Free Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper by Hilary Liftin Page B

slightly mischievous.
    “Depends,” I said. “Do I have to chant before I drink this latte?”
    She shrugged. “Only if you seek eternal enlightenment. Whatever.” We both laughed, and I immediately saw that we would get along. Also, although I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it at the time, I was eager for a friend who understood my boyfriend’s world. Meg could be my translator.
    After we all had coffee, Geoff and Rob disappeared to attend to the vague and seemingly never-ending Studio business, and Meg and I got refills.
    “How long have you been part of the Practice?” I asked Meg. It was weirdly easier to ask Meg than it was to talk to Rob about the Studio.
    “Oh gosh, since I was a kid,” Meg said. She explained that when she was eleven, her parents had moved to Fernhills in Northern California to practice with Teddy and Luther, and that she’d grown up in the small community in that town, where nearly everyone practiced at the Studio.
    “I feel lucky,” she said. “Growing up at Fernhills, there were no mean girls in my class—I mean, there were only four other kids my age! I never hated my mother as a teenager. I never drank or did drugs. I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but for the most part it was like being part of a huge family, where everyone was a trusted friend.”
    That was what I’d seen in Rob. The comfort. The
trust.
“Were you allowed to hang out with people outside the Studio?”
    “Sure,” Meg said. “But it didn’t happen a lot. We had our own school at Fernhills. Then, for part of high school, I worked in an ice-cream parlor. I made norm friends—that’s what we called people outside the Studio—but I saw how different I was from other people my age.”
    “What made you different?” She seemed pretty “norm” to me.
    “American kids learn to pass tests and please adults. They performlike circus animals and are rewarded with degrees and jobs, but they never reflect. They have no balance. And eventually they get depressed, divorced, and have midlife crises. They have no idea who they are. Before I came to the Studio, I hated school. But in our one-room schoolhouse, I was encouraged to think about my place in the world. Who was I? What did I want to achieve? What motivated me? What obstacles did I face and where did they originate? How could I bring my dreams to fruition?”
    I could see the appeal. Rob had no interest in the mundane. Even when he relaxed with the paper, he read world news only, no fluff. He constantly sought to better himself and others.
    “It’s almost a hippie philosophy,” Meg said, “but without the drugs. Or alcohol. Or free love.”
    “No beer?” I asked.
    Meg laughed. “People get hung up on those details, but that isn’t the real point. The kids at the norm high school in our town drove around all weekend looking for unlit corners where they could get wasted and forget who they were. I felt sorry for them. I don’t want to sound snobby, but I guess I still do. Living by the Whole Body Principles is incredibly joyful. You learn to have perspective on yourself—your emotions, needs, desires—once you see these from a distance, you can think so much more clearly. Teenagers are supposed to be angsty and petulant, but I spent my adolescence feeling centered, calm, and confident. It was awesome.” When Meg spoke, she didn’t seem at all like a brainwashed zombie. She was a straight shooter—she’d grown up in this unusual world, but she had perspective on it and how she fit into mainstream society.
    We’d finished our refills, and now a waiter brought us ice water. Meg jumped up and gave him a hello kiss.
    “Hey, Warren.”
    “Hey, Meg. Where’s Rob?”
    “This is Elizabeth,” she said. “She’s Rob’s girlfriend.”
    “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand. “Welcome.”
    He walked away. “You kissed the waiter,” I said.
    “I totally kissed the waiter,” she said. “I’ve only known him since I was five.” She