Page 29 of Sway

I nearly drop the Chardonnay decanter. “No way! That’s messed up, man. Good gawd, the girl’s allowed to have a little fun. And it’s about freakin’ time. She’ll be alright.”

There’s a big sigh on the other end of the phone. I tighten my towel and look longingly at my bath. There’s no talking Jenny down a tree once she’s climbed it high enough.

“Fine,” she finally says. Thank God. “But next time we’re staying with her. No matter how much we can’t stand Vika.”

“Oh, swell. I’ve been wanting to make nicey-nice with Vika.”

“Hey, I don’t like the idea, either, but this is Diana we’re talking about.” My turn to sigh. What a girl will do for her homies. “So, did you vomit today?”

Damn, she’s such a drag. “No, Mom, I didn’t vomit today.”

“You better not be lying to me Salomé. I mean it.”

I so don’t need this shit right now. I get sick sometimes, so sue me. I’m not bulimic. Maybe I’ll drop the phone in the bath and pretend I got disconnected.

Luckily for Jen, she changes the topic. “So, Miss Gossip Queen . . .” She hesitates. “Has Perez Hilton ever blogged about who Tim’s dating?”

“Who? Your beloved basketball player?” Ha! I knew it. “I thought you didn’t like him,” I tease.

“I don’t,” she says way too quickly. I knew it. Jenny’s so falling for Tim. I totally predicted it the minute I heard that she was paired with him. But if she doesn’t want to admit it, so be it. “I just want to know if I have to deal with any crazy girlfriends stalking us at the studio.” Jenny is the worst liar.

My bubbles are bobbing in the tub. Enough waiting! I take the phone to the bathroom and slip into the foamy heaven. Ah, bebita. This is the life. “Well,” I say, settling in, “word has it Mr. Basketball was dating that hot Barbados singer A’isha, but that was at least a whole month ago. He could be single by now. Do you want me to find out?”

“No. No. Just let me know if you hear anything. And I’ll call you when I hear from Diana.”

“Okay, okay.” I lift a pile of bubbles on my palm. I briefly consider mentioning my kiss with Genya to her, the one after our demo dance, but I decide to keep it to myself. I don’t even know what it means yet. “I’ll catch you later. Love ya, kisses.”

“Yeah, love you, bye.”

I turn on the tap to let in more hot water then sink lower into the glorious warmth. I let my mind wander to Genya. He was probably just caught up in the moment. We always used to kiss at the end of our rumbas, so it was just natural. I doubt it meant anything.

I blow the bubbles off my palm and watch the glistening cloud float to the water. I’m so glad I did this show. Not that it’s all bubbles and baths. I’m starving. I would practically kill for a heaping plate of chorizo nachos with mounds of guacamole, sour cream, olives, and cheese, not to mention chicken mole and my abuela’s fresh homemade pumpkin empanadas. She makes the best empanadas ever. The meal plan Gabriel has me on is almost as bad as Ricardo’s. Egg whites, spinach, turkey breast, and veggies. That’s it!

The audience only sees the glam. They also don’t understand that no one in the ballroom industry can ever have a normal relationship. We have three options for dating: you can either date your partner and combine your floor and relationship problems, like what happened with me and Genya; you can date a dancer who is not your partner and the worse dancer of the two will be jealous of the others’ success; or you can date a non-dancer, who has a hard time understanding the partner relationship and the travel demands.

So, basically, it’s hopeless.

“And I chose that?” I mutter to my bubbles. “What an idiot.” How ‘bout a normal life? What would that be like? Falling in love and not worrying about choosing between him and my career. Actually spending the money I make on something other than costumes and competition fees. And going dancing with mis chicas and partying like a hip-hop mogul. I could stand that. Ooh, and drinking Starbucks Venti Caramel Frapaccinos with whipped cream, and eating plates and plates of Round Table’s King Arthur Supreme Pizza with shrimp and anchovies, and inhaling chocolate pecan pie a la mode and Piña Coladas without reporting to step classes five minutes later. And dying my hair a natural color. That would be something. Hell, I could stand not being a tanorexic, for Christ’s sake. And how about saving the lives of the minks who have died for my fake eyelashes. And a vacation, what’s that like? I wanna find out. I wanna live my life my way. Dammit, I want a life, period!

I scoop up bubbles with both hands and lift them to my face, staring into a billion sudsy prisms. I love this world Dolla has shown me. I want more.

Hell, I deserve more.

The bathroom light twinkles in the suds. Yeah, I could stand this life. I close my eyes, make my wish, and blow hard.