Page 62 of Better Than Revenge

“What?”

“My podcast. It had a bunch of views this week. I was just wondering if you shared it.”

“Did you post another episode?”

I sat back and picked up my shoes from the corner of the mat. “I did.”

“And you don’t think it can have a lot of views because it’s good and people just naturally wanted to share it?”

“Who would’ve been the first one to naturally share it, if not one of my friends, though? Some stranger?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. My grandma is a natural storyteller.”

“You are good at helping people tell a story naturally,” he said.

I loosened the laces on my shoes so I could pull them on, not sure that was true.

“I’ll have to listen to it,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“Let me rephrase that: I want to listen to it.”

I glanced around. The instructor was filling a trough with food for the goats, and they had all gathered around her, bleating and jumping. “This was cool. Thanks for bringing me.”

“I started yoga after…” He brushed his hand over his knee, as if that action said it all, and stood up. “I don’t usually come to the goat class, but I thought you’d like it.”

“I would totally come again if I hadn’t been so terrible at it.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t get graded.”

“I graded myself.”

“You need to stop doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Being so hard on yourself.”

“I’m just being honest. Realistic.”

“Or you give up if you’re not immediately perfect, to save yourself from…” He tilted his head as if assessing the many ways that sentence could end. “Embarrassment? Disappointment? I don’t know—I’m still trying to figure that part out.”

“You can stop analyzing me now.” I tied my laces and stood.

“I’m trying to help you succeed.”

“You think I’m going to quit the whole kicking thing?”

“It crossed my mind. Especially after you’ve said you might multiple times now.”

“I’m not the only one who quits things.” I nodded toward hisknee.

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Is it?” Our eyes were locked on one another, and mine moved back and forth between his, a tension that wasn’t all negative building. Maybe it wasn’t negative at all. My body felt tight but also alive. I was the first to break the standoff. “I’m not going to quit.”