The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Aurora

First day of Juilliard.

I stare at my reflection, adjusting my bun for the third time, bonnet tossed onto the bed from where I took it off this morning.

My heart's racing, and I'm not even in the studio yet.

This is it.

All the years of rehearsals, auditions, late nights on sore feet—this is the moment I've been working toward.

Still, no amount of preparation keeps my hands from shaking as I smooth down my leotard and pull on my warmups.

From my bedroom window, I can see the sunlight hitting the skyline just right.

A reminder that I'm really here.

Living in New York.
Studying at Juilliard.
Making it happen.

And somehow, I still feel like the same girl from Savannah who used to practice pliés in the living room while dreaming about stages like this.

I glance at my phone, checking the class list for the fifth time.

SPANISH.
BALLET.
MATH.
ENGINEERING.
COMPOSITION.

All mixed together like some cruel joke from the academic gods.

Of course, ballet is my favorite.

My safe space.

But the rest?

Let's just say if my Spanish professor expects full conversations on the first day, I'm dropping out and applying for witness protection.

The first stop is ballet. When I walk into the studio, Lena's already stretching by the mirrors, her headphones in and her long legs crossed like she owns the place.

"Look who finally decided to show up," she teases, pulling me into a hug.

"Had to make sure my bun was NASA-level secure," I joke, sliding down next to her to warm up.

The energy in the room is electric.

People are already comparing schedules, gossiping about auditions, swapping names of choreographers like it's nothing.

But for once, I don't feel out of place.

This is where I belong.

Moving.
Breathing.
Dancing.

By lunchtime, I'm mentally exhausted and physically half-dead.

Spanish?

A nightmare.

The professor spent the entire class speaking so fast I caught maybe six words total, three of which were "por favor" and "clase."

Math and engineering weren't much better.

I swear I was meant to be a dancer for a reason.

But now, finally, we have a break.

And Lena, of course, has a plan.

"Come on," she whispers, tugging on my sleeve.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Ginny."

I blink. "Wait. Ginny's performing?"

"Yep. She's doing some monologue thing for her theater elective. We're crashing it."

I glance down the hallway.

"We'll get in trouble."

"We always get in trouble."