Tiny Pretty Things Page 20

I stretch my leg across the barre in studio G, and can’t keep myself from smiling in the mirror. Valentine’s night, she came home all forlorn, like something went wrong on her oh-so-perfect date with Alec. She was all sweaty and worked up, so she’d either been dancing or something else entirely. But she had a paper towel wrapped around something she was trying to hide, something she tucked into the drawer, hoping I wouldn’t notice, before she went off to shower. