustment. Her sandy corkscrew curls bob as she surveys Madeline’s posture, which is, of course, ballerina perfect.
“Chaturanga to up dog,” Alexis intones, her voice low and hypnotic, like car tires crunching over gravel. Madeline drops gracefully into a firm, strong plank on my left while, from the right, Charlotte grunts as she lowers into the pose. We all invert back into down dog, then stand, shake out for a moment, and drag our sticky mats to the wall for headstands.
“Remember that headstands, like all inversions, are about clarity. Perspective,” Alexis says. She kneels at the front of the studio and lights a cluster of eucalyptus candles, then rises and dims the overhead lights. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the candles giving off a clean, fresh scent.
Clarity. Perspective. It’s a good thing we’re here, I think. I could use some of both of those.
Thayer never did come by to see Laurel yesterday. And what’s worse is that I noticed. And cared.