Tiny Pretty Things Page 12

  I let Eleanor take me back upstairs to our room where I curl up with that memory and a white pill to try to erase it all.

  15

  June

  AFTER REHEARSAL, WE’RE ALL HERDED into the assembly room, which is an offshoot of the lobby. The room is full of skylight windows and reminds me of a solarium my mom took me to once. The whole night sky spreads above us and I could find it pretty if I wasn’t too busy fixating on Nurse Connie, Morkie, and Mr. K. They whisper in front of us, exchanging glances that mean we are about to have a serious conversation. Around me, everyone rehashes rehearsal, but I can’t. I want to know what they’re about to say. It must be big, since they didn’t let us go straight to the café for a snack, then homework, and then bed. They hate to disrupt our evening routine. Maybe a casting change?

  I don’t like surprises.

  Gigi plops down next to me. She’s twitchy and agitated, and I wonder if she’s discovered her medical report in the Light yet. If she knows I took it, and just isn’t saying anything. That was sloppy of me. The last time I checked the closet, it wasn’t there anymore. Someone took it down. I gaze at her chest and wonder how her heart could be so messed up and it not show. I didn’t really understand the terms, but looking at the EKG, it was pretty obvious that something’s really wrong with her. And I sort of feel a little bad for a second. Just one.

  “Why are we meeting?” she asks, pulling her wild hair from its bun, and surrounding me with the scent of the greasy crap she puts in it. Coconut oil, I think. It makes my empty stomach heave.

  I shrug in reply, not actually wanting to talk to her. I turn my attention back to the front, back to Mr. K.

  The Korean girls sidle past us. Sei-Jin pauses right above me. “Oh, don’t play coy, June. Don’t ignore your roomie.” She winks at Gigi like they’re old friends. “You know exactly why we’re meeting.”

  “Go away, Sei-Jin,” I say, not acknowledging her presence with eye contact.

  “It’s ballerinas like you that make them waste all of our time,” she adds before plopping down not too far off. I squirm at her taunt.

  Mr. K claps. Three hard ones, his signature. “Please heed the seriousness of what we’re going to say tonight. It is of the utmost importance. You are dancers. Your bodies are your instruments. They are sacred, and must be cared for as such. And I will not hesitate in making the necessary changes if you fail to do so. And I have. Liz is gone.”

  Everyone looks around for her, like he’s lying. I watch Bette put a hand over her mouth, like even she didn’t know.

  “She will not be returning, and we will be selecting someone to dance her role, Arabian Coffee. We want to see who can rise to the occasion. And we’re considering shuffling some people around, and adding the Harlequin Doll to the cast list just as we did last year. So don’t get too comfortable in your part.”

  Gripes and mumbles explode through the room. He waves his hand in the air to silence everyone. “The moment you think you’re on top is the moment you’ve lost your passion. Might as well retire.”

  Then he puts his arm out to Nurse Connie, who steps forward.

  My stomach gripes. I bite my lips and scratch at my tights. This can’t be good.

  “We would like to make a few announcements regarding health before opening night of The Nutcracker,” Nurse Connie says. Her voice doesn’t have the lovely depth of Mr. K’s, so the sound is anemic in comparison. Forty ballerinas groan and lose interest. “We all know this, of course, but I’d like to reiterate that the rule still stands. If you fall underweight you will be sent home. No questions asked. No excuses made. Underweight dancers will not be tolerated. Even very talented ballerinas. As I’m sure you can all see.”

  I prefer Mr. K’s straightforward address to Nurse Connie’s pointedly vague one. Still, what she is going for works. My stomach drops a little. I start to sweat behind my ears. Liz is gone. And it could’ve been me. I was close again, last week, to falling under. I can feel Nurse Connie’s eyes fixed only on me.

  “I’ve brought along my trusty food pyramid poster,” she continues, and I can’t help it—I sigh. Even with her eyes right on me, gauging my response, I can’t muster up the appropriate, thoughtful, curious expression. Not again.

