<🎧 Song Recommendation: bloodstream by Alyssa Grace>
...
The plump body. The wide, annoying grin on his face even while every other dancer around him was gasping for air.
There was no way Von could mistake him.
'Max...'
Max was standing in the back row of a thirty-person elite dance crew wearing a tank top and a tiny action camera strapped to his chest.
And he was dancing.
The crew hit a chest pop on the four count, meanwhile Max hit it on the four and a half and then he added a shoulder shimmy that nobody else in the formation was doing.
The crew dropped into a low slide. Max dropped into a low slide, spun an extra half rotation, and pointed both fingers at the empty seats like there were already forty thousand people sitting in them.
The choreographer, a woman with a shaved head was getting upset already.
"Max! We are not doing a solo!"
"It's flavor, Kiana! It's flavor!"
"Pfft," Von covered his mouth with his hand, but his laugh escaped anyway.
