Page 26 of Not Strictly Ballroom

“Why? It’s not against the rules.”

“Darcy, that might be true but no one has ever entered as a same-sex partnership. The dance federation aren’t ready for that. They won’t put you first, even if you’re the best in the room. Surely you must know that.”

Her words settle over me, each one piercing my confidence. I deflate as I realise she’s telling the truth. There is no way they’ll let us win. It’s a goal that I’ve been planning for most of my life—the ultimate competition. I have always had my eye on the Nationals. But even though I know that, the thought of dancing with anyone other than Nick makes me feel nauseous, and I know that I’d rather not dance at all than dance with someone else.

“I don’t care. I want to dance with Nick.”

Claire nods as if she knew that was going to be my answer. “Have you told Mum?”

“Not yet. We’re going to surprise her at the regionals next week.”

“She’s not going to like it.” She levels her gaze at me to make sure I understand.

“I can do what I like. It’s my life,” I protest.

“Yes, sure it is.” She gives me a sad smile and I turn away, ignoring her meaning, my previous elation now a muted shackle around my chest.

I release Darcy’s hand and hold out mine for him to place his other one in my palm. He does and I bend over it, running the brush over his nails. Applying nail polish is a bit like painting glosswork; both require a steady hand. We’re getting ready to go out and I’m excited for him to meet my other friends. I offered to paint his nails, and he readily agreed, choosing a green that complements his eyes. Those beautiful eyes, which, when I glance up, are framed by a creased brow.

“What’s bothering you?” I return to my task and hear him sigh.

“What if your friends don’t like me?”

“They’ll like you,” I state simply, and give him a smile.

“How can you know that?”

“Because they’re my friends and I know them,” I reply. But I know Darcy well enough to know that this isn’t the real question. He sighs again. I wait him out. He’ll tell me what’s really bothering him when he’s ready. He doesn’t keep me waiting long.

“I don’t know how to act around them.” I let go of his hand and he places it on his knee while I screw the top on the bottle and face him. We’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. I consider his statement for a moment. I can understand where his thoughts stem from. Darcy has a naturally serious disposition and has been taught from a young age to be on a stage, performing. He rarely gets to just be himself. I feel privileged that I see that side of him. The natural Darcy, who is so smart and funny. But I also know that I can cut through that worry and encourage him to not take himself quite so seriously.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but I think the time might be right.”

“What weren’t you going to tell me?” His voice is an excited whisper.

I reach for the silver glitter nail polish, and drop my head to attend to my own nails so he can’t see my face. There’s no chance I would be able to keep a straight face.

“About the code.”

“The code?” He gives the word reverence and I almost feel guilty—almost.

“Yes, we all have a code we have to abide by.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, if we break it we’re excommunicated. Cast out from the gay community.” I give him a quick glance as I swap hands. It’s hard not to smirk at his glittering, wide eyes, waiting for me to drop my wisdom.

“First of all.” I pause slightly and feel him lean in a little closer. “You have to wear pink, somewhere on your person, at all times.”

When I finish my nails and cap the bottle, I risk a little glance, and see him biting his lip, his face creased into an adorable frown as he digests what I’ve said.

“Then, you must always refer to yourself in the third person.”

I put the bottle down and look at him as the line above his eyes deepens.

“But you don’t?—”

“And you must call everyone ‘Duckie.’” I can’t resist a smirk, and watch as he fully realises that I’m pulling his leg.

---