When I first got to Virginia Tech, I felt alone. I was from Jersey, so only about three people from my school came to Tech, and I knew none of them. I was antisocial and afraid of approaching new people, and so that was obviously a recipe for disaster. I tried to stay in my room as much as possible. I grabbed food to go from the dining halls and brought it back to my room and ate while watching Netflix alone on my bed. I reminisced about old friends, and I longed for the comfort of home. Then, when my roommate dragged me out of my room to GobblerFest (a festival to get to know all the clubs at Tech), everything changed. Lisa walked around all the booths with me in tow, uninterested, until I found a small group on the edge of the huge field.

I scribbled my name and email down after hearing that they were a Bollywood fusion team here on campus. I had been a Barathanatyam dancer since I was 7 years old and I honestly loved it, but I always thought fusion was awesome. After it started raining, Lisa and I ran back to Pritchard Hall, and I forgot all about dance until I got an email a little while later about tryouts.

Soon, it was time for the fusion team tryouts, and I found myself at the dance studio, ready to dance. As soon as I entered the room, I saw a group of three elder students dancing together, and I stood, rooted in fear. They were amazing. Their bodies moved in ways I didn’t think was possible. Their limbs bent in awkward positions, but they made it look graceful. Their smiles lit up their face, and suddenly, I found myself smiling back at their genuine happiness instead of cowering from intimidation. Everyone introduced themselves, but the only name I remembered was some smiley kid’s whose name sounded like a type of seaweed. Then, another guy with his wrist in a brace introduced himself as Varun and then burst into giggles. I found out later that he laughed because that wasn’t his real name and to him, the funniest joke in the world was a new identity.

As I struggled to learn the choreography, many team members offered their help and even when they didn’t, I found myself comfortable enough to approach the upperclassmen.

I danced, I laughed and I made friends. By midnight, the team told us we could either try out that night or go home and come back tomorrow instead. Me, being terrified, joined forces with seaweed kid and another freshman and practiced until 3 a.m. that night. We all came back the next day together, emotions running high and did our very best. And, apparently, our best was good enough.

I woke up on a Sunday morning to a loud knock on my door. I grudgingly stepped down from my lofted bed and ambled to the door, to find four grinning captains yelling in my face. They informed me excitedly that I made the team and offered me a donut, but I jumped into their arms, hugging each one, surprise coursing through my system and my cheeks aching from the huge smile etched on my face.

As time went on, I realized that I had no idea what I was getting myself into. VT Junoon was a 3-year-old dance team, and our one and only goal for the 2015 to 2016 year was to make it into a competition. That’s right: our goal wasn’t even to place, it was simply for our application to be accepted.

By the time our first semester began drawing to a close, we started filming our tryout videos. The point of this was to do run-through after run-through until the video was absolutely perfect. Each time we finished a run-through without anyone yelling to admit they messed up, we all huddled around the small laptop screen, eyes picking out hands held at 40 degree angles instead of 45, girls’ hips not sticking out far enough and the guys’ smirks not being obvious enough.

So we stayed up until 3 a.m. after almost five hours of dancing to ensure that our tryout video was perfect. And let me tell you: our captains have very high standards. But, finally, after freestyle dance sessions, multiple pep talks, emptying countless Gatorade bottles, fists colliding with walls in anger and yells of frustration … we got it. And not only did we get a perfect tryout video in the opinion of the captains, but apparently it was good enough for the board of Oak City Revolution as well.

Before we were ready, we were driving the three hours to Raleigh for the first competition in the team’s history.

Now there are 20 people on the team, but we lost a couple — one of them being me. Medical issues prevented me from being able to dance with my friends, but I joined them as a fan. We got there, they practiced, then they were on the stage and I was cheering until my voice went hoarse. After everyone had performed, we stood on that stage with five other teams, our hearts deflating as they announced third … second … first. And “VT Junoon” never left the announcer’s mouth.

Of course, we were all disappointed. But we all realized something that day. We didn’t place, but we accomplished a feat more profound than winning a trophy: we became closer than ever. Transforming from a bunch of strangers to a family of dancers does not come easy. It came from three practices a week, awkward bonding sessions and insane parties.

So, yeah, I’ve only known them for a few months, but I feel we’re family already because we all have junoon not only for dance, but also for each other.