Demyan
Malia's right knee constantly bounced as she sat in the passenger seat of my black Range Rover sport. Her hair had been neatly combed back into a low bun, lip gloss coated her lips whilst the rest of her face was bare. She wore black sweatpants with a red puffer jacket and sneakers. Her duffel bag was closely held to her chest.
Her fidgeting became so much that I had to press my hand on her knee to stop her from shaking whilst I drove, "Are you nervous?"
"No," she sounded unsure of her own lie as she gave me a small timid smile.
"They are very friendly, the dancers have changed I'm sure since the last time I worked here when I was eighteen but the company never hires rude ones," I smiled, "If they give you any problems you can tell me or Pa."
"No," she groaned, "They'd think I'm using privilege because I know you. I'll fight my own battles, Demyan and there's a good chance they might pair us with someone else."