Belong To Her

One: Normani

New York City. The City of Dreams.

For a long time, I never thought I'd make it here. I thought I was destined to be stuck in Houston, Texas for the rest of my life. Not that I didn't love Houston. I did, it is my hometown after all. But Houston wouldn't get me anywhere as a dancer.

There was nothing in Houston that would help me to follow my dreams, and so I had to leave. I left behind everything I knew in favor of a dream that I hoped desperately would come true.

Juilliard was the goal, but the dream was much bigger than that. Professional Dancer. That was the dream for as long as I could remember. I took classes in dance since before I could remember. Hip-Hop, Ballet, Jazz, Lyrical, you name it, I've probably studied it.

It wasn't easy. There was a lot of sweating, a lot of blisters, and even more tears. Especially after my first rejection letter. But I didn't give up, and now at 21 years old I can finally say I've made it. I've made it to New York, I've made it to Juilliard, and once all is said and done, I'll make it somewhere even bigger.

I just had to get through my first semester.

I poured everything I had into my last audition, and when I received that acceptance letter I knew that it was my time to shine. I came to New York to follow a dream, but what I found at Juilliard was a cutthroat world I wasn't sure I was ready for.

Everyone was so talented, and they were also mean. They would step on everyone to make their way to the top, and I knew that the competition would be fierce the moment I stepped into my first class.

It was obvious that day who the top students were, they stood out amongst the crowd of students around us. A bitchy aura surrounding them, sneers on their faces as they surveyed the competition, waiting to tear down anyone they didn't believe was good enough. It was enough to make anyone want to tuck tail and run away before they had a chance to go at you.

Luckily, I wasn't just anyone. I knew how to ignore hecklers. It was the same as ignoring the bitchy 'it' girls at my last private school. If you don't give them the satisfaction of knowing they were bothering you, they stopped bothering you.

Fortunately for me, not everyone in my first class was as mean as the 'In Crowd'. It was actually where I met my new best friend, Dinah Jane Hansen. She was studying hip-hop and jazz, like me. She had approached me first when she saw me standing alone near the mirrors, and she offered to warm-up with me.

I knew as soon as we began talking that I had found a kindred spirit. We loved all of the same things. Dance, singing, Beyonce, food. It was like meeting another me as soon as she began talking. It was her second semester at Juilliard, but we learned that we had a lot of the same classes that year. She promised to stick by my side, and I never felt happier to meet someone in my life.

Until tonight that is.

It was our third weekend at Juilliard, and Dinah was bored. Friday nights usually consisted of Dinah and I heading to my apartment (my dad rented it for me as soon as he learned I was leaving for New York), and binge-watching cringeworthy Netflix shows and eating our weight in junk food. It had been mini-tradition the last two weekends.

However, I learned as soon as Dinah had stepped into my apartment that she had other plans. She was wearing a little black dress, her hair perfectly teased, and her heels a little too high making her go from her usual 5'8 to about a casual 5'10. I lifted an eyebrow at her attire because it wasn't anything like the sweatpants, and overly baggie sweatshirt I had been sporting.

"You're eating pizza in that?" I questioned, lifting an eyebrow as I stepped aside to allow Dinah in.

"Nope," Dinah said simply, popping the "p" in the word as she stepped inside, "We're not eating pizza."