  Nurse Connie and Morkie exchange another pained look, and Nurse Connie goes on to talk us through the food pyramid herself. She also has posters for BMI and height-to-weight ratio and the evils of laxatives and diet teas. She describes what happens to girls who starve themselves: the loss of hair and bone density, peach fuzz on cheeks, kidney failure, tooth decay. The consequences crash around in my head like train wrecks and car accidents. I focus on my hands, blocking it all out.

  Morkie just stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, neither endorsing nor disagreeing. I always get the feeling Morkie and Nurse Connie are in a silent battle with each other over our bodies. Over my body. And every time, Morkie wins. Ballet is most important. What the Russians want—beautiful dancers—trumps everything. Unless you go too far like Liz. Unless you get out of control.

  I tune it out. Gigi does not. She is scratching away at a pad of paper taking notes. Notes! A little bit of pink tongue peeks out of her mouth as she scribbles, and I decide that I don’t just find her annoying, I actually hate her. All the nice moments we’ve had, the times where I thought we might be able to be friends, are gone. Each one of her pen strokes echoes, making me flinch.

  It must be half an hour before Nurse Connie packs up her posters and finishes handing out pamphlets. She looks each of us in the eye when she gives us the little packet of insane brochures she’s brought for us. I do not imagine it when she lingers next to me.

  “Please look these over, June,” she says in a fake whisper. If she were a real nurse, she wouldn’t accuse me in public like that. There has to be some law against that. “You still have some work to do.” She pats me on the shoulder.

  I count to twenty. She waits for me to look up. Like she won’t move unless I do. My makeup runs a little, and I give in and look up, so she can see my eyes and move on.

  I fly out of there, ignoring Gigi’s questions about whether I’m headed back to the room or not. I dash into the closest studio to get my head together. I can’t let anyone see me like this. They might think Nurse Connie’s speech had something to do with me. I have to keep it together. I have to make them see that if they’re going to give out a role or shift things around then they should move me.

  I rest my leg on the barre, stretching deep as I breathe in and out until the tinges in my muscles disappear. I think about Liz standing on those scales, about the number that flashed. It had to be super small. And I fight the urge to want to be as small. I wonder how long it took her to pack her things. If she goes to another dance school, she’ll have to tell them what happened, they’ll call Mr. K, and she might never get to dance again. This kind of thing haunts you. I shudder. I hear Sei-Jin and the other girls giggle as they shift past the studio’s glass walls and open door. Their conversation drifts in.

  “I need to hurry up and shower. Jayhe’s almost here. He’s gonna kill me for being late,” Sei-Jin says loud enough for everyone to hear. Typical.

  I hear the other girls fawning over her and her big plans. On a weeknight, no less. This impresses them. They follow her mindlessly, like little ducks in a row, gasping about his hair, and his perfect teeth, and how strong he is, despite not being a dancer. Idiots. I used to be jealous of her after she started dating Jayhe. And I’m sure she knew it. She paraded him through the school. But really, I knew she was putting on a show. I knew I had the power to blow her perfect little life to smithereens. I just chose not to. Because of the friendship we had once. Because of what we used to be. Jeol chin. Best friends.

  Once they’re gone, I take the elevator down to the basement and to the place where Sei-Jin always meets Jayhe to sneak him into the building. Past the rec room is a weight r
oom that has a side door that leads out to the school Dumpsters. A service staircase and an emergency exit with a broken alarm. That’s where he’ll be waiting. All of eighth grade, it used to be just she and I waiting for him, peeping out into the dark for his head to appear. She used to tell me how she didn’t really like him at first and how she was just dating him because her mother wanted her to. She also used to date one of the white boys. Shane, who graduated last year. Jayhe never knew about that.

  I guess she loves him now. Maybe.

  I perch near the window, waiting to see him. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, and this whole sabotage plan is starting to feel half-baked. I should’ve plotted it out. I’m too shaky. But this opportunity couldn’t be better. Before I can rehearse the conversation in my head, I see a shadow in the dark and then his face. His hair is shaggy and black and the black-rimmed glasses he always wears drift down his nose. A rush of heat hits me. I remember how it felt to like him.

