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My eyes shut. I exhale and bend farther, my nose grazing my knees.
The barre class is full of eager students ready to do whatever the toned, middle-aged instructor says.
“Deeper, baby,” a woman with blond hair whispers to the red-haired woman next to me.
The red-haired woman snorts.
“Imagine there’s a line connecting your heart to your legs.”
“There is. It’s called a blood vessel.” The blonde again.
This time, the redheaded woman’s shoulders rock, and a laugh escapes. She turns toward me, grinning as her bright blue eyes meet mine. She looks vaguely familiar, but it’s the humor on her face that makes me bite my cheek.
“If you’re going to be disruptive in class, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.” We all straighten as the woman leading the barre session gestures to the group. “Right, everyone?”
Her eyes land on me, and I shrug. “I thought it was funny.”
The teacher’s penciled brows slide up her forehead as she points at the door. “Out! All three of you.”
We bolt for the changeroom, heads down, in a silent line.
Inside my locker, my phone is showing one new text.
Dee: I have offers on the table, and I’ve used every excuse in the book. Please use whatever magic you have. I’m begging you.
I didn’t realize things had gotten this out of hand.
I start to type out a quick text to Clay but get interrupted.
“Sorry, that was my bad,” the redheaded woman says to me, and my gaze snaps up.
She’s pale and freckled compared to the usually tan people I’ve come to recognize in LA but strikingly beautiful. She and her friend look around my age, maybe a few years older.
“Still have half an hour. Think coffee will have the same strengthening effect as barre?” she goes on.
“On your brain,” the blonde supplies, and they both laugh.
My lips twitch too.
“I’m Annie,” says the redhead, “and this is Elle.”
“Nova.” I push the hair from my face and lower my phone.
“Why don’t you join us?” Annie asks. “The least we can do is buy you a drink after getting you kicked out of barre.”
It’s better than trying to decide what to do about the fact we’re weeks from the start of the season and Clay has no contract and, evidently, isn’t speaking to his agent.
The three of us head down the block to a nearby café. The ever-present sunshine beats down, and I tug my sunglasses out of my bag and slip them on my face. It’s instinct after the past few months here.
“This place has the best lattes. I’d sell my appendix for one,” Annie says as she holds the door for me to go in first.
“That’s hardly a sacrifice. No one needs their appendix,” Elle counters.
“My liver?”
“That one you do need.”
“I love this place,” I say. “I draw in here sometimes.”
