Dance With Me (Norminah & Camren)

Chapter 2: She's Late

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Normani's POV

It was our first practice and my dance partner was 30 minutes late. I'd gone over my stretches twice. Gone over the list of song suggestions that I'd come up with three times. Gone over potential concept ideas and added at least 10 other suggestions. I'd even come up with some potential choreo, before Dinah Jane sidled into the studio, glued to her phone.

"Sup ManManz!" she said without looking up from her phone. "How's your day going?"

"Pretty bad, since I've been waiting for my dance partner for the past half an hour," I said, annoyed.

Without looking up from her phone, Dinah said, "Chill, I'm only like 5 minutes late."

"I specifically texted you 8 pm not 8:30."

Dinah scrolled through our text messages on her phone and said, "Oh shoot. You right. My bad." With that, she dumped her stuff on the floor, pulled off her jacket, and tied her hair into a messy bun, before saying, "'Kay, let's do this!"

"Aren't you gonna stretch first?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Nah...I mean I'm already late, so let's just-"

"I'd rather not have an injured partner for the showcase," I said sternly, crossing my arms.

"Aite aite, chill out. I'll stretch if you really want me to."

Dinah unplugged the auxiliary cable from my laptop—without asking for permission—and plugged in her iPod. Soon, the entire dance studio was filled with some upbeat overplayed pop song that I'd heard before.

"Ayeee, my iPod knows what's up! This be my jam tho!" Dinah said, moving her buttocks to the beat.

And she spent the entire song doing that new dance that everyone was doing these days, 'twerking' or something like that. Actually, it was a crime to call that dancing.

"Come on, Manz! Pop that booty!" Dinah said breathlessly, approaching me.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on! I know you secretly booty pop in the shower!"

"Excuse me, but I do not 'pop' anything in the shower. Least of all, my 'booty'. I shower in the shower, because that's what showers are meant for. And you're supposed to be warming up, not wasting more of my time dancing to this...this...rambunctious music."

Dinah gasped dramatically, paused the song, and said, "Girl, I know you did not just call Beyoncé rambuc-whats-its-face. I know that word don't mean nothing good."

"Doesn't."

"What?"

"Doesn't mean anything good."

"First you insult the queen and then you go all grammar police on me? What's your deal?"

"What's my deal!? First, you show up 30 minutes late. Then, you waste more of my time by fooling around to nonsense. And you have the nerve to ask me what my deal is!?"

"First of all, I said my bad for being late. It was a misunderstanding. Won't happen again. And second, if you think the Queen is nonsense, then we're gonna have a problem."

"Dinah, we already have a problem! We're not supposed to be partners!" I said bluntly, having reached my nerve's end.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We weren't supposed to be partners for my senior showcase! I had it all figured out. I was supposed to be Val's partner. Our styles match perfectly and he's the second-best dancer in the class in terms of technique. Instead, I get stuck with you, the dancer with the worst technique. And you're probably not even gonna try that hard cuz you have next year to please the scouts. But this is my last shot, Dinah! This is my last shot at becoming a professional dancer!"

I hadn't realized I was crying, till Dinah was pulling me into a hug and saying, "Shh...it's okay. We'll make it work. Chill out. Everything's gonna turn out fine. I won't be late anymore, okay? Just relax..."

"Okay..." I mumbled against her chest, deeply embarrassed that I'd lost my cool, "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say all those things to you."

"Oh please...Sean calls me worst things in class. You've heard him. All that stuff don't...er doesn't... bother me no—I mean—anymore. I've got thick skin, baby."

"Still, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. We'll be fine," Dinah said, patting my back comfortingly, "As long as you don't insult the Queen again, we'll be fine."

"Okay..." I sniffled.

"You know what, ManManz? Let's go get you a Caramel Frappuccino from Starbucks," Dinah said, caressing my back gently.

"Are you crazy!?" I asked, pulling back at once, "We still have to discuss concept ideas and go over potential choreo and we're already half an hour late and-"

"Exactly, we're already half an hour late so we probably won't get much dancing done today," Dinah interrupted, "Realistically speaking, we'll probably just go over concept ideas and call it a day. And if all we're gonna do is go over concepts, why not do it over caramel fraps to cool you down?"

"I don't need cooling down. I'm cool!" I argued heatedly.

Dinah sighed, held my shoulders gently with both of her hands, and said, "You said so yourself, ManManz. This is going be an important showcase for you. Do you really wanna go over concepts while you're upset? I really think caramel fraps will help your creative juices flow better. And as an apology for being late, I'll even pay for you. So, how about we get out of here and talk things over with some sugar?"

I hadn't had a caramel frap in years and Dinah using the words 'caramel frap' and 'sugar' made my mouth water with craving. Knowing Dinah was right, I sighed and said, "Fine...if you're paying."

A/N: Don't worry, twerk queen Normani will reveal herself eventually.