It took a few weeks . . .

. . . but my muscles did eventually loosen up, and aspirin was no longer a post-yoga habit. I was actually starting to feel some benefits from yoga, which I honestly never expected having thought it was just something girls did to be cool. Gus Ligety and I were the only guys remaining in the class, the other two having apparently realized it wasn’t everything they hoped it would be. With the new shrunken class size, Gus had maneuvered several spaces closer to me, like a pawn in a chess game moving in on the queen. Due to his closer proximity, Gus and Penelope got in lots of talking time before and after class. Because he pretended to hang onto her every soulless ha, ha, ha, Penelope rewarded him with her nearly undivided attention.

I can’t say I minded. I wasn’t ready to butt antlers with Gus over Penelope. I’d reached my tolerance level for her days earlier. Occasionally Alana would unwind herself from an advanced yoga pose like the sleeping yogi (which was an amazing thing to see) and share a secret smirk with me. It’s funny how something as simple as a shared secret smirk could brighten my day. But Alana was with Bryce, that much was clear, and maybe because of that, I started to relax. I dumped the hard-to-get playacting like unnecessary baggage. Something happened during all those fifteen-minute passing periods. Alana and I became friends.

>>>

“So then I said to him . . . you call that a joke? You’d better go back to clown school.” Gus Ligety smiled fondly at the memory of his clever putdown.

“No!” Penelope gasped. “You did not.”

The four of us moved through the hallway as one, Gus, Penelope, Alana, and me.

“I did.”

“Oh my God, you’re crazy. Ha, ha, ha.”

“And you’re sweet enough to eat.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh my God, you’re too cute.” Penelope slapped Gus on his shoulder, which actually looked painful, but Gus didn’t even flinch.

Alana sent out an invitation for a shared secret smirk but I pretended not to see. Try as I might to feel superior to Gus, I suspected one of us would finish up the school year with a girl, and it wasn’t going to be me.

Our group split into two when Alana and I arrived at art class. I started walking towards the side of the classroom where I always sat when Alana grabbed my arm.

“Come sit with me,” she said, pulling me towards her table.

“What about Bryce?” I didn’t see him there, and he was almost always there before us.

“He dropped the class,” she said, her mouth turned down in a mock pout.

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know if you heard about that whole football thing . . .”

“Gus said something about it.”

“Yeah, well, Bryce quit the team when the coach gave the backup quarterback position to that sophomore kid, Wyatt. Then in the last game Wyatt got his shoulder separated and . . .”

“Colin, the starting quarterback tore his ACL. I heard.”

“So the coach called Bryce and begged him to come back. I told him he shouldn’t do it, but he wanted it badly. He said he couldn’t play football and carry a full load, so he dropped art.”

“But he didn’t drop you,” I said half-hoping, as though Alana and football couldn’t coexist in someone’s world.

“He didn’t drop me.” She jabbed me playfully in the ribs as I sat myself down in the new starting quarterback’s chair.

It was great working next to Alana like that, glancing over from time to time to see how her project was coming along. We were working on reflections, and Alana’s sketch was a self-portrait of her looking into the humped side of a spoon. Mine was a wild turkey pecking at his own reflection on the side of a car. Once, I looked up and noticed Alana watching me intently.

“That’s amazing, Hudson,” she said like she really meant it. “You’re so talented.”

Our teacher walked by at just that moment. “Yes, he is,” she agreed.

I was in Heaven.

After class, it was as though our friendship had taken a step to the next level, if there is such a thing as a level between friendship and love.

“You wanna meet me after school?” she asked. “We can hang out. Bryce’s busy with football.”

I didn’t exactly want to be that guy who was free after school while the other guys had football practice, but since I was, it was hard to say no. If I focused when I got home, I could get everything done and have a free afternoon.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” she suggested. “You know where I live, right?” I blushed at the memory of the first time I walked by her house. “Bring the dogs, and I’ll walk back with you. It’ll be fun.”

I knew what I was to Alana, just a friend. But having her to myself in art class . . . winning her praise . . . being invited to her place after school . . . priceless. The rational side of my brain told me to put the brakes on, or at least not to totally give in to my fantasies. But the irrational side commanded my heart to deliver hormones at super-optimal levels. I ran around the house like a superhero on steroids, accomplishing everything I needed to and more by the time school let out for Alana.

I even had time left over and enough inspiration to tackle my graphic novel. The last attempt involved an ice monster in the Arctic Circle, but it went nowhere. This time I started playing around with characters like the walking-talking popcorn, sodas, and candy bars you see onscreen before the movie trailers. Only these characters had more depth and complexity. Difficult relationships and existential angst. It could work. At least I was finally doing something, and it felt great.