Ella Unleashed Page 9

  Beth pushes up the leg of my jeans, and her eyes get all soft. “You’re bleeding, you poor thing. Is your mom or dad around here somewhere?”

  “No, I’m out for a ride by myself.”

  “There’s a first aid kit in the yoga studio—that’s where I work. Do you want to come inside for a second? I can clean this up and give you some Band-Aids. Or I can bring them out here if that makes you more comfortable.”

  I sit up and rub my elbow—yup, I’m going to have a bruise there too. “I can come in. Thanks.”

  “I’m Beth, by the way.”

  Oh, I know, I want to say, but instead I tell her, “I’m Ella.”

  “That’s one of my favorite names,” Beth says. “It’s nice to meet you. All right, let’s get you on your feet.”

  She squats down, loops my arm around her shoulder, and before I know it, I’m standing—she is ridiculously strong. Her back muscles are rock-hard, and I wonder if all of this came from doing yoga. “Do you think you can walk?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure I can ride all the way home, though. I should probably ask my dad to come get me.”

  “Of course,” she says. “We’ll give him a call.”

  Beth steers me toward the studio, wheeling my bike along with her other hand. The right side of my body is completely coated with muddy leaves, and they fall off like a trail of breadcrumbs as we walk. They make me look even more bedraggled, so I don’t brush them off.

  Beth parks my bike next to the door and leads me inside, where I’m hit with the smell of incense mixed with fresh sweat; it should be disgusting, but somehow it isn’t. I follow her down the hall to a tiny office, which has some filing cabinets, a desk covered in papers and an old computer, a bunch of random clothes lying around, and a dead plant in the corner. There’s a yellow skateboard propped against the far wall. I expected something much more Zen.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Beth says like she’s reading my mind. “It’s not a very healing space, is it?”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t need to be healed, really. I just need a Band-Aid.”

  Beth opens a drawer in one of the filing cabinets and digs around for a second, then holds up a white plastic box with a red cross on the front. “Aha! Here we go. Have a seat, and we’ll get you patched up.”

  I do what she says, and within seconds she’s got my jeans rolled up and is dabbing at my ankle with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. It stings, but I love how gentle and competent she is. When I wince, she apologizes, then starts talking to distract me. “Ever tried yoga before?”

  “I did once,” I say. “Someone came to my ballet class. It was . . . okay?”

  Beth laughs, and it makes her whole face brighten. Her teeth are super straight and blindingly white. “Not really your thing?”

  “No, I mean, it was fine. I just prefer doing choreography.”

  “That’s fair. But once you can do complicated yoga sequences, it actually starts to feel similar to choreography. One movement flows right into another. You might really like it.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I should try it again.”

  “Definitely,” she says. “If everyone did yoga, the world would be such a happier, healthier place. I teach a class for kids on Saturday mornings—you should come check it out. How old are you, about twelve?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Good guess.”

  Beth smiles. “I’ve got a niece your age.”

  Oh man, this woman is even better than I expected. “Really? Does she come to your class?”

  Beth sighs. “No, she flat-out refuses to try it—she’s more into stuff like martial arts. I’ll get her here one day, though. I think she could really benefit from yoga. It would chill her out.”

  For a second I get lost in a fantasy of spending weekend afternoons hiking and going to movies and grilling steaks in the backyard with my dad and Beth and her awesome niece, who would obviously become my fourth best friend. If she does martial arts, she and Jordan would probably get along great. Maybe once I knew her better, she could start coming to sleepovers and EVGAPs and come see me compete in dog shows and—

  “All right,” Beth says, and I come back to earth to see that she’s covered my scrape with two Band-Aids patterned with butterflies. “One more thing.” She grabs her purse, flips open the front pocket, and pulls out a small clear crystal on a string, which she starts twirling back and forth above my ankle.

  “Um,” I say, “what are you doing?”

  “It helps absorb bad energy,” Beth says. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”

  The spinning crystal is kind of hypnotic, but my ankle definitely doesn’t feel any different. “Okaaay?” I say, trying not to sound too weirded out.

