Chapter Twenty
Chapter
twenty
MEET ME HERE AT 9.
The text was followed by an address in Atascadero, a town about twenty minutes east of us. It was eight now.
When I’d left his house the day before after being comforted through my breakdown (something a good night’s rest hadn’t erased the embarrassment of), he’d said to be at his house at eight-thirty. This was a change of plans.
I thought we were training today, I responded. I needed to kick. Watching more than half the footballs I’d kicked the day before land far from the net, I knew I needed every second of practice I could get.
We are. See you at 9.
“Bossy,” I said to my room. An image of yesterday, our chests pressed together, my forehead against his lips, flashed through my mind, and I had to brace myself on the edge of my bed.
My phone buzzed again and I thought Theo was adding some sort of instruction to the morning, but the text was from Lee in our group chat.
Congrats on the views, Fin. Your last episode was fire.
What are you talking about?
Your podcast.
My brows shot down, and I went to my laptop at my desk, where I pulled up my stats bar. It told me forty-five people had listened to the installment I had published three days ago. “The Almost Kiss” was what I had labeled the episode. I was confused. Sure, forty-five wasn’t that many, but it was more listeners than all the previous episodes combined.
That’s weird, I texted back.
Why is that weird?
To go from five to forty-five from one episode to the next is odd.
It was a good episode. Maybe it got shared.
Did you share it? I texted.
No.
That leaves my mom and Deja. Not sure they have that kind of social media power.
Thanks, Deja chimed in. Waking up to an insult is refreshing. But you’re right, I didn’t share it. Didn’t you say Theo was listening to it. Would he have shared it?
Theo hugged me yesterday. Deja saying his name easily pulled the confession out of me. I obviously needed to talk it through. For a long time.
What?! she responded. No!
Followed by a Really? from Lee.
And then I reiterated that we were friends, I texted.
Why would you say that after he did that? Lee replied. I could hear the confusion in the text.
I don’t know why I said it…it felt right?
Deja was first to respond with Like how when someone says I love you and the other person says thank you ? That kind of right?
No, it was more like I was having a breakdown after the Jensen at my house thing and he was comforting me and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea or for him to think I was getting the wrong idea. That kind of right.
Lee texted: I think you mean you didn’t want him to get the rightidea.
Wait, do you like him?! Deja asked. Is that why you’re analyzing this so much?
No! I insisted.
Good, she texted. Don’t let him charm you into letting your guard down. He has a reputation for a reason. Stay focused on your goal. No more jerks.
Max was the last to the group chat, and he must’ve caught up on all the texts because all he said was I have given up my beauty sleep for your denial? Disappointing.
You guys have been entirely unhelpful lately. I have to go.
“WHAT IS THIS?” I ASKED staring at the red barn Theo and I stood in front of. Bleating sounds rang out in the distance and Theo had his signature teasing grin on his face, so I knew he was up to something. “A goat farm? Why are we at a goatfarm?”
Even just twenty minutes inland, the March weather was much colder without the Pacific Ocean tempering it. I hadn’t prepared well enough. I was in my workout clothes—shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top. I rubbed my arms.
Theo took off his sweatshirt and handed it to me.
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I said.
“I know you are. Take it anyway.”
I let an indignant breath out of my nose but pulled on his sweatshirt. Immediately his scent enveloped me. The soapy vanilla warmth I’d come to associate with him.
“Let’s go—it starts in five minutes,” he said, walking toward the barn.
“What starts in five minutes?” I asked, following him. Before he answered, I saw the chalkboard sign attached to the wall beside the open door of the barn. It read: Goat Yoga. I turned my stare on him. “I thought we were training today.”
A couple brushed by us and into the barn. Now that we were closer, I could see the back doors were open as well. They led out to a fenced-in field where yoga mats were set up. Walking around and through and over those mats were…goats.
“This is for training,” Theo said, turning back when he realized I had stopped. “Focus is important. This will help you focus.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is this about yesterday?” As if I already wasn’t embarrassed enough about what had happened the day before, now he changed our whole training session to take care of the issues he obviously thought I had? “You think I’m too distracted? Too sad? Too preoccupied with Jensen?” Which was ironic, considering Deja thought I was too preoccupied with him.
“No, well…yes. But there are so many other distractions you’ll have to shut out when kicking. The sounds of the crowd in the stands, the coach, the pressure of your teammates counting on you. Everything. You have to learn to shut out the world when you’re staring down the line and driving toward that ball. It’s just you and the uprights. This—” He pointed toward the people that were settling onto mats. “This will help you learn to shut things out and find your focus.”
“You’re annoying,” I said, crossing my arms. But I walked through the barn anyway, toward the class because he was right—I did need to learn to shut out the world. Maybe this would help.
Soft music played through a portable speaker near the instructor. “Find your mats, everyone, and we’ll get started.”
Pellets of goat poop littered the ground as we walked toward two open mats in the back corner of the space. Theo stepped out of his shoes and onto his mat, where he sat cross-legged facing the instructor.
“Have you done this before?” I asked, following suit.
“I have,” he said.
“You have?”
“I told you, kicking takes focus. All of us have distractions, Finley. Not just you.”
I sat down and pulled my hair back into the holder I’d brought. “What are your distractions?” I whispered this because aside from the music and the bleating goats, it was very quiet.
“Right now?” he asked with a smirk. “You.”
My heart thumped heavy in my chest seeming to think he was admitting to something. It took me too long to realize he just meant that I was literally distracting him from yoga in this moment. A goat approached me, pushing its head into my shoulder before bounding off to someone else.
