Page 25 of Not Strictly Ballroom

It’s my turn to tease her.

“Bad boys, biker boys, ones our parents wouldn’t approve of?” I grin, and her sly smile lets me know that I’m not too far off the mark.

“You sly one. Anyone I can meet?” I raise my eyebrows suggestively.

“I thought you had a boyfriend.”

Before I could protest that that wasn’t what I meant, my brain catches on the word.

Boyfriend.

It seems to have weight to it.

Friend.

Best friend.

Boyfriend—I haven’t even defined us on those terms. We’ve always been best friends.

I roll the word around my mouth, trying to feel the shape of it.

Boyfriend.

I practise in my head. Hello, this is Nick, he’s my boyfriend.

I’ve never considered what that could mean—to me, to my family, in society. I guess I’ve always lived in a heteronormative world. Hetero until proven otherwise. Do I now have to define myself with a label—gay, bi—what am I?

I don’t consider myself into guys. I consider myself into Nick.

Nick seems to navigate the world as a gay man quite well. I think back to Mark and Justin, and they seem to be happy. Maybe it’s something I could do. Would clients think of me any differently? Would it reflect badly on the school? Would we lose clients? The thoughts bubble up and choke my mind. I can’t breathe and start gasping for breath.

I don’t know if what I’m doing is right; it shouldn’t feel like this, should it?

Soothing hands rub up and down my back.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Claire’s hands are calming, and I eventually manage to draw in steady breaths. After a few more minutes, I can sit up again.

“What was all that about?” she asks, while I try to sort out my racing thoughts and the implications of giving in to my feelings for Nick.

“What if people hate me now?” I whisper “What if people don’t come to dance anymore?”

“Oh, Darcy.” She draws me into a big sisterly hug. “No one could ever hate you.”

“But I don’t know what to do? I don’t know how to be gay.”

“Umm, I’m not the right person to ask about that.”

I manage a small chuckle, as that’s not what I meant.

“Oh lord, I think Nick’s got his work cut out. But I also think you’ll be fine. You just need to be you.”

“Thank you.” I sigh and try to take on her advice.

“How are the tryouts going?” she asks, putting the fresh bowl of popcorn on the counter in front of us. I take a handful and stuff some in my mouth, to give myself time to think about how to answer.

“The tryouts are awful,” I eventually answer. “But I’m going to dance with Nick instead.” Just the memory of how good it feels when we dance together lifts my mood. “He’s really good. We dance well together.”

“That’s fantastic,” she starts, looking delighted, but then her face falls. “You won’t win. You know that, don’t you?”

---