“Adorable,” Sophie said.
Nora took three more shirts out of the bag and passed one to each of us. “I figured we should look like the sassy badasses we are.”
I held mine up. “I love it.”
“I’m so glad you like them,” Nora said. “I knew you would, they’re darling. But I’m glad anyway. No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll look fabulous.”
“Hell yes, we will,” Sophie said. “So what do you think, ladies? Are we ready?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Everly said. “How are you holding up, Hazel? Did your week get any better?”
My shoulders slumped. “Not particularly.”
Nora dropped her shirt back in the bag. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“This is proving to be exceptionally difficult to navigate. I don’t even feel like baking.”
Everly wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Aw, Hazel.”
“I know what you need,” Nora said. “Yoga.”
“Yoga?” Everly asked. “Since when do you take yoga?”
“I take yoga,” Nora said. “Well, only because my boss had me doing a series on alternative yoga studios in Seattle. But trust me, this isn’t ordinary yoga. It’s exactly what she needs right now.”
“Are you sure?” Sophie asked. “We’re supposed to be resting before tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not strenuous. More for relaxation and release.”
“That sounds good,” Everly said. “What do you think, Hazel?”
“A restorative activity is probably a good idea.”
Nora got out her phone. “I’m texting you guys the address. We can all go home to change and meet for their ten-thirty class.”
“What do you mean by alternative yoga?” Everly asked.
Nora smiled. “You’ll see.”
The four of us stood on the sidewalk outside Rebel Spirit Yoga Studio, clad in ponytails and yoga attire. I tilted my head and read the sign in the window again.
“Rage yoga? Is that a misprint? Rage yoga sounds like an oxymoron.”
Nora slipped her arm through mine and led me inside. “It’s yoga for the rest of us. There’s deep breathing and stretching and all that stuff. But you’re also encouraged to explore your emotional range through things like yelling curse words and punching pillows. Also, there’s alcohol, so it’s obviously the best yoga studio ever.”
I remained skeptical while we signed in at the front desk. It didn’t look like any yoga studio I’d ever been to. Instead of dreamy instrumental music, wispy curtains, and flowing tapestries, rock music played in the background and the space was decorated with wood paneling, industrial metal accents, and wine barrels.
We removed our shoes and Nora showed us where to find yoga mats. Those were typical, as was the smooth wood floor. There were also thick wool blankets stacked on a shelf and various foam blocks for modifications.
And a bar with a selection of alcoholic beverages.
We found a spot in the center of the room and spread out our mats. Three men and six other women filled out the class. Some stood, waiting for the instructor. One of the men and two of the women sat cross-legged on their mats with their eyes closed.
A petite redhead in a black tank top and capris walked out onto the floor. She had a full sleeve of tattoos on one arm and several more decorating other parts of her body. “Welcome, badasses. I’m glad you’re all here today. Do we have any newcomers to class?”
Everly, Sophie, and I raised our hands, as did two other attendees.
“Great, welcome. I’m Kennedy and I’ll be guiding you through your practice today. I’m sure you’ve already guessed this isn’t traditional yoga. Just follow along and only do what you’re comfortable with. But I definitely encourage everyone to stretch themselves, not just physically, but emotionally as well. If you have something to let out, this is a safe place to do it.”
Nora glanced at me and winked.
Kennedy turned up the rock music and led us through a warm-up that included deep breathing and basic yoga poses. Other than the music—which, I had to admit, gave the room a great deal of energy—it wasn’t much different from a typical yoga class.
Until it was.
We got into warrior pose, with our front legs bent and back legs straight, arms held out.
“Now it’s time to find the badass energy inside you,” Kennedy said. “Take a deep breath, filling your lungs, and when you let it out, I want you to yell. Here we go. Deep breath in…”
I glanced around, feeling tentative. We were all going to yell? I took a deep breath and the room erupted with noise. Nora and Sophie shouted beside me. A man in back roared, his voice deep. Everly caught my eye, looking as hesitant as I felt. She shrugged, opened her mouth, and yelled.
So I yelled, too.
“Yes, amazing,” Kennedy said. “Let’s step out of warrior and reach our hands up. Good. Now let’s find warrior on the other side.”
We all moved as instructed.
“Again, deep breath, and then let loose. Take any pent-up anger or negativity and let it out with your voice.”
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I took a deep breath, and shouted.
I felt it low in my abdomen, as if the sound originated there. It traveled through my chest, taking some of the pain I’d been carrying all week with it.
The longer we continued, the easier it became to fully participate. We sat cross-legged on the floor, put our hands on our stomachs, and shouted our obscenities of choice. Held plank pose, adding a loud fuck you at the end. The heavy metal music drove the mood of the class and Kennedy encouraged yelling, fist-pumping, and head-banging.
We took a short break for water—and cocktails, wine, or beer. Nora, Sophie, Everly, and I went back to our mats sipping mimosas. After all, it was still morning.
With our drinks set off to the side, Kennedy led us through more poses. Some were challenging, causing my muscles to clench and burn as I struggled to hold them. She followed those with poses designed to let go of the tension, adding what she called war cries to enhance the release.
“Now, I want you to think about something that’s really been bothering you,” Kennedy said, walking between the mats. “That one thing that’s been sitting deep in the pit of your stomach. I don’t care if it’s as simple as a broken fingernail, or as serious as a toxic person in your life. I want you to take that thing and visualize it for a moment. Then I want you to flip it some double fist unicorns, like this.” She raised her middle fingers. “And tell it to fuck off. Are we ready? Let’s do this. First, find your breath and visualize.”
With my bare feet planted shoulder width apart, I closed my eyes and brought to mind the one thing that was eating me alive.
It wasn’t Corban. I didn’t want to flip him double fist unicorns or tell him to fuck off. I didn’t even conjure an image of Paisley Hayes wearing nothing but Corban’s shirt and her underwear—although for a second, I was tempted.
And some of the obscenities I’d already yelled had been directed at her.
What I called to mind was my own stubbornness. My insistence on proving Corban wrong—and my fear of being wrong—had blinded me. It had kept me from experiencing the truth of my developing feelings for him. And now I was paying the price.