“Can everyone assume Easy Seat,” the instructor said.
I’d never done yoga before, so I watched closely, bending my body into the shapes demonstrated, most seemed to have animal names. I felt clumsy and wobbly as I tried to assume one-legged positions or wide stances. My discomfort came out in breathy laughs and mistakes that turned my cheeks pink. I concentrated hard on each pose, trying to get it right, do it exactly like the instructor showed us. Half an hour of various poses later and I wasn’t succeeding.
Theo, on the other hand, was perfectly focused, his movements confident and strong, even when a goat had bounced off his leg.
“Slowly transition to Warrior Two,” the instructor said.
I copied her position, lunging with my right and turning my back foot, my upper body and arms turned as well. Theo lunged with his opposite leg, probably the correct one, which resulted in us facing each other. He met my stare. His expression was both relaxed and steady, like his body was. He seemed so comfortable here, so comfortable in his own skin doing this. I felt the opposite—out of place and unsure of myself. Ready to abandon the rest of class and go sit in the car. I knew I looked ridiculous, wobbling every couple seconds, trying to ground my feet like the instructor was saying, tighten my core. Nothing was helping. And Theo was still staring.
Stop distracting me, I mouthed.
One side of his lips formed a half smile. And then a goat walked beneath me, between my legs, throwing me off-balance. My arms made wide circles to try to save me, but all they seemed to do was propel me to the ground. I landed straight on my butt, letting out a yelp as I did.
“Sorry,” I said, clamping my mouth shut and scrambling to untangle myself from the goat that was now straddling one of my legs.
Theo rushed to my side to aid me in the process. After what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds, the goat was free and jumping to his next victim.
“You okay?” Theo asked, giving me a hand up.
“I’m unharmed,” I said, hoping all eyes weren’t on me. I refused to look around to find out.
Then the instructor was speaking again. “It’s time to start our cooldown. Can everyone take child’s pose?”
This was a face down position on the mat, knees tucked into chest, arms above the head relaxed.
“I’d like everyone to focus on their breathing,” she continued. “Breathe in all the good energy and happy feelings and positive thoughts. Breathe out negativity and self-doubt and bad energy. Relax each muscle group starting at the tips of your fingers and then your hands and arms, the tops of your heads, your brows, your eyes, your cheeks. Let go. Loosen your neck and shoulders….”
I listened and breathed and relaxed. Let myself feel the weight of my body and how it connected with the earth. A goat climbed onto my back, its hooves digging into my shoulder blades. I tried to shut it out, focus. I was vaguely aware of the instructor thanking everyone for coming. The goat settled in on my back, lying down. Now I could feel its little heartbeat, its warm solid body. My forehead on the mat felt heavy, like it would take a lot of effort to lift my head. And why would I when I could just stay here with a goat on my back and forget everything else? All I let my mind think about was my breathing. In and out, my chest rising and falling.
The sound of metal hitting metal, probably the gate banging closed, startled me and the goat and it jumped off. I sat up. Theo was pulling on his shoes.
He smiled at me.
“Did you share my podcast?” I asked, pushing the hair that had come loose from my ponytail out of my face.
“What?”
“My podcast. It had a bunch of views this week. I was just wondering if you shared it.”
“Did you post another episode?”
I sat back and picked up my shoes from the corner of the mat. “I did.”
“And you don’t think it can have a lot of views because it’s good and people just naturally wanted to share it?”
“Who would’ve been the first one to naturally share it, if not one of my friends, though? Some stranger?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. My grandma is a natural storyteller.”
“You are good at helping people tell a story naturally,” he said.
I loosened the laces on my shoes so I could pull them on, not sure that was true.
“I’ll have to listen to it,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Let me rephrase that: I want to listen to it.”
I glanced around. The instructor was filling a trough with food for the goats, and they had all gathered around her, bleating and jumping. “This was cool. Thanks for bringing me.”
“I started yoga after…” He brushed his hand over his knee, as if that action said it all, and stood up. “I don’t usually come to the goat class, but I thought you’d like it.”
“I would totally come again if I hadn’t been so terrible at it.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t get graded.”
“I graded myself.”
“You need to stop doing that,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Being so hard on yourself.”
“I’m just being honest. Realistic.”
“Or you give up if you’re not immediately perfect, to save yourself from…” He tilted his head as if assessing the many ways that sentence could end. “Embarrassment? Disappointment? I don’t know—I’m still trying to figure that part out.”
“You can stop analyzing me now.” I tied my laces and stood.
“I’m trying to help you succeed.”
“You think I’m going to quit the whole kicking thing?”
“It crossed my mind. Especially after you’ve said you might multiple times now.”
“I’m not the only one who quits things.” I nodded toward hisknee.
“That’s different and you know it.”
“Is it?” Our eyes were locked on one another, and mine moved back and forth between his, a tension that wasn’t all negative building. Maybe it wasn’t negative at all. My body felt tight but also alive. I was the first to break the standoff. “I’m not going to quit.”
“Good.”
“And stop analyzing me,” I huffed.
He smiled. “But I’m really good at it.”
“You’re not.”
“Fine, I’ll stop.”
“Good.”
We headed toward the exit, waving and thanking the instructor as we did. My phone buzzed in my pocket with a notification. I pulled it out as we walked through the barn toward the gravel parking lot and our cars.
“Oh,” I said in surprise.
“What?” Theo asked.
“It’s Alice, Cheryl Millcreek’s daughter. She sent me a message.”