  Beth laughs. “Well, it can’t hurt, right?” She finishes up with the crystal and puts it away. “Are you sore anywhere else?”

  I tell her the rest of me is all right, just bruised, but Beth helps me out of my muddy hoodie and insists on checking my shoulder and elbow joints. “Yeah, I think you’re fine,” she says. She shakes out my sweatshirt over the trash can, but even after all the leaves fall off, it’s still pretty gross. “You can’t wear this home. Here, I’ve got something you can borrow.” She pulls a deep pink sweater out of her cavernous purse and holds it out to me.

  “I’ll get it dirty, though,” I say. “My jeans are all muddy.”

  “That’s okay. It’ll wash out. You can drop it off here sometime next week.” She dangles the sweater in front of me. “C’mon, it’s really fine. It’s too cold for you to wear a tank top.”

  I take the sweater and pull it on. It’s warm and soft, and I like the way it smells like incense and coconut. “Thanks,” I say.

  “No problem. That color looks nice on you. I think you’re a summer.” I have no idea what that means, but before I can ask, she says, “Want to give your dad a call?”

  I nod and pull out my phone, and it only rings twice before he picks up. “Ella?” he says, an edge of concern in his voice. “Where are you?”

  “So, I’m totally fine, and you don’t need to freak out,” I say. “But I actually fell off my bike, and I need you to come get me.”

  “Oh no! Are you okay, sweetheart? Were you wearing your helmet?”

  “Yeah, I was,” I say. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. I bumped into a curb in a parking lot and tipped over onto the island. But I’m all muddy and covered in leaves and I have a scrape on my ankle, and I just don’t want to ride home like this.”

  “Of course not,” Dad says. “I’ll be right there. Where are you?”

  “I was in front of this yoga studio when I fell—Lotus Yoga? This really nice teacher brought me inside and gave me some Band-Aids. Her name is Beth.”

  “Is she there? Can you put her on?”

  “Sure! One sec.” Before I hand the phone over, I rub the screen on my non-muddy thigh—I hate touching phone screens that I have other people’s face oil on them, and I want to show Beth how considerate I am. “My dad wants to talk to you,” I say.

  She takes the phone and breaks into a big smile as she talks, even though my dad can’t see her. “Hi there, Ella’s dad! This is Beth. She’s absolutely fine.” She’s using this really happy, calm voice—man, how amazing would it be to have her around to pep him up all the time?

  “We’re at Lotus Yoga,” Beth says. “It’s in the strip mall on Sycamore, right near where it crosses the bike path.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Of course I’ll wait with her. We’ll see you soon!”

  She hangs up and hands the phone back to me. “He’ll be here in five minutes. Should we wait outside?” I nod and follow her out of the office.

  My dad arrives four minutes later—he must’ve been speeding. He pulls up right in front of the studio, hops out of the car, and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says. “You scared me, Ellabee.”

  “I’m fine, I promise,” I try to say, but it comes out muffled because my face is smooshed into his shirt.
I pull back. “This is Beth. She did an awesome job of bandaging my ankle.”

  Beth sticks out her hand. “Good to meet you, Mr.—”

  “Please, call me David,” my dad says. “Thank you so much for taking care of Ella. You have no idea how much I appreciate knowing someone was here to help her.” He takes her hand in both of his and sort of holds it instead of shaking it; I’ve never seen him do that before. In my head, I hear Daphne Langoria whisper, “Are those sparks I see flying around?”

  “It was no problem at all,” Beth says. “She’s a great kid.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Dad beams, and I realize I’ve been going about this girlfriend-finding mission all wrong. I’ve been looking for people who shared interests with Dad when all I really needed was someone who would do the one thing Dad cares about most: be super nice to me.

  “I checked her out for sprains and breaks,” Beth says. “I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’m training to be a massage therapist, so I know a lot about bodies, and everything looks good to me. She’ll have a few bruises tomorrow, but they should feel better if you put some arnica on them.”

