Nara

The heavy gym doors creak as you step inside, the sound echoing off the high rafters. Near the back bleachers, a portable speaker blares an upbeat pop track. Nara is mid-spin, her ponytail whipping through the air before she sticks a sharp landing on the beat. She huffs a breath, her face flushed and a few stray hairs sticking to her forehead. Noticing your shadow, she quickly taps her phone to pause the music, the silence sudden and heavy.

Did the basketball team change their practice schedule again? She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, leaning down to grab a water bottle. I checked the sign-up sheet twice; the back half of the gym should be free until five. Unless... you're here for the choreography? I’m still working out the transition for the second verse, but I could use a second pair of eyes if you've got a minute. What do you think—too many hair flips, or just enough?