Page 10 of The Masks We Wear
“We need to make every second of practice count.” They spin around, and I notice how he’s not even winded. “This is our last home comp, ever.”
“Yeah, but I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait, buddy?” he asks.
“I am getting kinda tired,” Serena mentions. As annoyed as I am by Jung, the two of them look great on the floor. The dancing ability of my friends—and Jung—was never in question.
“No, it can’t wait,” I reply with a frown.
“Fine, but I don’t want to stop dancing.” He breaks apart from Serena who wanders off, catching her breath. “So I guess you’ll have to be my partner.”
He stands in front of me, arms still raised in the smooth style positioning. I roll my eyes but oblige him. I put my arms up, and he immediately shifts so he’s in the follower hold; it figures that someone as skilled as him knows how to do the woman’s part as expertly as the man’s part.
I latch onto him and glare as we dance a basic waltz around the floor. After two measures, he grins at me. “You’re good, newbie.”
“I’m not new, I’ve been on the team for over a semester.”
“I wasn’t here last semester,” he says. “I was—”
“It doesn’t matter. Look, Jung, I’m Competition Coordinator this year.”
“Yeah, I know. Serena and Firass filled me in when I came back from—”
“Then you know that I make the schedule. I don’t appreciate you changing the order of dances.”
As we dance, I ignore the prickle of sparks on my skin where I hold him. “I thought all the new folks would like a few more hours to sleep. I remember being that rank as a freshman, and I hated those nerves so early in the morning,” he says. “I am co-captain, after all.”
“First of all, the schedule is under my jurisdiction, not yours.” I frown at him, and he doesn’t drop his smile. “And second, I kept the schedule like that for a reason. We want silver and gold rank to be judged by the professionals who can’t make it until the afternoon sesh. I love the newcomers, but they don’t need the pros breathing down their necks. But the higher ranked folks—people like you—deserve the attention of high-ranked ballroom dancers.”
His smile finally drops, but he never stops waltzing elegantly in my arms. After a few moments, the song changes, and he breaks from my hold. With a straight face, he says, “Fine. You got me there, newbie. You can change it back, it was…my bad.”
Never one to gloat, I bite back a smile of satisfaction. “Thank you. And it’s Jamal. You’d know that if we ever chatted.”
“Like I tried to tell you, I was away last semester.”
I nod as others dance around us to the new tango song. “I uh…hope everything is alright. From last semester.” I bow my head slightly, not wanting to make eye contact—when he’s not pissing me off, Jung’s pretty eyes totally throw me off balance.
He shrugs. “Yeah. I wasn’t gone because of anything bad. I was at my performance internship uptown.”
My eyes are blown wide as he spins on his heel and saunters away.
No…there’s…there’s no way, right?
I shake my head and push those thoughts out of my head. Kitty Cat is simply a Halloween fever dream, and there’s no way he’s the guy on the ballroom team who annoys the shit out of me. I walk away as my friends dance intermediate tango around me.
None of that matters, because I still have flyers to print out and performers to book—the job of a Competition Coordinator never stops.
PART 6: JUNG
MY BEST FRIENDFirass shakes his hands as he paces back and forth in front of me. He’s well-dressed, with his pristine white button-down, black tie, and matching black suit—it’s the typical menswear for the smooth/standard portions of a ballroom dance competition. Getting to know him on the team these past few years has been great, and we’ve grown together as dancers and as friends.
“It’s gonna be fine,” I say, as I wrangle together my red necktie. I’m leaning on a metal table in the corner of the designated men’s changing room. The hustle and bustle of our university’s ballroom competition has taken over the entire gymnasium, with dozens of men’s sneakers, hoodies, and haircare products strung about this room alone. Very few dudes are here right now, as most are competing in the newcomer and bronze heats at the moment.
“No, it’s not. Serena and I didn’t get enough time to practice.” He paces in front of me, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. “And the other girls are helping her with her hair, which of course is vital in all competitions.” He pats his own gelled-down hair-do which currently suppresses his mass of dark brown curls. “But there are some moves I haven’t gotten to cement down.”
“Don’t sweat it,” I remark. I’m done with my outfit, and I stand up straight, smoothing my black jacket over. “We have some time before lunch, then we’re up and running after.” I smile when he finally stops pacing. “You can go over your super-special-skills then.”
“Ugh, I can’t,” my friend whines. “I promised Jamal I’d help him move the luggage from our visiting professional dancers. They’ll be at the train station, lost as hell, and—”
