The Show Must Go On. Yes, you, too.

Her arms dangled like spaghetti. She always did this. My sigh overpowered the loud rhythmic pop music that was the inspiration for this dance. Haylee heard it and she turned around, putting her hands up in the air and collapsing on the wooden tiles of the dance floor in front of the large mirror. I took a deep breath that tasted of sweat and failure.
“Get up and do it again,” I said sternly, knowing that she could do it.
She shook her head almost violently and stood up, walking out of the classroom.
I followed, rolling my eyes. I rested them on the hard-breathing curvy-filled girl.
Show choir camp seemed to last for forever when you had girls in your class that gave up so easily.
“I’m just not a dancer. It’s just not my thing,” She said pathetically, rubing her thumping temples.
After a long pep talk, her cofidence bloated and Haylee was back out on the dance floor, keeping her arms stick-straight. I smiled as she succeeded.

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