JENNIE
Lisa makes it a point to walk slightly behind me, and I suddenly want to go back to the tenth grade when I would tie a sweater around my waist to hide myself.
Her voice is quiet as she says, "You're going to need to get more of these pants."
I remember the last time I wore yoga pants in front of Lisa and the crude remarks she made, and those yoga pants weren't as tight as these. I laugh lightly and grab her hand to force her to walk next to me instead of behind me.
"You aren't seriously taking yoga." No matter how hard I try to picture Lisa posing, the image just won't come.
"Yeah, I am."
"You do know what yoga is, don't you?" I ask her as we walk into the room.
"Yes, Jennie. I know what it is, and I'm taking it with you," she huffs. "Why?"
"It doesn't matter why—I just want to spend more time with you."
"Oh." I'm not convinced by her explanation, but I'm looking forward to seeing her try to do yoga, and the extra time with her doesn't hurt either.
In the center of the room, the instructor sits on a bright yellow mat. Her curly brown hair piled on top of her head and her flower-print shirt make a welcoming first impression.
"Where is everyone?" Lisa asks me as I grab a purple mat from the shelving unit on the wall.
"We're early." I hand her a blue one, and she examines it before tucking it under her arm.
"Of course we are." She smiles sarcastically and follows me to the front of the room.
I begin to lay my mat down directly in front of the instructor, but Lisa grabs my arm to stop me. "No way, we're sitting in the back," she says, and I see the instructor's face alight with a slight smile at her words.
"What? Sitting in the back of the class for yoga? No, I always sit in the front."
"Exactly. We're sitting in the back," she repeats and takes my mat from my hands to head to the back of the room.
"If you are going to be grumpy, you shouldn't stay," I whisper to her. "I'm not grumpy."
The instructor waves and introduces herself to us as Marla when we take a seat on our mats, and afterward Lisa claims with certainty that she's high, which makes me giggle. This is going to be a fun class.
However, as the room fills with girls in tight yoga pants and tiny tank tops who all seem to glance or stare at Lisa, I get steadily less Zen. Of course she's the only tattoed person here. Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice the heaps of female attention she's receiving. Either that, or she's just very used to it— that has to be it. She gets attention like this all of the time. It's not like I blame the girls, but she's my girlfriend and they need to look elsewhere. I know some of the girls are looking at her because of her piercings; they must be wondering why the heck she's taking a yoga class.
"Okay, everyone! Let's get started!" the instructor calls through the room.
She introduces herself as Marla to everyone else and gives a short speech about why and how she got into teaching yoga.
"She's never going to shut up, is she?" Lisa groans after a few minutes.
"Eager to pose, are you?" I raise my brow. "Pose what?" she asks.
"First we'll begin with a few stretches," Marla says just then.
Lisa sits still on the floor while everyone else mimics her actions. I can feel her eyes on me the entire time.
"You are supposed to be stretching," I scold her, and she shrugs but doesn't move.
Then, in a singsong voice, Marla calls Lisa out. "You in the back, join us."
"Erm . . . sure," she mumbles and uncrosses her long legs and stretches them in front and attempts to reach her toes.
I force myself to look toward the front of the room and away from Lisa to prevent the laughter that is fighting to surface.
"You're supposed to touch your toes," the blond girl next to Lisa says. "Trying," she says with an overly saccharine smile.
Why did she even respond to her—and why am I so jealous? She giggles at her while the image of me slamming her head against the wall plays on repeat in my mind. I always lecture Lisa about her temper, but here I am planning this whore's murder . . . and calling her a whore even though I don't know her.
"I can't really see clearly, I'm going to move up," I tell Lisa. She looks surprised as she speaks. "Why? I wasn't—"
"It's nothing, I just want to be able to see and hear what's going on," I explain and drag my mat a few feet, stopping directly in front of Lisa.
I sit down and finish stretching with the group. I don't have to turn around to see the look on Lisa's face.
"Jen," she hisses, trying to get my attention, but I don't turn around. "Jennie."
"Let's begin with the downward-dog pose—it's very simple and a basic one," Marla says.
I bend down, place my palms against the mat, and look at Lisa through the space between my stomach and the floor. She's standing still with her mouth open.
Once more Marla notices Lisa's lack of movement. "Hey, you thinking of joining us in yoga?" she asks jokingly. If she does it again, I won't be surprised if Lisa curses her out in front of the entire class. I close my eyes and shift my hips so I'm bending over completely.
"Jennie," I hear her say again. "Jenniieeeee."
"What, Lisa? I'm trying to concentrate," I say, looking at her again.
She's now leaning over, attempting to do the pose, but her long body is bent at an awkward angle and I can't help but burst into laughter.
"Shut up, would you!" she snaps, and I laugh louder. "You are terrible at this," I tease.
"You are distracting me," she says through her teeth.
"I am? How?" I love having the upper hand with Lisa, because it doesn't happen often.
"You know how, minx," she whispers. I know the girl next to her can hear us, but I don't care, I hope she does.
"Move your mat, then." I purposely stand up to stretch and bend back down into the pose.
"You move . . . you're the one toying with me."
"Teasing," I correct her, using her words from minutes ago against her. "Okay, let's move into a halfway lift," Marla says.
I stand again then bend at my waist, putting my hands flat on my knees and making sure my back is at a ninety-degree angle.
"You've got to be kidding me." Lisa groans at the sight of my bottom practically right in front of her face. I turn around to look at her and see that she isn't remotely doing the pose correctly; she has her hands on her knees but her back is almost straight.
"Okay! Now for the forward fold," our instructor calls, and I bend down, folding my body.
"It's really like she wants me to fuck you right in front of everyone," she says, and I snap my head up to make sure no one heard her.
"Shhh . . ." I plead and hear her chuckle.
"Move your mat or I'll say everything that I'm thinking right now," she threatens, and I quickly stand up and move my mat back to its previous spot next to her.
"Thought so." She smirks.
"You can tell me those things later," I whisper, and she tilts her head to the side.
"Trust me, I will," Lisa promises and my stomach flutters.
She doesn't participate in much of the remainder of class, and the blonde ends up changing her spot halfway through, probably because Lisa won't stop talking.
"We're supposed to be meditating," I whisper back to her and close my eyes. The room is silent except for Lisa's quiet whispers.
"This is so fucking lame," she complains.
"You're the one who signed up for yoga."
"I didn't know how lame it was. I'm literally about to fall asleep right here."
"Stop whining."
"I can't. You had to go and get me all worked up, and now I'm stuck sitting cross-legged, meditating, with a hard-on in a room full of people."
"Lisa!" I hiss, louder than intended.
"Shhh . . ." Multiple voices attempt to silence me.
Lisa laughs, and I stick my tongue out at her, earning a dirty look from the girl to my right. Lisa and me taking yoga together is not going to work; I'm going to get kicked out or fail.
"We're dropping this class," she says when the meditation is over. "You are, I'm not. I need a PE credit," I inform her.
"Great first day, everyone! I look forward to seeing you later this week.
Namaste," Marla says, dismissing us.
I roll my mat up, but Lisa doesn't bother; she just shoves her onto the shelf.