A printed sign that said HOLIDAY FITNESS RETREAT was pasted on the door of one of the regular exercise rooms. Hanna had expected that the class would be in a secret Body Tonic space—something for VIPs only—but whatever. She took a deep breath and pushed through the door, a huge smile on her face, half-expecting all the beautiful participants to spin around and welcome her with open arms, sort of like a group therapy session except way more glamorous.
But the lights, which were very bright, almost fluorescent, revealed an entirely different scene. Ten people sat on the floor with various mats, balls, bands, balancing apparati, and yoga blocks in front of them. All of them did indeed turn and stare at her, but they didn’t spread out their arms to welcome her in a group hug. Not that she wanted to touch them. They were as far from glamorous fitness junkies as possible.
There was a woman with a triple chin. A man whose gut plunged over his waistband. Frumpy suburban mothers. Dumpy suburban dads. The kind of teenage girls who joined drama club or band or spent their lunch periods in the art room, not giving a shit about how their bodies looked. One girl had the biggest boobs she had ever seen. She was Hanna’s age and sexily padded, with big hips and a large butt, like a fifties pinup girl. She had a punkish style—tall, lustrous black hair, copious eyeliner on her almond-shaped eyes, lots of red lipstick on her baby-doll lips, and a tattoo shaped like a swirly dagger on her shoulder. Normally Hanna wasn’t into the look, but it kind of worked on her. Not that she would admit it out loud.
A glam fitness retreat this wasn’t. It was more like a low-rent version of The Biggest Loser. Hanna hadn’t seen a single one of them on the floor of Body Tonic, ever—it was like the gym had hidden these people away so as not to scare off the regulars. And every last person was wearing an oversized red T-shirt that said GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR! in big white letters on the front and HOLIDAY FITNESS BOOT CAMP! on the back.
“Hanna!” Vince appeared from behind a set of stereo equipment in the corner and grinned at her broadly. He was also wearing a red GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR! shirt—albeit a much tighter one. “Glad you could make it! Here, take a T-shirt!”
He tossed one to her, but Hanna didn’t make any effort to catch it, letting it bounce off her chest and drop limply to the floor. Behind her, she heard a thin, high-pitched giggle and froze. A figure slipped around the corner, her long blond hair streaming. Had someone seen her? Would someone think she was part of . . . this?
“Let’s start by introducing ourselves and saying why we’re here,” Vince began. He pointed to the pinup girl.
She jiggled her boobs at him and purred, “I’m Dinah Morrissey. I don’t care about losing weight, but I do want to make a commitment to get healthier.” She batted her lashes at Vince, who smiled broadly back at her.
“Nice to meet you, Dinah. Hanna, how about you go next?” Vince asked.
Hanna’s mouth was sealed shut. She looked again at the lumpy misfits on the floor, let out a small squeaking noise, and spun around. She ran as fast as she could toward the main gym, back to where everyone was pretty and slender and normal.
“Hanna,” Vince called out as she wound around the weight machines and treadmills. He cut her off in the hallway between the yoga studio and the macrobiotic snack bar. “What’s the matter?”
Hanna shrugged awkwardly, noticing that Vince had followed after her with the red GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR! T-shirt that Hanna had rejected. “I don’t think that class is for me.”
“The retreat? Why?”
Was he high? First of all, it was a boot camp, not a fitness retreat. Second, how could Vince think Hanna belonged in a class like that? Had he noticed her on the elliptical today and pegged her as someone out of shape, someone ordinary? Someone who salesgirls snickered at, fathers rejected, and best friends despised?
“Because it’s a class full of fat people!” Hanna finally blurted.
Vince took a few steps back, his mouth forming a small O. “You’re kidding, right?”
A techno version of a Rihanna song thumped in the background. When Hanna didn’t answer, Vince shook his head. “The other members aren’t fat. Okay, maybe some of them are a little over their healthiest weights, but don’t you think it’s great that they want to get back in shape? I feel like I can really help them.”
You’re like a muscled Mother Teresa, Hanna wanted to snap. “Well, I think I’ll pass.”
“You’re going to pass on a fitness class that’s going to kick your ass? Why, because everyone else doesn’t look like they stepped out of Vogue?”
He was talking awfully loudly. Hanna looked around cautiously. The whip-thin girl at the check-in desk scanned two members’ cards, the machine making two efficient little beeps. A college-age guy sprinted on the treadmill, his floppy blond hair bouncing. What if someone had been listening, someone from Rosewood Day? If anyone caught wind of this, she would be the school’s biggest loser—in more ways than one.
Vince gave Hanna a knowing look. “I think I understand what’s going on. You don’t have it in you. It’s not called boot camp because it’s easy. You don’t have the mental edge to go through such a rigorous program.”