  Dad looks bewildered. “Some . . . what?”

  “Arnica? It’s a homeopathic remedy for soreness and stiffness. Sorry, this is random, but have we met before? You look so familiar.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” my dad says.

  It didn’t even occur to me that Beth would recognize my dad from Head Over Heels, but I definitely have to stop this train of thought before it goes any further. “Thanks again for the sweater,” I say. “Here, give us your number, and I’ll text you to figure out a time I can return it.”

  “Sure,” Beth says. She pulls a business card out of her bag and holds it out to Dad, and I snatch it and tuck it into my pocket. “You could always come to one of my classes and bring it then. Do you do yoga, David?”

  “Ha,” Dad says. “I’m not exactly what you’d call coordinated.” He’s right, which is really too bad; I read online that exercise is great for depression because it makes your brain release happy chemicals. But then Dad reaches up and starts rubbing the bald part of his head, which makes my brain release all kinds of happy chemicals—he’s obviously embarrassed about looking unathletic in front of Beth, which means he cares what she thinks. Love is probably better at making people happy than yoga, anyway.

  Beth smiles, showing off her Colgate-commercial teeth. “Well, there’s a beginners class on Tuesday at seven if you’re ever interested in giving it a try. You two could come together. It doesn’t matter if you’re not very stretchy yet; I could teach you some modifications. I just like to bring inner peace to the world, one person at a time.”

  “All right, I’ll keep that in mind,” says Dad, and I want to do a happy dance right there on the sidewalk. There’s no way Dad’s actually interested in trying a yoga class, so he must want an excuse to see Beth again, and she really seems to like him too. Miriam is a total genius.

  My brain is spinning like a tornado now. I’ll create a fake e-mail address, write to Dad pretending to be Beth, and ask him out. Later on, once they’re together and she writes to him from her real e-mail, I can say the first one was her work address. Then I’ll text Beth from my phone pretending to be my dad and ask her out. Both of them will show up at the same place, each thinking the other one did the inviting. But unlike last time with Linda, both of them will actually know they’re supposed to be on a date.

  Don’t worry, Dad, I want to say. I’ll get you an awesome girlfriend before you know it, and you won’t even have to wear Spandex shorts.

  E-mails between “Beth” (me) and Dad:

  To: David Cohen

  From: LotusYogaBeth

  Hi there, David!

  I know this may seem like it’s coming out of nowhere, but after I met you yesterday, I looked you up on your company’s website! (Ella told me where you worked.) I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that I never meet guys who seem so funny and sensitive and concerned about their kids, and I’d really love to get to know you better! Ella told me you’re divorced, so I thought it was possible you might be single. If you’d like to go out sometime, maybe we could meet up for dinner next week?

  Sincerely,

  Beth

  * * *

  To: LotusYogaBeth

  From: David Cohen

  Dear Beth,

  Nice to hear from you. First of all, thank you again for taking such great care of Ella the other day. Knowing there are kind people like you out there who will help her if she needs it makes letting her do things on her own a tiny bit easier for this overprotective dad.

  I was surprised to get your message, but not unpleasantly so! Yes, I’ve been divorced for a couple of years now. I’ve been holding off on dating mainly because I thought it would be too hard on Ella, but she actually came to me the other day out of the blue and encouraged me to start dating again. Not really sure where that came from, but maybe I should take it as a sign. So . . . yes, why not. How about Tuesday at 7 p.m. at Supernova on Sumac St.?

  Here’s to my clumsy kid bringing us together!

  David

  * * *

  Texts between “Dad” (me) and Beth:

  Today, 7:58 p.m.

  Me: Hey, this is Ella’s dad, David! I wanted to say thanks again for taking such good care of Ella the other day!

  Beth (Yoga): Hey! No problem at all.

  Me: I also wanted to ask you something.

  Me: I know this maybe seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but . . . any chance you’d like to hang out with me sometime? You seem like a really cool person.

