Page 10 of The Dixon Rule

“Yup.”

Kenji is a friend from school and, more importantly, my dance partner. This marks our third year as aspiring ballroom dance champions, and we’re not entering just any competition either. Only the biggest amateur dance event in the country, held annually in Boston.

Yes, people. I’m talking about the National Upper Amateur Ballroom Championships.

It used to be the NABC, minus the U, but too many beginners were treating it like a fun event. God forbid! So now we’re UPPER amateurs, thank you very much. Meaning that no Joe and Sally off the street brandishing a check for the entry amount can just pay their way to compete. The ballroom dance gatekeepers don’t mess around. In fact, you can’t even qualify for an NUABC slot without passing a preliminary round. All potential entrants are required to send a two-minute video featuring a routine from the list of approved dances. A panel of three judges reviews every audition tape and green-lights who gets to compete.

Which means I’m training for something that might not even result in me competing. Kenji and I qualified last year, though, so I have high hopes we’ll do it again.

“You always have so many things going on,” Gigi marvels. “Cheerleading, this dance stuff…”

“That’s two things.”

“Fine, but you’re always throwing yourself headfirst into these side gigs. Your cheer schedule is already hectic enough as it is, and then you go adding ballroom dancing to the mix and somehow manage to give it an equal amount of attention. If I had to concentrate on something other than hockey and put the same effort into it, I’d be a zombie.” She shakes her head as another thing occurs to her. “And you have two jobs! What the hell. Are you a superhuman?”

I shrug. “Life’s too short to not do all the things I want to do.”

“Life is also exhausting.” She snorts. “To everyone but you, apparently.”

I do possess a scary amount of energy. I’ll give her that.

Grabbing my purse off the plaid-upholstered armchair next to the couch, I throw the strap over my shoulder, then kneel in front of the coffee table. “Come on, demon. Time to go home.”

Lucy tries to back away, but I pick her up despite her mewled protest.

“No,” I order. “I’ve had enough of your attitude.”

I manage to keep a firm grip on the tabby while I lock up, and then Gigi and I descend the one flight of stairs to the main floor. Lucy wails in annoyance when I pass her off to a very relieved Priya.

“Thanks for keeping her,” Priya says, her dark eyes shining with gratitude. “I would’ve run upstairs to grab her earlier, but I couldn’t leave my client alone in the apartment.”

“It’s no problem. Although I’m sure Niall didn’t enjoy hearing her meows bouncing off the walls as she prowled the building.”

The man with the keenest sense of hearing on the planet voices a confirmation. “It was intolerable!” comes the muffled complaint behind the door of 1B.

“Oh, get over it, Niall!” Priya calls back.

My best friend shakes her head at me as we exit the tiny lobby and step onto the wide path in front of Red Birch.

“What?” I ask.

“You know, your mom may have a point about this condo. You can’t even walk in your own kitchen without being yelled at. It’s ridiculous.”

After Aunt Jennifer’s estate was settled, my mother wanted me to sell the condo and take the cash like my younger brother did with her Boston apartment. But Thomas and I are very different creatures. Despite what most people think when they meet me, I’m somewhat of a homebody. I love going out, sure, but I’m also perfectly content, and often prefer, staying home.

Thomas, on the other hand, is always on the go. His dream is to work for an international organization like Doctors Without Borders after med school. He graduated high school this spring, and now he’s taking a gap year to explore the world and volunteer with a couple of different charities. The money from the sale of Aunt Jennifer’s apartment will not only fund his travels but cover his college and medical school tuition.

I got a full scholarship to Briar, which means I don’t need to pay for school, and I’m not too interested in global exploration. So really, I don’t need the liquid cash. Except maybe to pay for a real handyman. But I’d never tell my mother that. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing my domestic situation is anything other than blissful.

She’s always had low expectations of me. But I’m used to it. It annoys me, sure, but there’s nothing I can do to change the way she views me. And, truthfully, I harbor no ill will toward my mom. We just aren’t close. After my parents divorced when I was twelve, I chose to live with my father because he’s less regimented. Mom had a laundry list of rules that I had to adhere to. Living away from her created a barrier in our relationship that we couldn’t shake. A distance we couldn’t bridge.

It also doesn’t help that she thinks I’m an idiot. Truly. In my mother’s eyes, anyone with an IQ below 150 is beneath her.

Gigi and I grab dinner at a burger place in Hastings, where we chat about our summer plans while we wait for our food.

“No chance you can make it to Tahoe?” She can’t hide her disappointment.

Gigi’s family spends every August in Lake Tahoe, but this year they’re only there for two weeks because Gigi is getting married at the end of the month. Seems redundant, considering she and Ryder already eloped in April. But her parents—well, her dad mostly—guilted Gigi into having a proper wedding.

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