Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Bea tossed her pen onto the bed and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
“I need a hobby,” she declared.
The ceiling, unhelpfully, did not respond.
Three straight hours of case studies had left her brain fried. With Georgina buried in rehearsals, the apartment was too quiet. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d end up having conversations with the furniture.
And, realistically, she needed a job. The toothpaste incident still haunted her.
She might be unsponsored and technically ineligible for unpaid internships, but surely that didn’t disqualify her from an honest day’s work in the UR. Just the kind that required an endorsement from someone with a yacht.
She grabbed her phone and tapped in a call.
Her mom picked up first, her face lighting up on the screen. “Baby! Studying hard?”
“Too hard,” Bea groaned. “Umma, I need a hobby. And a job.”
Her mom frowned. “Are you struggling? We can send more if you need—”
“No, no,” Bea rushed to reassure them. “I’ve still got my summer savings. But I think having a job will help me…I don’t know, integrate more. Feel like I have a place.”
Her dad appeared then, making a sound of approval. “Good idea, mija. Work builds character.”
Bea stifled a smile. That was his answer to everything.
“And a hobby?” her mom asked, curious.
Bea shrugged. “Something active.”
Umma laughed outright. “You? Active?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I can get fit.”
“Of course you can,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. “Exercise is important.”
Bea stretched. She looked out the window. St. Ives was calling her.
“I’ll call you guys again soon,” she said, sitting up. “I’m going to go explore. Maybe I’ll find something.”
“Enjoy!” her umma said, brightly. “Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy.”
Her dad grumbled something about safety.
“Okay, Papa,” Bea acknowledged, ending the call with a shake of her head.
Ten minutes later, Bea was strolling through the cobblestone streets of St. Ives town.
She passed a tailor’s shop where a three-piece suit stood on display, its fine wool catching the soft afternoon light filtering through leaded glass panes.
Then a boutique café with outdoor tables set with delicate china and vases of fresh tulips.
Farther down, seamlessly tucked between a jeweler’s atelier and a bespoke shoemaker, she spotted it: HAVOC COMBAT SYSTEMS.
Its exterior blended in flawlessly, a stately brick facade with deep green shutters and a heavy, polished oak door.
Bea peeked through the wide windows. There was an open-concept training floor, with rows of heavy bags swinging slightly from recent impact.
Padded mats lined up in sharp order, and a raised ring stood at the far end.
A class was in session, the movements fast-paced, aggressive.
At the front, a man barked out sharp, clipped commands, demonstrating a takedown that sent his opponent crashing to the mat.
Bea chewed her lip.
Self-defense wouldn’t be the worst idea. Not her first choice, but it was practical, at least. She’d never had the inclination to investigate it much. Her time had been swallowed by extracurriculars that looked good on scholarship applications.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stepped inside.
The air was thick with the scent of leather, clean sweat, and something faintly metallic.
A steady thrum of music pulsed through the speakers.
Behind the front desk, a man looked up. Stocky, early forties, with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed beard.
His black t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the fabric pulling slightly where a sleeve of faded tattoos ran down his left arm.
“Hey there,” he greeted, his accent a mix of Brooklyn and trouble.
Bea smiled. “Hi. I was just wondering about classes.”
The man leaned on the counter, eyeing her in a way that wasn’t unfriendly, just assessing. “You got experience?”
“Not even a little,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “Well, today’s a good day to start. I’m Manny, by the way.”
“Bea.”
“Bea, you’ve got a few options. Krav, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. You want to learn to hit people or choke ’em out?”
Bea blinked. “Uh…anything less…violent?”
Manny’s grin widened. “We actually started a Pilates class recently.”
Bea brightened. “That sounds more in my league.”
He reached under the counter and grabbed a pamphlet, passing it to her. “I can give you a quick tour, show you the place?”
“Sure! Thank you.”
She followed him past the reception desk. The training floor was even bigger up close. Mirrored walls reflected quick, brutal movements, and the weight section in the back buzzed with quiet intensity. A few people were working solo drills while others sparred.
Manny led her past there, to the back. Behind frosted glass, there was a separate mat area. “This is where we have the Pilates classes. It’s small, only a few regulars.”
“Not a big demand?”
Manny lifted one shoulder. “Most of the guys here prefer to hit things.” He slid her a smirk. “You sure you don’t wanna punch someone instead?”
Bea laughed. “I think I’ll stick with Pilates.”
“Well, we could use another student. We were thinking about canceling the class.”
They strode back toward the front counter. “Canceling?”
“There’re only two couples in the class right now.” He shrugged, grabbing a clipboard. “But since you’re interested, maybe we’ll keep it going.”
“No pressure, huh?”
Manny chuckled. “Nah. You wanna give it a try?”
She offered a quick, sheepish grin as she looked around the unfamiliar space. She had never been even remotely athletic. The sportiest things she could do were ride a bike and rollerblade. Balance. Balance, she had. This could totally be her thing.
Plus, she could use the exercise, even if only for stress relief.
Bea clasped her hands low by her stomach. “How much?”
Manny tossed out the number like it was pocket change.
She nearly choked. “Per lesson?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an elite gym. Best trainers, best facilities.”
Best ROI.
“I’ll have to think about it.” She gave a small smile. Clearly, she needed the job before the hobby. “Thank you again for the tour.”
Manny nodded. “No problem. Let me grab your number in case there’s a promo coming up.”
Her gaze flew askance. Just for a second.
“Promise I won’t sell it to telemarketers,” Manny quipped.
Bea laughed and rattled it off.
“Alright,” he said, typing it in. “I’ll let you know if something opens up.”
