Page 124 of The Dixon Rule

I’m not surprised in the slightest that Diana and my sister become fast friends. Our volcano ends up being a smashing success, with Maryanne’s lava mixture inflicting maximum damage as it bubbles out the top and pours over the sides. The red food coloring adds an extra layer of morbid to the entire project.

Later, after Maryanne discovers that Diana is a cheerleader and teaches girls her age at spirit camp, she begs Diana to teach her some moves. Next thing I know, we’re outside practicing cartwheels, which quickly evolves into Diana coercing me to show Maryanne the tango routine we filmed for our NUABC audition. We’re still waiting for the results, but I have a good feeling about it.

Diana joins us for dinner, and Maryanne is tuckered out by the time we get home, claiming she wants to go to bed early. Or so I think. Apparently, she’s awake enough to text our mother a play-by-play of our entire day. I know this because, ten minutes after Maryanne retires into the bedroom, I receive a message from my mother.

MOM:

I’m sorry, my only son has a new girlfriend and I have to find out from his ten-year-old sister? And you’ve entered a dance competition? This is a betrayal to the mother-son code, and we will discuss it at length when you are home next weekend for the anniversary party.

Then there’s a follow-up.

MOM:

Actually, bring your girlfriend to the party. We’d love to meet her.

CHAPTER THIRTY

DIANA

Interesting development

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THIS,” SHANE SAYS AS WE PULL OFF THE INTERstate. It’s the tenth time during our three-hour drive that he’s informed me I didn’t have to tag along. One might think he’s the one second-guessing our weekend jaunt.

Me, I’m happy as a clam in the passenger side of his Mercedes. I love this car. I wish I could steal it from him. The seats are stupidly comfortable, and every time I’m in here, it smells incredible. You’d think having a hockey bag perpetually in the trunk would give it that smelly boy fragrance, but it still boasts that expensive leather scent. It’s intoxicating. I vow to be well-off enough one day to afford a Mercedes.

“We both know I couldn’t say no to your sister,” I tell Shane.

Last weekend, Maryanne overheard Shane laughing about how his mom wanted me to come to their anniversary party, and the next thing I knew, I had this cute kid tugging on my hand and pleading, “Please come!”

Seriously, those big, dark eyes? Can’t say no to them. Besides, I love a good party.

“Hey, is Lynsey going to be there?”

“At my parents’ anniversary party? Uh, no.” His tone is dry.

“Did your parents like her when you were together?”

“I think so.” He keeps his gaze straight ahead as he flicks the turn signal. “They said they did.”

The response lacks conviction. Interesting. The nosy part of me rears its head. Hopefully I can poke Shane’s parents this weekend and get the real story. Because if they weren’t enthusiastically welcoming the girl he dated for four years, then there’s definitely a story to be told.

Shane gives me a sideways look. “Are you really not bothered about attending a family event with me?”

“No. Why would I be?”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.”

He seems impressed. “Ever?”

“Nope.”

Well, except for those pesky anxiety attacks that I’m apparently unable to keep at bay anymore. I thought if I just didn’t think about Percy, they would go away. But lately I’ve been waking up to random bursts of panic. This morning, for example, I opened my eyes and the first thought that breached my mind was the memory of Percy’s fist flying toward my face. They started coming at night too if I’m working the late shift at Della’s. I finally had to inform my manager I needed fewer evening shifts, blaming the schedule change on my dance rehearsals.

The only saving grace about this entire fucked-up situation is that Percy has kept his distance at Meadow Hill. I assume it’s because of Shane, and I’m beyond grateful to have Shane at the apartment complex…

…words I never thought I’d say in my entire life.

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