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( CHAPTER FIVE: FIRST DAY JITTERS ) February, 1989
❝If you want to survive in this game, then you gotta bring it. ❞
◯
He did it; he finally did it. It seemed like eons ago he was a scared boy, fearing the credibility of his dream as it slowly and painstakingly shattered before him. But now, with the quick passing of Christmas, he was stepping out in the very fresh year of 1989, aka the year of dreams. Devon hated being cheesy and overdramatic, but when he first discovered he had in fact been accepted to join the creed of Janet Jackson dancers, he couldn't withhold his intense excitement.
So, the entire month of December he spent chanting his success in the streets, being sure to blast about his recent accomplishment before stepping into a dance battle. Luckily, if they didn't laugh in his face, they would actually be too intimidated to battle him, which gave Devon a boast in egotism.
His uncle, strangely, kept his head from blowing up, since the man didn't shy away from telling him the cold hard truth: he wasn't the best in the world. Devon chomped down on his uncle's advice and kept his mouth zipped from then on, minimizing his cocky behaviour the best he could.
His mother, however, was a big contrast from his tough yet supporting uncle. When she had first heard the news that he had finally been accepted to dance with the high profiled Janet Jackson, she had mixed feelings. A grim smile was her first reaction, and then it shifted into disbelief, and then strangely, confusion. Devon didn't think much of it though, since the days leading up to his first rehearsal was quiet ones, his mother choosing not to talk about his sudden success up front.
The young adult shrugged off her odd feelings somehow, his continuous enthusiasm seeming to block out all the disapproval that crossed his path. Anxiously as the days passed, Devon's dream day had arrived: his first rehearsal as an official Janet Jackson dancer. Details had been told over long and excited phone conversations with Hilary – Janet's apparent manager, getting him as prepared as can be for the brutal rehearsals that would later come.
"Dev!" a chant shock him out of his recollecting thoughts, his big brown eyes widening as they shot back to his mother's shorter and stumpier form, "This shirt hasn't been ironed!" the said man proceeded to stare at his wrinkled black tee, the loose material something that he was most comfortable in when doing a lot of body movement.
"Ma, I've got to be at rehearsals in 30 minutes! There ain't enough time!" Devon reminded the older woman in disdain, her narrowed eyes making him swallow regretfully at his disrespectful tone. "It's fine, it'll get wrinkled anyway." Devon's casual exclamation was met with worry as he scooped up his duffel bag from the ground and took a sip of the cool water bottle in his hands; the clamminess of his palms something that almost made him loose his grip.
