Page 54 of The Last Special Thing

He nodded, and his eyes fell closed. “Next time,” he murmured.

She leaned in and kissed his forehead, then slipped out of bed and gathered her phone, purse, and keys.

In the living room, Max’s door was closed. She could only assume Madisson stayed the night. Amelia passed by the couch, a petite leg dangling from beneath a blue blanket. She hadn’t noticed Reyna last night when they came in. Amelia chewed on her cheek and snuck out the front door.

In her car, Amelia pulled down the visor mirror to assess the damage. She had missed her whole night's skin routine again, and her makeup was smeared. Yesterday's blouse was crinkled after being strewn on Art’s floor.

Despite her appearance, the clock on the dashboard indicated she could still make Lauren’s mid-morning Pilates class. A workout and a quick apology, two birds with one stone.

Large windows, framed in navy blue, showcased the Pilates studio. Amelia inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth—the perfect Pilates student.

She had stayed the night with her boyfriend, but she was safe. She had done nothing wrong. Except for not telling her mom that she wasn’t coming home, the excessive drinking, and the hiding from cops after stealing scooters and public intoxication. But, still. She was a typical teenager. She was sure this was what other students were doing when she was busy, focused on Weston and UCLA. She was just catching up with her peers. After all, come September, she wouldn’t be coming home at all.

Absolving herself of any guilt, she reached for the door handle, then hesitated. She popped open her center console. Fishing out the Ziploc filled with blue pills, she reasoned that if there was a day for a little extra help, it was today. She threw back the Adderall and washed it down with water.

The receptionist was reading a smutty book as Amelia walked past into the studio and into the locker room. She changed, thankful for the growing collection of clothes in her car, and then joined an Aztec-tall woman in the fitness room. After choosing a reformer at the back, she stretched, loosening up. While she usually claimed the center spot, where Lauren could point her out as an example, today, she didn’t have it in her. The rest of the students trickled in over the next few minutes.

Lauren entered with her head high, ponytail swinging. She smiled as she passed people with a “great to see you!” and an “I’m so glad you came!” When she arrived at the front and surveyed the class, she spotted Amelia. An involuntary scowl crossed her face, then was replaced by a large smile.

“Thank you all for being here today!” she said. “And most importantly, thank yourself. You are doing something great for your body, and you should be proud of yourself.”

Throughout the class, Amelia kept her head down and followed the cues, sliding her left leg out and pulling it back in. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She clasped her hands behind her back to steady her core, isolating the burn in her thighs.

She didn’t know if it was the whiskey hangover peeking through or if Lauren was going hard, but she could feel the sweat from her underboob. The variety of exercises continued, and the Adderall helped her concentrate. She stiffened as Lauren pressed a hand to the small of her back to adjust her stance.

She narrowed in on the self-inflicted punishment at hand. She was unstoppable as she moved the booty bands above her knees and started donkey kicks. Butts like hers and Laurens weren’t hereditary; they were made.

Lauren wiped the sweat from her brow. “Whew, last one!” She removed her bands and grinned at the class. “Great job, ladies! I'd better see you again soon!”

A few women chuckled and promised she would. They left in clusters, chatting about weekend plans and exchanging green juice recipes.

Lauren shmoozed effortlessly. It was a charm that Amelia had tried—and failed—to replicate.

A thick silence spread across the room when everyone else had vacated. Lauren didn’t look upset, but she was good at harnessing her emotions. It was another area she advised Amelia to work on.

“Let’s go to lunch.” Lauren gave her the same practiced smile she had shared with the women in the class

“True Foods?” Amelia offered.

“Sounds lovely. I’ll get my things.”

As Lauren disappeared to the locker room, Amelia peeled off her sweat-soaked tank top and swapped it for a fresh one from her bag. She walked over to the mirror and adjusted her ponytail. Pivoting, she examined her profile. She looked good, but a voice in her head whispered: Are you good enough for L.A.?

True Foods was a health-conscious restaurant located around the corner from the Pilates studio, making it an after-workout favorite.

Lauren ordered her usual chicken salad with dressing on the side. Amelia opted for a protein açaí bowl. She was sure she would be throwing up whatever she ate later. Smoother food was better for her to absorb nutrients while she could.

“Why didn’t you come home last night?” Lauren asked. Her head tilted down to peer at Amelia over the frame of her black designer sunglasses.

“I drank. Didn’t think it was a good idea to drive.” She should get points for being responsible.

“So you decided to drink and then couldn’t drive home. I waited up for you.”

Guess she wouldn’t be getting kudos on that decision.

Lauren took a sip of her tea, then set it down. She clasped her hands and leaned in. “I’m worried about you being able to make good decisions in college when you're by yourself.”

“I'm practically by myself now.” Amelia crossed her arms.