“SURPRISE!” The thunderous shout echoed from the score plus of friends and relatives
who stood and clapped. While I stared wide-eyed, my friend Tami, who’d brought me home
from the dance studio, hugged me. “This is for you, Cher. Let’s go in.” 
     In a glorious daze, still wearing our ballet garb, Tami and I glided past my
brother, DeShawn, who’d opened the door and I gazed glassy-eyed around the room. The room
was large, but seemed to be bursting with guests. In addition to friends, relatives, and
neighbors, Tami’s parents, my ballet teachers, and my seven ballet class friends were
there. 
     The fact that my ballet teacher and friends managed to beat us there made me suspect
Tami had delayed me at the studio on purpose. Nevertheless, the party was a wonderful
surprise, but I had no idea what everyone celebrated until I saw the banners hanging from
the wall—‘OUR LOSS IS JUILLIARD’S GAIN,’ and ‘TAKE A BITE OF THE BIG APPLE.’ Have I been
accepted? Just below a poster of me performing a grand jeté, waited mom and dad,
smiling as if they’d won the lottery. Seeing me looking, Mom held her arms out and I ran
to her welcoming embrace. While tears began to trickle down my cheeks, she hugged and
kissed me. 
     “I’ve been accepted?”
     “Yes. I’m going to miss you, baby,” she cried, too.
     “When did you find out?”
     “Monday. I would have told you, but your dad wanted to tell you with a surprise
celebration.”
     I hugged Daddy tight and kissed his cheek. “Thank you Daddy. I love you!” 
     He wiped the wetness from his eyes with the side of his hand, then flashed his usual
toothy smile. “I love you, too, Princess. Thank you for being my daughter. I couldn’t have
asked for better.” 
     He handed me an envelope. Opening it, I fingered through twenty, one-hundred dollar
bills. “Thought you might need some spending money.” He slipped a second envelope into my
hand, which had been opened, and displayed the Juilliard logo in the upper left corner. 
     While I scanned the letter from Juilliard, I saw the word accepted and hugged Daddy
once more. 
     I never would have done it if it wasn’t for Daddy. It had been his idea eight long
months ago to apply to Juilliard. Gathering recommendations and transcripts we then
journeyed to Chicago in the cold and snow of February to audition. It started to sink in;
I was going to one of the elite dance schools in the world. 
     Daddy whispered in my ear, “I thought you might like to see the acceptance letter
before I get it framed.” 
     After I finished hugging Daddy, I could see the guests were gathering around, so
displaying a wall to wall smile, I turned to greet my well wishers, one and all. To my
surprise, they began to sing For She’s a Jolly Good Lady. 
     Tears started streaming down my cheeks. 
     I was the luckiest girl in the world!
     
* * * *
     
     New York City was mind-boggling. I had no idea what to expect or how it would affect
me. New York City, especially Manhattan, was bigger than life. Pictures and movies are
nice, but they can’t begin to convey the magnificence of reality. 
     From the time we circled the city, waiting for the okay to land at John F. Kennedy
Airport, until almost two hours later when I arrived by cab at Juilliard, I’d been
mesmerized. My home town of Indianapolis, Indiana, wasn’t small, but compared to New York
City, it seemed tiny. The vibrancy, diversity and energy that surrounded me seemed
contagious and I surveyed everything while the taxi driver darted among the canyons that
had been formed by the man made colossuses. Riding across the Brooklyn Bridge into lower
Manhattan from JFK, I felt awestruck.
     Even though I’d been surprised by the grandeur of Manhattan, my largest shock waited
for me in my dorm room. With expanded eyes and a wide-open mouth, I demanded, angrily,
“Who the hell are you?”
     He looked up. “Hi, my name is René Réjane. You must be LaCherna Smith.
I’m your roommate. My, but you are très belle—very beautiful.” 
     He offered his hand, but I whined, “This is some terrible mistake.”
     “Why?”
     “Why? Are you kidding? You…you’re a man.”
     He laughed. “Not to mention that I’m an étranger…how you say it?” His deep
blue eyes widened with recognition. “Ahh yes, a foreigner. One of those quirky,
self-centered Frenchmen.”
     I flashed a smart alecky smile. “You said it, I didn’t.”
     He looked up at the ceiling. “Gee thanks.” Sitting on the lower of the bunk beds, he
continued to hold his hand out, which I had no intention of shaking. When he finally
sensed that, he pulled it back and looked at it as if studying it. Lowering his hand, he
frowned. “Better than a rude American. For your information, I washed my hands less than
an hour ago.”
     Having made his point, I bit my lower lip to keep from laughing. “This isn’t a co-ed
dormitory. How could they have placed you with me?” 
     “It’s my name. Everyone assumes someone named René is a girl, until they see
me, then the epiphany, ‘Oh yeah, René is a man’s name too.’” 
     This time, I did laugh. Despite my unease, the fact that he was tall, white,
handsome and from all appearances possessed a great personality, did not go unnoticed. 
     Resisting an urge to run my hand through his long blond locks, I held out my caramel
colored hand. “I guess we don’t have to be roommates to shake hands. I go by Cher.”
     A warm, tingly feeling invaded my lower regions when he took my hand.
     A twinkle formed in his blue eyes. “Ah, you know that is ‘dear’ in French, don’t
you?” 
     I nodded curtly. “I’ve heard that.” 
     “Anyway, ma chère, we are, in fact, roommates.” 
     I lifted my left eyebrow and smirked. “Only until we can get the dormitory manager
to assign you elsewhere.”
     When I turned to leave, he jumped up and slid himself between me and the door.
“Let’s not make snap decisions.”