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.”
He turns to face me and I can see that his neck and arms are dotted with bright red splotches. “I can’t help it,” he whispers back. “I’m so itchy.”
“Did you eat the spinach again?” I accuse. “You know it gives you a rash.”
“I didn’t! Honest! They switched me to kale and look what it did to me. I broke out in hives!”
I cluck my sympathy. Poor Tyrell could be the poster boy for calamine lotion, except it turns out he’s allergic to that too. He might be allergic to air. I’ve never seen him when he wasn’t digging away at some body part, making it redder and more inflamed.
We’re down on our mats doing some yoga positions when I first see the new kid. He’s about my age. He looks like he’s still half asleep—and the half that’s awake is really unhappy. In fact, he’s barely moving under his own power. It’s more like he’s being dragged here by this older guy. His dad? No—too young. Older brother, maybe. But if so, a lot older—at least twenty-five. The older one spreads out a mat at the back of our group and the kid curls up on it like he’s trying to take a nap. His companion hauls him upright. The wrestling match is starting to get awkward.
“Who’s that?” Tyrell wonders aloud.
“Whoever it is,” I reply in a low voice, “he needs this place more than the rest of us put together. You can practically feel the negativity coming off him.”
Magnus provides the answer. “Ah—our newcomer! I want everyone to welcome Jett.”
“Be whole, Jett,” we all chorus.
He looks at us like we’re crazy.
The older guy nudges him.
“Yeah, happy hole to you too,” Jett mumbles.
Magnus takes us through the rest of Awakening, but I can’t concentrate anymore. I keep glancing back at that guy Jett, who’s doing everything wrong. He isn’t reaching for the treetops. He’s barely even reaching. His shorts are on inside out, and his T-shirt isn’t even from the Oasis. Instead of BE WHOLE, it says SOPHIE TUPPLEMAN’S BAT MITZVAH. And every time that older guy lets go of him, he drops to the mat and starts fake snoring. Or maybe it’s real.
I try to ignore him, but it’s just so disrespectful—not just to us and the Oasis, but to Magnus himself, and right to his face!
Magnus’s sharp eyes are on me. “Be whole, Grace. Did we miss our deepest breath?”
I practically sink through the forest floor from the humiliation. He’s right. I was so distracted by that awful Jett person that I neglected my deep breathing, which is the most important part of Awakening. “Sorry!”
As always, Magnus is cool about it. “No need to be sorry. You just need to be whole.”
But I feel everybody staring at me for the rest of the half hour. I’m usually Magnus’s best student, so it hurts that much more.
When it’s over, and Magnus releases us to go to the Bath, I wheel on the new kid, who is back on his mat, dozing off again,
“It’s called Awakening,” I tell him bitterly. “You should try it sometime.”
He opens one eye. “I’m awake.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort. “You’re flat on your face when your brother isn’t holding you upright.”
“He’s not my brother,” he yawns. “He’s my parole officer.”
The older guy tries to laugh it off. “Matt Louganis,” he introduces himself, shaking my hand. “I’m Jett’s—co
mpanion.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Jett insists. “He’s my dog groomer. And part-time scuba instructor.”
“Jett—” Matt begins warningly.
“All right, I admit it. He’s me from the year 2036. Ever since we invented that time machine, he’s been traveling back to make sure our father doesn’t disown me—which means the checks will stop coming in the future.”
Matt rolls his eyes. “Your father doesn’t do checks. He uses his blockchain technology, FlashCash.”
Tyrell scratches his way over. “But isn’t FlashCash a Fuego product?” His jaw drops. “You mean your dad is Vladimir Baranov?”
Jett gets to his feet. “That’s the old man. He also invented ClusterVault, ByteBolt, Luau, and Kicking Horse Pass. Okay, not the last one. That’s a place in Canada.”
“You get used to Jett’s sense of humor,” Matt says dryly. “At least so I’m told.”
I already know everything about Jett that there is to know. And it can be summed up in three words: spoiled rich kid.
“Wow,” Tyrell enthuses. “Your dad is considered the greatest American innovator since Thomas Edison. You guys must be loaded!”
