Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

Dad had told me a few times that in business and in life, it was important to act confident, especially when you weren’t. I straightened my shoulders. “Yes.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder.

“Well, I’m an assistant professor in the Business Economics department. Maybe by the time you get here, I’ll have my doctorate and you’ll be in my class.”

“How about that, Lake?” He winked at the woman. “You already know a professor.”

She laughed. “Well, not yet . . .”

“Maybe I’ll come with my daughter, sit in on your class,” he said. “Who knows? I might learn something.”

“And what do you do?”

“COO of a little company called Ainsley-Bushner Pharmaceuticals. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

She gaped at him. “Of course I have. Forget sitting in on my class—I’ll be shamelessly begging you for a guest lecture.”

I might as well have left the room. My dad had a weird look on his face he didn’t get around Mom, something I thought might border on flirtatious. Whatever he was doing, I didn’t think I wanted to witness it. “I’m going to go outside and explore a little,” I said.

“Don’t go too far,” Dad said, releasing me. “We have to leave soon to get home in time for dinner.”

“So I know all about CEOs and CFOs,” she said as I walked away, “but COO’s are a bit more mysterious. What exactly do you do?”

Dad had a standard answer to that question, but his tone changed depending on who was asking. Sometimes it was meant to end a conversation. Other times, like this one, it was an invitation to ask more. “A little of this, a little of that.”

I left them in the hallway and headed outside. The sun was beginning to sink into late afternoon, turning the sky orange. The students I’d seen earlier were lying on their backs on the lawn as a bearded man wove through the maze of mats. Each had one hand on their stomach and the other on their chest.

“We’ll begin each session by consulting with our bodies,” he said. “Breathe from your diaphragm. Don’t know how? The hand on your stomach should rise higher than the one on your chest. Inhale. Keep your eyes closed.” He looked at me. “Now, exhale for eight counts and expel everything from your body that doesn’t belong in this class.” He looked around, nodding. “Just breathe. Your life depends on it. So does your grade.”

A few people laughed. I’d gotten closer than I’d meant, but they looked so at peace.

“Want to join?”

I blinked up at the man. “Sorry?”

“We have space.”

It didn’t look that way. They’d created two even rows. “There aren’t any mats left.”

“Do you need one?”

I hadn’t thought of that. I could just sit in the grass. “No, but I’m waiting for my . . .” I stopped myself from saying Dad. These were college students. They’d left home already. “My ride.”

“So lie down until then.” He gestured to the end of one row.

It was tempting. It seemed as though my mind had been going since I’d met Manning, wondering about him, or about little things like what books I really wanted to read or how I could get to Tower Records to buy a Pink Floyd CD. I, too, wanted to sink into the lawn and turn my brain off, send my problems into the air like balloons. With no sign of my dad, I lay down on the ground.

“We’ll stay in this position for sixty seconds. You have a lot of responsibilities as students, friends, children, siblings. Don’t be afraid to think about nothing for a change. Clear your mind.”

It was easier said than done. My mind wandered over to the business school, and then to how Manning had asked for a list of my interests. What were those, though? I did well in math, but did I want to do it for a living? I couldn’t imagine anyone did. Making people feel better appealed to me, but things like blood and surgery and medical charts didn’t. I liked reading and cooking for other people. I’d been a camp counselor last year and student council treasurer of my sophomore class. None of that really added up to a profession I could think of, though. Maybe Manning would know once he saw the list.

“You can sit up now,” the man said.

I opened my eyes as a breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees. Despite being on a busy college campus, our spot on the lawn was quiet. I got up slowly, blinking to adjust to the sun. I scratched my elbow, itchy from the grass. Everyone was smiling.

“Welcome to the summer session of Drama 101.” He looked at me. “I’m Professor Bronstein, but you can call me Sal.”

I checked over my shoulder. My dad was outside the building but still talking to the assistant professor.