  Me: Sorry if this is awkward or if you have a boyfriend. (Or a girlfriend.)

  Beth (Yoga): Haha, definitely surprising, but not awkward!

  Beth (Yoga): I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, actually.

  Beth (Yoga): So yeah, let’s grab a drunk sometime soon?

  Beth (Yoga): A DRINK. Stupid autocorrect.

  Me: LOL. Awesome! How about Tuesday at 7 at Supernova on Sumac St.?

  Beth (Yoga): Sounds great! See you there!

  13

  I’m supposed to be at Mom’s house the night of Dad’s first date with Beth, but there’s absolutely no way I’m missing their meet-up. My plan actually seems to be working—finally—and after the last two dating disasters, I can’t wait to watch something go well.

  This time I rule out spying on Dad from inside the restaurant; I am not spending another evening dodging elbows and knees under a table. But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t be my spy on the inside, as long as that someone is in disguise. Miriam has a piano lesson on Tuesday night, and Jordan’s having dinner at her grandma’s house, but Keiko is free. She also has easy access to costumes; her sister Yumi was obsessed with anime cosplay for awhile, and she left all her wigs behind when she went to college. Keiko promises to bring one for each of us so I can lurk outside the restaurant window without Dad and Beth noticing me.

  On Tuesday night I tell my mom I’m going to Keiko’s for dinner, and Keiko tells her parents she’s coming to my house. Then we convene at the Starbucks down the street from Supernova to get ready. Unfortunately, it turns out Yumi didn’t have any normal-colored wigs—Keiko has brought a lavender bob, a long, curly, fire-engine-red one, and a bright blue one styled in pigtails with big pink bows. We pick the lavender for Keiko, since it’s the most inconspicuous. The other two will make me so much more noticeable than usual that I decide to skip the wigs and just pull up the hood of my sweatshirt while I lurk.

  I get out the eyebrow pencil I swiped from Mom and shade in my friend’s thin brows so they look thick and bushy, then draw a mole on her cheek. Once Keiko puts on a trench coat she found in her basement, an American Heart Association baseball cap, and a pair of dark glasses, she’s pretty much unrecognizable. I offer her the watermelon lip gloss, and we both dab a little bit on, b
ut I don’t think we’ll even need it. Dad and Beth clearly like each other already, and I have a good feeling about tonight.

  “You look perfect,” I say. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she says.

  Keiko takes off first, and I stay at the Starbucks to wait for the all-clear signal—we don’t want to risk my dad spotting me on his way into the restaurant. I spend eighteen nerve-racking minutes playing games on my phone, and then Keiko finally texts:

  Keiko: The fisherman and the mermaid are in place

  Keiko: Right side of the restaurant

  Keiko: I’m 3 tables away. Tried to move to a closer table but the server said it was reserved

  Me: Can you hear them?

  Keiko: Sort of . . . the music’s kind of loud

  Me: Who’s facing the window?

  Keiko:

  Me: On the move. I’ll call when I’m in place.

  I hurry down the block. Supernova has huge windows facing the street, so I stop at the very edge of the building, which turns out to be right in front of Dad’s parked car. I flatten myself against the brick and peek through the glass with just one eye; it’s not the most comfortable position, but I can’t let Beth spot me. She and Dad are right where Keiko said they’d be; there’s another couple between us, so I don’t have a perfect view of them, but it’s good enough.

  Keiko is three tables away, drinking a soda and typing on her phone, her head lowered so the lavender hair shields her face. She actually looks pretty ridiculous, but nobody seems to be staring. I dial her number, and she picks up right away. “Lighthouse, do you copy?”

  “Loud and clear,” I say. “How’s everything going? Have the fisherman and the mermaid spotted you?”

  “Nope,” she says. “The hostess looked at me kind of weird when I showed up, but I told her I was waiting for my mom to get out of work and pick me up.”

  “Cool,” I say. “So what happened when they got there? Did they shake hands? Or, like . . . kiss?” Even though I really want this date to go well, it’s weird to think about them kissing.