“I don’t have a spiritual life,” I reply stubbornly. “Some crazy lady stole it along with my phone.”
If Ivory is offended by that, she doesn’t let on. “Hostility is the byproduct of a mind out of balance,” she says understandingly.
“At least I have a mind,” I mumble under my breath.
“Don’t be rude.” Matt puts an arm around my shoulders in an attempt to calm me down. “Take it easy, kid. You’re not in California anymore.”
I shrug him off violently. “Yeah, really? What tipped you off? The swamp gas? The possum BO? The fact that we haven’t seen an In-N-Out Burger for two hundred miles?”
“You must be starving,” Ivory says smoothly. “I’ve got some good news for you there. Early dinner is being served right now. You have to try our burgers. They’re world-renowned.”
I struggle to get my whirling mind under control. If this was San Francisco, I’d tell everybody to stick it and Uber home. But I don’t know if Uber comes way out to the sticks. And even if they do, I no longer have a phone to call them on. It goes without saying that I’m not spending the next six weeks of my life in this freak-show wellness camp. But for right now, I accept the fact that I’m stuck. The Range Rover belongs to the Oasis, not me, so there’s no way back to Little Rock and the Gulfstream if Ms. Meditation doesn’t approve. For all I know, the plane isn’t there anymore. Vlad probably had them fly it back to California, so he can go all over the place. I can tell you where he won’t go, that’s for sure. To a wellness oasis.
First thing tomorrow, I’m out of here if I have to walk. But right now, if I don’t get some food, I’m going to face-plant in the pine needles. I might as well check out these famous burgers Ivory’s hyping.
She points through the double doors. “The dining hall is the larger building at the center of the cluster of cottages. Leave your bags—I’ll have them brought to your cottage. Bon appétit. And be whole.”
“Hole?” What now?
“Whole,” she amends, emphasizing the wh sound. “As in entire. Your mind, body, and spirit. Be your whole self.”
Like I could be anybody else. The only hole I want is a place to crawl into until this nightmare is over.
So Matt and I go to the dining hall. The sign over the entrance reads NOURISHMENT FOR THE BODY. There’s another building close by with a NOURISHMENT FOR THE SOUL sign. That must be where Ivory and her meditation hang out. I’m definitely history before anybody makes me go there.
The dining hall is nicer than a school cafeteria, but it’s basically a school cafeteria. They give you a tray; you pick out what you want; you go find a seat at one of the long communal tables. The private chefs from the good resort would probably drop dead if they had to work here.
They won’t let me take two burgers. The server explains—like she’s talking to a five-year-old—that if I’m still hungry after I finish the first one, I can come back for seconds.
“Oh, I’ll be hungry enough,” I assure her. I’m so hungry I can barely focus on what a downer it is to be here.
Because it’s still early, there are only a few diners scattered around the big room. I wonder how long it took them to get to the top of the waiting list. No offense, but I have zero respect for anybody who comes here on purpose instead of being tricked into it by their dad.
Matt waves me over to a spot by a big picture window. It has a view of the lake, which I can now see is a side pool of a long river.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he offers.
I don’t answer. On an empty stomach, I can’t muster enough sarcasm to come up with the vicious reply he deserves.
I plop myself in the chair, grab my burger with both hands, take a gigantic bite . . .
. . . and spit it out so hard that it decorates the picture window.
“That’s not a burger!” I choke.
“Sure it is,” Matt replies airily. “A veggie burger.”
“A what?”
“The Oasis is one hundred percent vegetarian,” he informs me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I reach for my pocket, determined to call Vlad and demand to be taken out of this backwoods torture chamber or else.
That’s when I remember: my phone and all my electronics are locked away at the welcome center.
All this wellness is going to kill me.
2
Grace Atwater
Awakening is my favorite part of the day.
Not the waking up part, although that’s pretty good too. I love waking up and remembering that I’m at the Oasis, the healthiest place on earth for your body and mind.
Awakening isn’t the same as waking up, not here anyway. It’s the morning routine—a combination of stretching, breathing exercises, yoga, and tai chi. Everybody does Awakening, but it’s especially great for the kids, because our Awakening pathfinder is none other than Magnus Fellini himself. He’s the founder and the heart and soul of the Oasis of Mind and Body Wellness.
This amazing retreat center was all his idea—his dream, really. Only, unlike most dreamers, he had the guts to drop out of the rat race and build his dream into a reality. I’m so lucky that I get to come here with Mom every summer. She’s a big fan too. It’s like we can finally detox from all the poisons we pick up during ordinary life. And not just the unhealthy food—I’m a vegetarian year-round. Think about things like pollution, lack of exercise, stress, addiction to electronics—so much negativity. All that disappears when you step onto the grounds of the Oasis. You can feel the bad stuff draining out of you. Some kids have a hard time giving up their phones while they’re here. But after the first day or so, it’s so much better. What’s so great about staying in touch with the outside world, when what we really need to be in touch with is ourselves? That’s what Magnus says, anyway.
I love everything about this place—actually, almost everything. There are no pets allowed at the Oasis, so we have to leave Benito at home with Dad. He’s my miniature schnauzer—Benito, not Dad. Good thing Dad doesn’t come to the center with us, or else Benito would have to go to a kennel. And he’d hate that. He’s safe, though. Dad refuses to come with us until the Oasis starts to serve (real) cheeseburgers, and that’s never going to happen.
“Reach for the treetops,” Magnus instructs us in his quiet voice that somehow seems to fill the whole clearing. His fingertips flutter. “Feel the negative energy leaving your body.”
I really can. I love that.
Magnus is built like my father, minus the potbelly. His healthy lifestyle has turned him into an ad for this place—compact and muscular. You can picture him in a suit, like the Wall Street executive he used to be. Of course, now he’s in a tracksuit—he has one in every color. Today’s is magenta.
“. . . and slowly bring your arms back down to your center.” Only Magnus can stretch slowly into an eleven-syllable word.
And I do—along with the other twelve kids at the Oasis between the ages of eight and sixteen.
“Psst!” I hiss at Tyrell Karrigan, who’s exercising on the yoga mat directly in front of me. “More stretching, less scratching.”