𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 | 𝐛. 𝐛𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩

11. Count Me In

I don't consider myself to be a jealous person, at least when it comes to Brooke, but I swear, when it comes to the Blaine St. Claire kid, I want to beat him into a pulp. 

Our school is putting on a musical, and I know that that sounds like my cup of tea, but I know that Brooke really wants the lead part. I would try out for her love interest, but I really do not have any interest in playing a robot. 

So, I have to resort to something I never thought that I would do. Bribe Stick.

I need Stick to be Brooke's love interest, and not Toby. You may be wondering why the hell I am choosing Stick for this, and why I'm even believing that he might miraculously get the part. Well, I don't really have an answer to that. 

And what's worse is that he asked Victor to teach him how to dance and not the cheerleader that took dance classes for seven years. Now, I am forced to watch my uncle dance.

"Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow," he chanted while doing the steps that Stick needed to learn. "Dance like me. Just like this."

"Don't listen to him," I added, snickering at both of them. I had to admit, it was pretty hilarious.

Stick then tried to do the steps that the older man was doing while his mentor directed him. Needless to say, Stick was not a dancer. He was horribly stiff, and he couldn't do the steps with the right foot. 

"No," Victor demanded, "Stop." He then reached down to stop Stick's legs from moving. "Okay." Once he released them, they started moving again, causing my uncle to repeat his previous actions. He took a deep breath and advised, "You never start with your right foot."

"Yeah," I nodded, "The girl always starts with her right. She also always starts going backwards. It's weird."

"It's just so confusing," Stick complained.

Victor sighed, "Yeah, right and left...a problem that's stumped our greatest minds."

"Okay. Okay. I think I got it. This time, I promise, I will not start with my right foot."

Guess what he did. 

"Are you kidding me?" I yelled, causing Stick to flinch slightly.

My uncle lifted up his finger, pointing it a Stick. "You know, I think I know how to fix your right-foot problem.

"Oh, God."

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After nearly taking one of Stick's toes off with a mousetrap, Victor decided to try something else. I stood in the kitchen. watching painfully as Stick attempted the steps. I winced at every step he did wrong. I winced so much that I was worried my face would get stuck like that.

My uncle came down the stairs with a box in hand, pausing when he saw what Stick was doing. He came through the door and chuckled, "Now, remember, salsa dancing is all in the hips." He handed the box to Stick. "Inside that box is a secret weapon that will turn you into a dancer."

He opens the box and his face drops. I peer over to see what was in it, and mine did the same. He pulled out a pair of high heels, giving my uncle a look that said 'seriously?'.

"You wanna dance or not? Put 'em on."

Stick shook is head. "No way, not with my hammertoes," he argued, "And there's no way they're my size."

"Oh, they're your size," Victor told him, and Stick looked down at his feet worriedly. 

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Surprisingly enough, the heels worked, but now we had another problem. Stick wouldn't take them off. 

"Take off the heels," Victor ordered sternly.

Stick shot back, "No."

"Stick, you don't need 'em," I told him, "And I don't wanna see your hairy toes anymore. They're really gross."

"I said no."

"Well, you can't audition in them," Victor said, "so give me-" He tried to grab the shoes, but Stick slid out of the way and out of his reach. The boy looked ready to fight. "Man, you're nimble in those things."

"If anyone wants me to take these heels off, they're gonna have to pry 'em off my cold, dead, hammertoed feet," Stick threatened.

"Not it," I quickly yelled. That was when I saw Brooke come in, and I stuck my head in my hands. This was gonna be hard to explain.

"Oh, hi, Brooke," Victor greeted.

Stick mocked, "'Oh, hi, Brooke." Then, he blew a raspberry. "She's, uh... she's right behind me, isn't she?"

"Yep. I'm out. See you later, babe."

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After a football game, and listening Stick sing a horrible version of Pop Goes the Weasel, Brooke and I met up to show each other our musical auditions. I was going to audition to play a smaller part, so Brooke and I could spend more time together.

"Are you ready?" I asked, preparing to sing.

She smiled, "Yep."