Next up is shoulder press. Probably the best thing about these sessions, aside from Betty’s friendship, is that they make her feelstrong. It feels good, moving her body like this at the end of the first week of school, and not because she has a goal that involves a tiny outfit and a spotlight illuminating the parts of her skin that are now softer, rounder.
Society can act as though size doesn’t matter, that everyone is evolved and body positive, but Ramona can count on one handthe number of pop stars who aren’t thin. Her first tour, she couldn’t look at any photos of herself without hearing her mother’s warnings about which side was her best—her left, according to DeeAnn—or wondering, if she just dropped another size, would her fans love her more?
She’s still trying to get used to wanting her body to look a certain way for herself, not for anyone else.
“You like your classes, buttercup?” Betty asks. “I don’t have to beat anyone up for being mean to you?”
“Just Trevor.”
“Trevor is dead to us. What about your professors?”
Ramona meets Betty’s eyes in the mirror as she lifts dumbbells. Up, and then back down, keeping her elbows straight. Breathing in and out. This kind of centering is good for her. That temper she had on the first day flares up sometimes, the result of spending so many years forced into a box that didn’t fit her. She knows she can be abrasive—her therapist would call it a defense mechanism.
“Marine biology and philosophy were decent. My psych professor seems to think I’m a vapid moron only doing this for publicity, but I guess it could have been worse.”
“Well. You’ll show him when you ace all his tests.” Betty taps her bicep. “Twenty reps this time. Let’s go.”
Fumiko Hayashi, her marine biology professor, had wanted to speak with her after class too. She was sweet and understanding, encouraged Ramona to ask if she needed any help.
Meanwhile, the meeting with Nick lingers like a sore muscle. She sets her jaw—eighteen, nineteen, twenty—and awhooshof an exhale. Even the insistence that his students call him by his first name irritates her. Too try-hard. Desperate to be liked. Especially when he’s the one who called herMs.Wilder.
She hadn’t meant to be that…aggressive. But he’d been so suspicious when he didn’t know a goddamn thing about her.
And fine, maybe he had a right to be. She never exactly got onstage and declared a desire to study the inner workings of people’s brains. She’d be suspicious of herself if she weren’t so stubborn about the whole thing.
It had taken her a few minutes longer than she would have liked to collect herself after sparring in his office. She’d gotten too worked up, her cheeks pink and heart pounding. He had too, with the way he’d rolled up his sleeves and stumbled over his words.
But dropping the class simply isn’t an option. This is the first decision she’s made truly on her own in years, and she’s not going to let it be a mistake. Even if she couldn’t figure out how to log on to the online psychology portal last night, spending an hour in front of her laptop before cursing it out and slamming it shut so hard, it spooked Janet.
“Please tell me there’s something more interesting going on in your life,” Ramona says after relaying all of this. “I’m already drowning in homework and have a feeling I’m about to become very boring.”
Betty’s eyes turn mischievous. “Remember the guy I met at the opening of that new aerial fitness gym in Silver Lake? We were texting late last night, and let’s just say he has averycreative vocabulary.” She lifts her eyebrows suggestively. “He wants to wrap me up in one of those silks. Can you even imagine?”
Ramona lets out a squeal. “Weren’t you just talking to that barista from Blue Bottle?”
“Yeah, but I think he must have learned how to sext from a 1950s romance novel, because he told me he wanted to ‘fondle my sensitive petals.’ ”
“Hard pass.”
“I can fondle my own sensitive petals, thanks.”
Betty tends to carry out these roller-coaster relationships entirely over text, drawing them out until there’s no way the person won’t disappoint her when they meet in real life. A bad breakup brought her out to LA from the East Coast in the first place, and ever since, she’s guarded her heart like a Swiss bank account. Ramona can’t blame her.
“How many lives could you ruin with that thing?” she asks, gesturing to Betty’s phone.
Betty holds up a few fingers. “One, two—”
Ramona snorts as she smacks Betty with her towel, then dabs her own forehead. “That was a hypothetical, but I love that you’re actually counting.”
Maybe she and Betty aren’t too different when it comes to dating, because Ramona has no earthly idea what that looks like at this stage of her life—or if she’s even ready to get to know someone when she’s still learning this version of herself. She supposes she could try an app like Raya, but every time she pictures herself across the table from a handsome stranger, her mind stutters over the image. She doesn’t love the idea of seeing someone famous, doesn’t want to be dragged back into that world, but she’s also not sure if someone outside of it would understand.
Every relationship she’s had has been painstakingly documented by the internet, aside from a few clandestine hookups that never made it to the press. Now she has a whole drawer of USB-charged devices to ensure she doesn’t get tempted by anyone with good hands and soulful eyes. The closest she gets is acknowledging someone is attractive.
She just hates that the last person this happened with was theprofessor whose gaze burned hers from behind those little circular glasses—right as he told her she was a distraction.
—
The next week of schoolis an adjustment. Ramona had been so determined to be a great student, but now that the first-day gleam has worn off, in its place is…a lot of homework. And reading. And the stupid class portal she still can’t figure out. She even calls her internet provider to get the connection checked, something an assistant would have handled before Ramona even knew there was a problem, and she’s embarrassed by how long it takes her to track down the company name and all her passwords. The verdict: everything’s working just fine.