I elbow him in the midsection.
Tyrell shrugs. “He knows he’s loaded. Everybody uses Fuego! I’ve got an F-phone!”
Jett is suddenly interested. “You’ve got a phone?”
“Not on me,” Tyrell admits. “I had to hand it over when we checked in. No electronics allowed.”
“You see?” Matt says to Jett. “We’re all in the same boat. It isn’t some special torture your dad dreamed up just for you.”
“Don’t be a hole,” Jett drawls at his companion. “See—I’m starting to get the hang of the place.”
I see red. “It’s ‘be whole,’ and you know it!” I exclaim angrily. “It’s encouragement to live a better life, and you’re turning it into something gross!”
“You’re right. I’m a bad person,” Jett agrees. “You should complain about me to Nimbus and get me kicked out.”
He has the nerve to point to Magnus, who built this wonderful place. A pampered creep like Jett isn’t worthy to add fabric softener to the laundry when Magnus washes his tracksuit!
“Magnus Fellini,” I hiss, “is pathfinder to the pathfinders! Our leader!”
“So tell him what a jerk I am,” he encourages me.
“Not going to happen, Jett,” Matt informs him solemnly. “Take it from your scuba instructor. You’re here for the whole six weeks.”
“We should get over to the Bath,” Tyrell puts in. “We’re already late.”
“Not me,” Jett says stoutly. “If I have to stay here and starve, at least I’m going to smell bad.”
“It’s not that kind of bath,” I snap. “It’s a natural spring, warmed by geothermal heat. There are only a handful like it anywhere.”
But that’s not good enough for Jett Baranov. If he wants to experience a great wonder of nature, his dad can just invent one and give it to him for his birthday. He starts bickering with Matt over whether or not he should have to suffer what other people save up for their whole lives to have a chance to experience. I grab Tyrell and we head through the woods toward the Bath.
Tyrell can’t stop peering back over his shoulder in the direction of the argument. “I can’t believe Jett’s dad is Vladimir Baranov. He was named one of the ten richest people on earth, you know.”
“Yeah, well, then money doesn’t care who owns it,” I retort. “Where does Jett get off? When he trashes the Oasis, he isn’t just insulting Magnus and the other pathfinders. It’s a slap in the face to every single one of us.”
“It’s only his first day,” Tyrell reminds me. “This place takes some getting used to. When I first got here I wasn’t exactly thrilled either.”
“And now you love it, right?” I prompt.
“We-ell . . . ,” he begins.
“Okay, maybe you’re not the greatest example,” I concede. “It’s tough to be whole when your entire body is a giant rash.”
“It’s not that,” he admits. “It’s my family. You and your mom came here for wellness, but my parents are treating this place as a weight-loss clinic. Maybe I don’t want to lose weight.”
“You don’t have to,” I reason. “The food here is awesome!”
“For you—you’re vegetarian already! And then there’s my sister. She misses her boyfriend, Landon.”
“How’s that your problem?”
“It’s everybody’s problem,” he explains. “Sarah hates everybody in the world, and that includes me.” He points to the welts on his neck. “Not all of these are hives, you know. She hit me with a hot chestnut during the nut roast last night.”
I’ve met Sarah a couple of times. She’s seventeen, so she’s aged out of most of the kid stuff here at the Oasis. She talks about this guy Landon a lot, that’s for sure. Like when Tyrell stubbed his toe, she mentioned that Landon loves Stubb’s barbecue sauce.
I try to put myself in her shoes. “It must be tough for her at the Oasis, where she can’t call or FaceTime or even text.”
“They write letters to each other,” he supplies, disgusted. “Old school. Like three a day.”
When we get to the Bath, most of the kids are already in the water. Tyrell and I duck into the change booths to put on our swimsuits. The Bath is an irregular-shaped pool nestled in a natural rock formation. It’s a little tricky to get in, but at least the rocks are smooth, so you can go barefoot. It’s a shock when you first feel the water, because it’s so hot. I mean, not just hot-tub hot, but a couple of notches above that. Magnus says the water is heated by magma far underground. Sometimes you get the feeling that if you dig around with your toe you could burn it off because the magma must be right there. There’s a cloud of steam over the Bath even on the hottest days. But once you get used to it, you’ll experience total relaxation and a greater sense of well-being than you’ve ever known before. It’s the perfect finishing touch to Awakening, the cherry on top.
