Page 9 of Sway

“He couldn’t be,” Ricardo snorts. “His show is on television. You’d need to lose weight if you are going to ever be on television. Remember, Salomé,” oh, no, not that topic again, not here, “it’s not bulimia, it’s weight control. That is what it takes to be a champion. There’s a reason you’re coming in second. Plus you have to know Standard. Have you ever even done a foxtrot?” He smiles smugly when my jaw drops, then makes a perfect heel turn, reminding everyone that he was also once an amateur Standard Champion, and saunters off to flirt with “the boys”—a group of his adoring blonde, tan, and young male student groupies.

“Lose weight?” Jenny says. “What do you weigh, like one hundred pounds?”

“Try one hundred eight point five. But that was this morning, before I ate. I could easily be even one hundred and ten pounds by now.” I start fondling the business card.

Jenny gets in my face. “Salomé, no. I mean it, no. Don’t even think about it. We made a pact.”

“I don’t know, Jenny . . .” Diana says. She’s got a faraway look, like when she’s listening to a playful foxtrot. “It might be kind of fun. Think about it. We could all do it together. We can live in Daddy’s Beverly Hill’s condo. It would be just like last year when we were all training for nationals.”

Jenny crosses her arms. “We made a pact.” When neither one of us replies, she turns on me. “I don’t like the look in your eyes, Salomé.”

I shrug. “Diana’s right. It wouldn’t totally suck. No, seriously, listen to me, Jenny. I mean, I’ve been staying in random hotels and living out of a suitcase since I was fourteen. I still live with my parents. I made one hundred thousand dollars last year and I only have three hundred in my bank account because I spend every dime on costumes and travel.” I hold up my broken shoe heel. “I spent six thousand on this damn comp alone, and I lost. Vika makes five thousand a week! I know we make fun of Dancing under the Stars, but I’m so sick of the competitive dance world. Jenny, I need a break.”

“A break?” she asks. “You just want to have a second chance with Genya. And Diana, what’s Robert going to think about you cavorting with another man while he’s in Iraq? Christ, we would have to do photo shoots together with Vika. No. Absolutely not.”

“I could care less about Genya,” I say, trying to convince myself. “He’s all caught up in the Hollywood scene and just wants to be a star. Am I right, Diana?”

“Yeah. And Robert supports me in whatever I do. Come on, Jenny, you know you secretly want to be on the show.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do,” I say, taking charge. I really do need a break from competing. Badly. “We’re doing it. You are either with us or against us.” I cross my arms. Next to me, Diana crosses hers. You go, Miss Hawaiian Punch.

Jenny looks dumbfounded by our defiance.

We keep our arms crossed. Finally, Jenny turns to the bar and picks up her drink. “I will have you know, Diana,” she says to the glass in her hands, “that I do NOT want to be on that show. However, I am your friend, and as your friend I cannot sit around and let you guys make fools out of yourselves on national television.” Her eyes sparkle. “Plus, there are no positive Chinese-American role models on television. When I was a little girl, I never had anyone to emulate.” She takes a sip then turns to us. “I guess I’ll have to join, just to keep an eye on you.”

I high-five Diana. Jenny sticks her tongue at us then sips her drink again. “The things I do for you people,” she says.

“Oh my God, you guys,” Diana hops on a barstool. “This is going to be, like, so much fun. I wonder who my partner will be? Oh, I hope it’s Zac Efron or Robert Pattinson. Or maybe Taylor Kitsch. He is soooo cute.”

“Slow down, little girl,” Jenny says. “You’re engaged. Or have you already forgotten.”

“I know.” She jumps off her bar stool. “But I still want a cute partner.”

Jenny throws her napkin at Diana. “You’re so lame. We’re all going to end up dancing with losers. No one cool ever goes on the show. Our partners will be has-beens like Corey Feldman, Lamar Odom, and the only member of the Backstreet Boys who hasn’t been on the show.”

“Cool, I love the Backstreet Boys,” says Diana.

Jenny shakes her head. “I hate you both. I hope we all bomb the interviews.”

“No chance of that. We’re all awesome,” I say. “Another toast?”

“Uh uh. No way,” Jenny says. “Look where the last one got us.”

I grab my margarita and clink glasses with Diana over Jenny’s head. Who knew losing a competition could result in this? Maybe next year, I’ll win my own Emmy.