  He spots me in the window and scrunches his nose up, like he’s confused. I open the door for him.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” he says, sliding past me, careful so we don’t touch. “What are you doing down here? Where’s Sei-Jin?”

  “She’s still upstairs,” I say. “We had a late meeting after rehearsal.”

  “Oh” is all he says, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other.

  “I was down here lifting weights,” I lie.

  He laughs. “Seriously? What can you bench?” he jokes, his voice husky and teasing. It sends an unexpected shiver up my spine. He’s being weirdly nice. “I bet you can’t even lift fifty pounds,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I bet you only weigh fifty pounds.”

  His words hit, and for some reason I can’t control the tears that pour down my cheeks and the sob that escapes my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I cried, and the thought of that makes me cry even more. This is not part of the plan.

  “I’m sorry, June. I didn’t— I was just—” He pulls me into a hug, his body warm and strong. For some reason, this catches me off guard. I bury my face in his hoodie, let the spicy scent of his cologne mellow the shakiness out of me.

  He keeps apologizing and trying to get me to calm down, but I stay there. He asks me if he should go get someone or call my mom. I don’t answer. So then he just stops talking, strokes my hair, and squeezes his arms tight around me, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. So tight I think I could disappear. He somehow takes the sharpness out of me.

  I look up at him, even though I know my makeup’s a mess and I’m a mess. I want to ask him, “Why did you disappear? Why did you choose her over me? Weren’t we friends? Did you believe the things she told you about me?”

  “My halmeoni asks about you all the time,” he says, mimicking her soft accent: “‘Where’s that little girl with the too-light hair?’”

  She would always say my hair was unusually light for a Korean. A pale, ashy brown. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my dad was white. He doesn’t answer any of the questions swirling through my head, but he makes me smile.

  We laugh, and I hiccup. He wipes a tear from my cheek. And I feel like I’m that little girl in his basement again.

  “Ballet makes you all so sad. You never used to be like this.”

  “How was I?” I ask. “How did I used to be?”

  “Bright,” he says, which is a strange word. But it feels right. Before he can clarify, I lean up and kiss him. My first kiss with a boy. Quick and urgent, like he might disappear altogether, like he might fall out of my grasp again. But he doesn’t. His mouth is warm and tastes like a cinnamon stick. He doesn’t push me away or pull me close, but I feel his mouth press into mine a little, and I know he’s just kissed me back.

  16

  Gigi

  SATURDAY MORNING LIGHT FLICKERS THROUGH the window and, in response, my butterflies flap their wings, their tiny shadows flitting across the windowsill. I remember when my dad brought home my very first terrarium.

  “They’re for good luck,” he said, placing the glass box in my bedroom window with his big brown hands. I was eight and on bed rest for exhaustion, spending days and nights in my nightgown gazing at the trolleys chugging past my window on the tracks.

  “Why do I need luck?” I’d pressed my nose close to the terrarium, wondering if I could train them to perch in my hair using my curls as twigs.

  “Everybody needs a little.” He adjusted the container while I watched the monarchs flutter around inside. “Some people believe butterflies are the souls of the dead. Those who have come back to us.”

  I gawked at those tiny creatures and their round eyes, wondering if one was Granny or my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Charlotte. I wondered if that’s what people became after death.

  Even now, I’m thinking of Cassie, who of course I never knew, and who isn’t dead, but maybe in a place that’s worse—being unable to dance. I thump the glass and greet the twelve little ones who came across the country with me. I pull two flowers from the congratulatory bouquet Mama and Dad sent me after I finally told them about landing the Sugar Plum Fairy role, and place them inside the cage. The monarchs tickle my arm and land on the petals, ready to sip their nectar.

  “Okay, little ones,” I say to them, then realize June’s still in bed. Across the room, I hear her gentle breathing. I’m shocked she’s still asleep. Not like June at all. She’s usually up and in the studio before me. She doesn’t believe in sleeping on weekends. And I’ve gotten used to having weekend mornings to myself in the room.