Tyrell lets out a contented “Aaaaah!” as he sinks in right up to his neck. It’s impossible to be itchy in the Bath. All you feel is the tingle of the heated water on your skin. I like to pinch my nose and go all the way under. The sulfur in the water stings my eyes a little, but it’s as good as a facial from a high-priced salon. I resurface and lie back against the rocks in near-perfect contentment.
A raucous bellow jars me out of my thoughts. “Cannonball!”
There’s the sound of pounding feet and a figure is airborne above the bath, blotting out the sun. Jett hits the water in the middle of everyone, scattering kids and raising a splash like a meteor strike.
Wait for it, I tell myself.
The scream comes almost immediately, ripped straight from the gut, an eruption of pure shock and anguish. “Yeeeeeowww!!!”
That’s when we learn that Jett Baranov can fly. He lifts out of the burning water like a submarine-launched missile and scrambles up onto the rocks, trembling and pink all over.
That guy Matt comes running. “Jett! What happened?”
“They tried to kill me!” Jett howls.
“Who?” Matt gawks at his boss’s son, who is crouched like a wounded animal in his soaked shorts and T-shirt. All the kids are laughing, including me.
Especially me.
“It’s a billion degrees in there!” Jett whimpers. “Why didn’t anybody warn me?”
“We thought you’d figure it out.” I snicker. “You know, from the sign that says ‘Hot Spring.’”
“I need a doctor,” Jett tells his companion. “Tell the pilot to fire up the Gulfstream. And we’ll need a chopper—stat—to get me to Little Rock.”
Matt’s patient. “Are you finished?” he asks. “Get a grip. You’re not dead. Everything’s still attached. All these other kids are in the same water you were in, and none of them need medevac.”
“The minute I get my phone back,” Jett seethes, “I’m telling Vlad you tried to boil me al
ive!”
I believe him. I can totally picture Jett getting a person fired just because he’s embarrassed about making an idiot out of himself.
But then Matt laughs in his face. “All right, Michael Phelps. Let’s go back to the cottage and get you some dry clothes.”
“You can use my towel if you want,” Tyrell offers.
Jett stares at him. “What is wrong with you?” To the rest of us, he adds, “You’re all crazy,” before storming off, Matt hurrying behind him.
I’m not laughing anymore. There’s nothing funny about Jett Baranov. “Don’t lend him your towel,” I tell Tyrell. “He wouldn’t give us the skin off a grape, and we should return the favor.”
“Come on, Grace,” he replies. “Haven’t you ever had a hard time fitting in somewhere?”
The answer is yes, obviously. We all have. Which is another reason I appreciate the Oasis. This is where I fit in better than any place in the whole world.
And I don’t intend to let a spoiled rich kid from Silicon Valley ruin my time here.
3
Tyrell Karrigan
My parents are on a diet. Not just now. Always.
I’m twelve years old and in all that time, I’ve never seen our kitchen without at least one chart on the wall, either CALORIES or FAT GRAMS or NET CARBS or a bunch of other headings that I can’t begin to explain because I don’t understand them myself. My earliest memory is of my father wrapping green garbage bags around his midsection in an attempt to sweat himself thin.
We’ve been on the bean diet, the kale diet, and the broccoli diet. We’ve tried Atkins and South Beach and keto, carbo-loading and intermittent fasting. I used to wonder why I have so many aunts and uncles. Turns out, they aren’t relatives at all. They’re professional dieticians. And the weirdest part is that Mom and Dad aren’t even overweight. They look just fine. More important, Dr. McConnell says they’re totally healthy.
“Of course I’m healthy,” Mom tells me. “I’ve been drinking those beet smoothies for three weeks.”
Here’s the thing, though. She looked the same when she and Dad were eating giant bricks of tofu, or before that when they were swallowing these supersize pills filled with pure unprocessed bran—except that her teeth weren’t dyed bright red.
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