SEQUEL TO 'DANCING WITH DILEMMAS.'
New arrivals stir things up amongst the dancers at The Next Step, and with their loyalties being tested, how well will they be able to play the game?
The Next Step TV show reimagined as if it was made for the new a...
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She takes my hand gently, the lack of confidence in her gesture unparalleled to her usual behaviour. She seems nervous, but so am I.
"Can we talk?" She asks, her tone soft and kind in the way that it usually is when she addresses me.
I've missed that tone.
I can't help but swallow, the noise clearly loud enough for the rest of the group to hear because I notice James' head twitch slightly in my peripheral.
I don't know why I'm so nervous, maybe it's because I've waited for an excuse to talk to Michelle for months, or maybe it's because I'm worried that if I do talk to her then all the other relationships in my life will fall apart.
I'm not a nervous person, I usually don't overthink like this, but it's hard not to when I'm surrounded by people that keep telling me I should hate Michelle.
She's not a bad person, and I don't hate her. Does that make me odd? Am I strange for not wanting to never talk to her again?
I wouldn't think so, but Daniel keeps telling me that it's sad but we'll never be friends with her again.
She messed up, that much is transparent, but I don't think she deserves to be banished from all contact with every friend she's made since she moved here.
I meet her softened eyes, they look heavier than usual, the purple bags underneath them shining through despite her application of a lot more makeup than she'd usually wear.
"Yeah," I agree, matching her timid tone and squeezing her hand gently in response.
Her lips curl upward slightly, comforted by the fact that I'm willing to talk to her.
It must be really difficult for her, I couldn't imagine my life without our friendship group. The worst part of all of it is that we've continued to go on without a care in the world, as though each time we meet up doesn't drive the knife further into her back.
She may have planted it there, but surely she doesn't deserve for each of us to take a go at twisting it deeper into her.
She only has Eldon and Hunter, and neither of them really seem to be that great.
She walks with her back turned to me, looking for a spot that's secluded from the tall glass doors.
She probably doesn't want anyone to see us talking, for both of our sakes.
"How have you been?" She asks me, awkwardness edging her non-personable tone as she lets go of my hand.
I cough, mainly because of the after effects from the cigarette I smoked with James, but also because I'm not sure how much detail I should go into.
"You can tell me," she adds, clearly sensing my hesitance. She can read me well, she's always been able to do that. "I won't judge, I'm not in the position to do that really."