  I check my phone. A tiny hope floats up when I tap on the screen. Maybe there’ll be a text from Alec. I sigh. He’s broken up with Bette, but I don’t know what that means for us. We’ve texted a lot, and practiced our pas, but nothing else really.

  There’s only one message from Aunt Leah: Doctor’s Appt @ 9:30. Your mom scheduled it. Sorry! Coming @ 8:30.

  I set the phone back, disappointed. On my desk there’s a baggie of tiny origami turkeys with funny facial expressions. I look up at the calendar on my wall. You can lose track of the days here, your focus singular and intense. Thanksgiving is next week.

  Who left this? I quietly rummage some more, searching for a note or message.

  “It’s from Alec,” June whispers.

  I flinch and don’t turn around. She hates being woken up.

  “Sorry,” I whisper quickly, but she rolls over without a response. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold back my smile. I touch the tiny turkeys, running my fingers along each crease and fold. I wish I could share this with her. When I first got here, I wanted to be her friend so bad, but she didn’t say more than two words to me. She opens and closes like a morning glory. And lately, she’s been closed up tight, not wanting to grab meals together or rehearse.

  I leave the room. I shower, unable to stop thinking about Alec. I run my fingers over my lips, remembering our kiss in the Light closet. The thought of his kisses gets my heart pounding, but it feels good. I don’t try to calm it down. I don’t try to control my breathing. I close my eyes as water hits my shoulder blades and wonder what it would be like for his lips to find that same spot.

  I have never wanted any boy before, not really, and definitely not someone as dangerous to want as Alec. The feeling is so strong this morning, I worry that I won’t be able to keep zipping it in. It has breath and life of its own. Besides, I don’t know that I want to stop it. At home, guys tried to hang out with me—redheaded Robert, who came to all my birthday parties despite being the only boy there; skater-boy Noah, who asked me to the eighth-grade dance; and Jamal, who left love notes in my locker all through tenth grade. But I never paid any attention to them, running off to my dance classes and private lessons. But Alec makes me pay attention to him. Even though I know I should worry about Bette’s reaction.

  I go to the RA office
on the fourth floor, where I’ll wait for Aunt Leah, though I’m sure she’ll be late, like always. Will is sprawled out on the far couch with an icepack on his knee.

  “What happened to you?” I ask.

  He doesn’t open his eyes at first. So I repeat my question. Then he turns his head and says, “Prevention.” He adjusts the ice. “I ice every day regardless of injury to keep inflammation down.” His voice is sharp and moody.

  “Oh,” is all I can manage to say. No wonder he is such a flawless dancer.

  “I’m surprised you’re up,” I say to fill the quiet.

  “Why? I’m always up early,” Will mumbles. He’s Alec’s best friend, and that’s all I know about him. And despite the fact that he’s amazing in rehearsal, Mr. K never looks pleased with him. “Where you going, anyway?” he adds, sizing up my jeans, sweater, and coat.

  I flush, and for a second ponder telling him the truth. But that would be stupid. “Brunch. With my aunt.” It’s not a lie, really. We actually will probably get brunch after my doctor’s appointment. “Do all the boys get up this early on a Saturday?” I try, in the hopes that he’ll mention something about Alec, and if he’s up, too. He smiles in that preparatory way that will surely lead to a juicy story or some information.

  “You like him, don’t you?” he asks.

  “Like who?” I say, knowing full well he means Alec. But Will is not exactly my friend, and I’m not exactly sure it’s safe to say anything at all to anyone.

  “Don’t pretend now,” he says. “He tells me everything.”

  I blush and look away.

  “So, do you like him?”

  “Maybe,” I finally say.

  “You’re not like Bette, so I like you. I could get to like you and him together.” He shifts the icepack around on his knee, and plays with his hair. June calls him “Carrot Top” in private. “Yeah. Maybe the two of you won’t be so bad.”