Independent Studies

[Diya Behari]

Diya felt awkward.

She was standing in the hallway outside of Mr. Herbert’s classroom, dressed in her gym clothes. The door was open. Her schedule told her to report here. It wasn’t even the first time she’d been in Mr. Herbert’s classroom. But she didn’t feel she could just walk in.

This was all too weird. But she couldn’t back out. It was one of those Things she was supposed to be learning. That just because something was hard didn’t mean she could give up.

”You were a world-class athlete, Diya. You didn’t get there by turning your back at the hard parts,” Mrs. Wilson liked to remind her.

Except for when she did turn her back on it. Sure, she could say the sport had turned its back on her first, but aside from that silly test of herself in the sports complex after football practice that one time, she’d hardly even done a cartwheel.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a soft thump on the carpet of the classroom. “Diya! Good to see you.” The bell rang just then. “Technically you’re late, since you’re not in here yet, but I’ll let it slide this once.” He smiled affably. “Come on in, take a seat.” He gestured to what he’d dropped on the floor. A pair of yoga mats.

“I already know yoga,” she said petulantly.

Mr. Herbert kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, then began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I know,” he replied, calmly and evenly as if they were having a very pleasant conversation. “Take a seat.”

Out of habit, Diya slid off her own sneakers and pulled off her socks before she unfurled one of the yoga mats and sat down, immediately settling into padmāsana.

Mr. Herbert unrolled his yoga mat as well, setting it parallel to Diya’s. He sat cross-legged as well, though more informally than Diya’s lotus position.

Diya focused very hard on maintaining her posture.

Mr. Herbert observed her for a minute. Diya wanted to fidget - twirl one of her pigtails, tug on her gloves, pick at a loose string in the hem of her shirt - but this was a test. She remained still.

“Why are you here?” Mr. Herbert finally asked.

Diya furrowed her eyebrows. “For an independent study?”

“Why do you want an independent study?”

“You asked me that in December.”

“Tell me again.”

Diya sighed. “Because...I want to learn more, okay? I’ve been fighting these abilities for almost two years. I want to see what I can do with them.”

“Can’t you already see that?” Mr. Herbert asked. “After all, it’s pretty obvious what your abilities allow you to do.” He nodded at her legs. Diya looked down to see that her legs had slipped - she was no longer in the rigid padmāsana but rather a perfect imitation of Mr. Herbert’s casual cross-legged style. Diya frowned, and quickly corrected her posture.

“You don’t have to do that. You can relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Diya insisted.

“So what do you want to learn?”

“I don’t know,” Diya muttered. “Um, I forget stuff after awhile. I want to do better at that. I can’t do little things - but I don’t know, maybe that’s just a limitation, ‘cause Lauren couldn’t do origami either back during, y’know, that whole mess a few months ago.”

Mr. Herbert nodded. “Just wanted to make sure we were still on the same page. And you remember what my rules are?”

Diya started counting them off on one hand. “Gotta get Bs in all my classes. Gotta be focused when I’m here. No questioning your ‘methods.’ That it?”

“Yes, excellent. You ready to get started?” Diya nodded. “Okay. Get back into lotus position.”

Diya glanced down and saw her legs had slipped again. She corrected herself as Mr. Herbert now followed her lead, quickly adjusting his legs so he was in padmāsana as well.

Mr. Herbert rested his hands on his knees. “And now, we meditate.”

“Really?”

Mr. Herbert raised an eyebrow. “Was that a question, Miss Behari?”

Diya’s shoulder’s slumped for a moment. “No,” she muttered. She rolled her shoulders back, straightening her spine. She rested her hands on her knees in chin mudra and closed her eyes.

Considering Diya was used to practicing the asanas in the gym, meditating in Mr. Herbert’s quiet classroom should have been a breeze. But it wasn’t. First she’d lose the rhythm of her breathing. Then while she was trying to get the rhythm back, her brain would start fidgeting since she couldn’t let her hands do it - wondering when she’d patrol next, or Roach would suggest going tagging, wondering how Brodi was doing with Abby, questioning the sanity of last night’s conversation with Lauren. Every time she lost her rhythm, a new though swarmed in to take the place of her meditative calm.

She couldn’t even block out her cramps. When the Psionic Evolved had attacked she’d been able to block out the entire school from her head, and now she couldn’t ignore her period?

When Mr. Herbert finally released her after an hour with a “Namaste,” Diya jumped to her feet immediately and began pacing, happy for once to escape the silence and stillness of her meditation.

“What happened?” Mr. Herbert asked.

The bell rang. It was the last period of the day, so Diya didn’t have to hurry to any other classes. She grabbed her stuff anyway, shoving her socks into her bag and sticking her bare feet into her sneakers. “I don’t do yoga with other people. It’s a private thing,” she snarled.

Mr. Herbert nodded, unperturbed. “Lesson number one, Diya. You can’t control the environment you’re in, you can only control herself.”

Diya rolled her eyes. “Kōans like that are half the reason I don’t practice with other people.”

“It’s not a kōan, it’s a fact,” Mr. Herbert had dropped the cool facade. He wasn’t angry, but he was definitely serious. “You need to learn that in ways the other kids don’t. You were off your game because there was someone around for you to mimic. You can’t isolate yourself - especially if you want to keep doing your patrols. So learning how to control yourself is going to be your first step.”

Diya wanted to argue, but not only was that against the rules...it really did kind of make sense. She nodded curtly.

“Good, then I’ll see you here next week.” He bent down to start packing up the yoga mats.

Diya hesitated, debating whether to help pick up, but Mr. Herbert made short work of the mats. “Um, okay. Yeah. Next week. Bye, Mr. Herbert.”