51.1

“Numbers still dropping?” Mom asked, reading my face once Dad had left.

I sighed and took a healthy sip of gin. “Ned Eclair is killing us with his focus on competition teams and cheerleading. I don’t know what to do, Mom.”

It was her turn to sigh, and she rolled her pretty blue eyes. “Ned has always been larger than life. He’s a wonderful man, a fantastic dancer, and a very charismatic person... I understand why people are going over there, I guess. Dance has changed since I was young.”

Mom had always held firm that dance was not a competitive sport, but in the last few decades, every other studio seemed to embrace the movement toward competition, even as our studio, On Your Toes, stood firmly in the past, refusing to take part.

“Mrs. Sheffield asked me today if we were going to start a competition team,” I told her.

She nodded. “Maybe it’s time, Rae.”

“Maybe it’s already too late. I don’t even know if I have enough dancers to compete at this point. I need to find a way to grow the bu