Bea found the café tucked behind the theatre. The rich curl of espresso filled the air. A heavy velvet curtain framed the entrance, muffling the street noise outside. Inside, the lighting was golden and low, catching on fine china and casting soft reflections across the wooden tables.
Bea followed Georgina to a corner table, where two girls were already seated, engaged in a murmured conversation that tapered off as they approached. Their gazes flicked over Bea, mild curiosity shifting into something warmer.
“Bea, meet Naomi and Isabel,” Georgina introduced, sliding into a chair with the effortless grace of someone used to being the center of a room. “They’re theatre majors like me.”
Naomi, curvy and confident, with thick, dark brown curls cascading to her shoulders, cradled an oversized cappuccino cup in one hand. Her brown eyes gleamed with mischief as she flashed a teasing smile.
“Finally. We get to meet Georgina’s mysterious new housemate.”
Bea arched a brow, setting her bag down. “I didn’t realize I was mysterious,” she said as she sat. “I was at the Welcome Gala.”
“She means you’re a scholarship student,” Isabel clarified, her hazel eyes sharp but not unkind. “We missed the gala.”
Bea studied her. Tall, willowy, poised. Her cool, refined beauty belonged in a high-fashion editorial. Sleek dark hair pulled into a perfect ponytail, defined cheekbones catching the light.
“Her family owns a streaming platform,” Georgina added.
“Second biggest,” Isabel plugged in smoothly, lifting her espresso. “But let’s not dwell.”
“I’ll pretend I don’t binge-watch Married on an Island,” Bea confessed.
Naomi gasped. “You watch that trash?”
“Only for the deep and genuine attachments.” She grinned.
Naomi laughed. “Well if they can’t find love on an island, what hope is there for the rest of us?”
Bea laughed too, already feeling the tension ease from her shoulders.
Naomi grinned, dimples flashing. “I’m Naomi. My dad built a fashion empire, and my mom swears she did all the work.”
“She did do all the work,” Isabel muttered, sipping her coffee.
Naomi shot her a look. “Say that again and I’m flipping this table.”
Bea’s lips twitched as she leaned back in her chair. Wealthy, yes, but with a warmth and openness that refreshed. Maybe it came from being actors, creatives—people used to stepping into other lives, understanding other perspectives.
Georgina flicked a glance at Bea. “You said earlier you were looking for a job?”
She groaned. “Yeah. Something flexible, ideally. I love St. Ives, but if I don’t start earning money, I’m going to have to start rationing my shampoo.”
Naomi hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you obviously can’t work retail.”
“Why obviously?” Bea wondered.
Naomi gestured to her vaguely. “You have resting I’m too competent for this face. Customers would hate you.”
She opened her mouth to argue. Paused.
“…Okay, fair.”
“Hostess at a high-end restaurant?” Isabel suggested.
Georgina snorted. “With the way those rich bankers flirt? She’d quit…or become someone’s mistress.”
Bea grimaced. “Pass.”
“Personal assistant?” Naomi offered.
“To whom?”
Naomi shrugged. “Someone’s dad. Or mom.”
She tried to imagine running personal errands for someone, and promptly shuddered.
“Okay, maybe not that.” Naomi tapped her nails against her cup, thinking. “What about tutoring? You’re a scholarship kid, you’re smart, right?”
She’d been a straight-A student her entire life, built as much if not more off hours of study as natural talent. In high school, she’d helped classmates with essays, proofread papers, explained math equations over lunch breaks. At U of T she’d tutored high-school students.
“That…actually makes sense.” Bea nodded. “If any of you hear of anything, let me know.”
Georgina clinked her coffee cup against Bea’s. “I’m sure you’ll find something soon. Rich kids always need tutors.”
Bea took another sip of her drink, feeling a little more settled than she had all day. She sank into the plush chair. The idea of tutoring sat comfortably in her mind—practical, flexible, and reasonably within her wheelhouse.
The conversation drifted between Naomi’s disastrous last audition, Isabel’s scathing critique of a new film adaptation, and Georgina’s ongoing theatre rehearsals. Bea let herself meld into the conversation, the normalcy wrapping around her like a blanket.
A sharp vibration against the table broke the moment.
She glanced down, unlocking it with a flick of her thumb.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hey kid it’s Manny. Got lucky. Promo just dropped for new students. Three months, no charge. Starts Tuesday at 8. Let me know if you’re in.
Bea blinked.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. A promo? That was very well timed.
Maybe I’m overthinking.
“What’s that face?” Georgina asked.
“I, uh…” Bea looked up at her. “I went to check out this gym before I came here. The guy at the front desk just texted me. Said they suddenly have a promo for free classes.”
“Wow,” Naomi voiced, her eyebrows lifting. “That is very convenient.”
Bea’s forehead scrunched. “Right?”
How often do premium clubs just give away memberships?
Isabel sipped her coffee. “Maybe the universe is rewarding you.”
Bea snorted. “Yeah, because the universe is really invested in my personal-fitness journey.”
“When the universe gives, you take, girl,” Georgie encouraged, although Bea would swear there was some mischief in her eyes. “Say yes. Manifest the free Pilates.”
Bea peered at the text again. She chewed on her lip. Free classes sounded good but the timing nagged at her. She typed.
Too direct. Delete.
Too paranoid. Delete.
Why was she hesitating? It was a good deal. Logically, the club had more to lose than she did. And if it turned out weird, she could always leave. This was too good to be true. But maybe, for once, that wasn’t a reason to say no.
BEA: Thanks, Manny. I’ll be there.
She sent it, then set her phone face down on the table.
“This has been a productive afternoon.” She smiled. “I’ve figured out the hobby and the job.”
Naomi grinned back. “Queen of balance.”
Well, she still had to find the job. And not fall. And not fail.
Bea laughed, shaking her head.
Queen of balance.