The Pressure Of Being Abigail Armstrong

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The Pressure Of Being Abigail Armstrong

Must be perfect. Just stretch a little more, make that muscle go in just the
right place. And there. Perfect. I grin at myself in the studio mirror. Ethan's choreography was perfect, the outfit was perfect and now my dancing had to be perfect. A sharp knock on the door broke my OCD thoughts. Turning around, I spot Ethan. Ethan Karamokov. My choreographer, my friend and my secret crush. After Sammy died, I didn't think I could love anyone again. I ignored Ethan, ignored life full stop. But it's been 8 months and I've realized.... Sammy would've wanted me to be happy and Ethan makes me happy. I grin at him "Hey"He runs a hand through his gorgeous blonde hair. Oh my god Abigail you will not turn in to Tara! Stop your sappy thoughts! "Hey Abby" Ethan is the only one aloud to call me Abby. "You like the choreography?" I nod "Do you want to run through it, me playing the piano?" He asked. "Sure" I agree and get into starting position. This dance that Ethan had created wasn't like any I would pick for myself, it was soft and sad. Almost a lyrical piece. But it ended in anger. That's what I love about dance. You can take your emotions, whatever they are, and put them into your dance piece. I finished out of breath, smiling and slightly sweaty. "Wow Abby" Ethan breathed walking over to me "That was amazing" I smile at him slightly. "What is it called?" I ask him, my voice slightly shaky. I had never been this close to him before. He smiled at me "It's called The Pressure Of Being Abigail Armstrong."