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“Well, tell them, Claire. I mean, you are an award-winning choreographer. Tell them to let you work something up. They’d be lucky to dance your choreography.”
I let out another breath. I had been thinking the same thing since they started teaching us the dance my seven-year-old kids from the studio could do, but I don’t think that Rachael would allow it.
“I have something,” I say but then sigh. “But I swear the captain hates me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“She just looks at me in such a horrible way. She’s either suffering from Resting Bitchface or she hates me.”
“Again, what reason does she have to hate you? You’re amazing.”
Ah, the unconditional love I get from this woman makes me so happy, but I’m unable to smile from the problem that lies before me. “There are a couple.”
“Like?”
“For one, I’m a better dancer than she is,” I say.
“Well, of course you are,” she says so matter-of-factly, it makes me grin.
“And two, I may be dating the guy she wants to date.”
She squeals so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “You’re dating!”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “It’s nothing to get excited about.” But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.
“Yeah right, you haven’t dated since starting school! He must be something! Oh, is it Jude?!”
Groaning, I say, “Yeah, you know it is.”
“Yeah, I did, just wanted you to confirm,” she says before snickering. “Did you invite him to the wedding?”
“For gosh darn sakes! No! We’re dating, not getting married!”
“Well, duh, you dork! Y’all are dating, and you need a date for the wedding.”
“Oh my God, can we please go back to what I called you for?” I ask, pushing the door to my dorm open.
“Fine, tell them that you would love the chance to give them more options for dances. If they say no, flip them the bird, and start your own dance team.”
“So mature.”
“I try,” she says while laughing and I laugh. “Don’t worry, as soon as they see your stuff, you’ll be golden, baby.”
“I guess I’ll try that.”
“Good, now, can you promise me something?”
I feel like she’s about to trap me, and I’m not sure why I say yeah, but I regret it as soon as she asks the next question.
“Ask Jude to the wedding. Phillip will be nice. I promise.”
“The hell I’ll be,” I hear my uncle say and I smile.
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about! Or who for that matter,” she yells back.
“You are trying to get her to invite that douche bag to the wedding. I swear I’ll be a complete asshole.”
“Then you won’t get laid.”
