Vanessa's Fashion Face-Off by Jo Whittemore Read Free Book Online

waist.
    â€œSteampunk princess,” I corrected her, laughing. “And thank you.” I hung the costume on the back of my door. “Okay, your turn. What are you going as?”
    Heather searched through the photos on her phone for a minute and then showed me.
    â€œAn Irish folk dancer.”
    â€œSo cute!” I said, taking the phone from her. “I didn’t know you could dance like that.”
    â€œI can’t,” she said. “I’ve been watching some videos online, but they move too fast for me.” She took back her phone. “But that’s okay because all eyes will be on you, anyway!”
    At the mention of all eyes on me, my thoughtsjerked back to the advice-off, and my stomach lurched.
    â€œCan we work on my stage fright now?” I asked.
    Heather nodded. “Of course.”
    She sat cross-legged on the floor and had me do the same.
    â€œWe’ll start with a breathing exercise,” she said. “Breathing is very important when you speak.” She paused. “Also for life in general.”
    She cleared her throat. “This breathing technique is called ‘ sama vritti ,’ or ‘equal breathing.’ You’re going to inhale for four counts and then exhale for four counts. Ready?”
    I nodded. “I’ve been breathing my whole life. This’ll be easy.”
    While I talked, Heather took the thumb and forefinger of my left hand and brought them together to form an O . Then she did the same with my right.
    â€œThese hand positions guide your energy flow so that you gain wisdom and feel calm.” At a strange look from me, she blushed and added, “I sometimes go to yoga with my bubbe . Studying stresses me out, and the yoga helps me relax.”
    I grinned at her. “That’s cute that you and your grandma do that together. My grandma drags me to church bingo.”
    Heather placed her hands on my shoulders. “Now, you’re going to take some calming breaths while I count to four. Inhale.”
    I breathed in, and Heather counted.
    â€œOne . . .”
    I started to cough.
    She stared at me, wide-eyed. “Really?”
    I waved away her concern with one hand and stifled my cough with the other.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said. “The cold of the Popsicle is still in my throat, I think. Start over.”
    â€œInhale,” she said again, counting on her fingers.
    I took a deep breath and gave her a triumphant smile.
    â€œExhale,” she said.
    I blew a gust of air in her face. She blinked and leaned back.
    â€œOkay, that was supposed to be slowly”—she twitched her nose—“and without the scent of cherries and garlic.”
    â€œSorry, I had pizza for lunch,” I said, covering my mouth.
    â€œBut you got further this time!” She patted my knee. “Let’s try it again. And remember, inhale and exhale slowly. And when you exhale, I want you to say om and really feel the vibration.” She demonstrated.
    We practiced the breathing technique a few more times until I was as calm as I was ever going to be.
    â€œGood,” said Heather. “Now it’s time for a visualization exercise. If you think it, you can make it.”
    I gave her a dubious look. “Terrell sometimes thinks he’s a dinosaur.”
    â€œJust close your eyes.” She reached out and placed a hand over them.
    â€œYour palm is sticky,” I informed her.
    â€œThat’s from your toilet Popsicle,” she said. “Close your eyes.”
    I did as she said, and she pulled her hand away. A second later, I heard muted harp music, no doubt from her phone.
    â€œI want you to imagine yourself back onstage,” she said. “The spotlights are on, and you’re the only one there.”
    â€œWhat am I wearing?”
    The music stopped. “Huh?”
    â€œOnstage.” I turned my head in her general direction. “What am I wearing?”
    â€œOh. Um . .