Page 73 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“Yes, we will.”

Naomi laughed and pulled Journey toward the studio door. “Come on. We need to stretch.”

“I stretched before I came.”

“You reached for something on the floor,” I said. “That doesn’t count.”

“How do you know what I did?”

“Because I know you.”

Journey pushed through the door while muttering about unsupportive friends. I followed them inside. Thirty-four women had registered for the class. They filled the mirrored room in colorful leggings, fitted tops, and sneakers, their conversation bouncing off the walls beneath the music playing through the speakers.

My mother had Malik at her house until two. Sunday classes were usually easier because I didn’t have to rush home immediately afterward, but today I had spent the entire morning watching the clock.

Elijah was coming.

Journey waved from the back row.

“The back?” I called. “Absolutely not.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Move up.”

“I can see you from here.”

“I need to see you.”

“That feels threatening.”

The class laughed.

Naomi took Journey by the arm and brought her to the second row. Journey stopped beside a woman wearing bright orange leggings.

“If I fall,” she told the woman, “move out of the way. Save yourself.”

“You’re not going to fall,” I said.

“You don’t know that.”

I stepped onto the low platform at the front of the room and adjusted my headset. The mirrored wall reflected my class, my friends, and me.

This was my element.

I wore black shorts, a neon-green sports bra, and matching sneakers. A narrow black band held my pixie cut away from my forehead. Energy already moved beneath my skin before the first song began.

“All right, ladies! We’re starting with a warm-up. Nothing complicated. Follow me, keep moving, and remember this is your workout. Modify when you need to.”

Journey raised her hand.

“This isn’t school,” I said.

“What if I need to modify everything?”

“Then do what you can.”

“What if what I can do is sit down?”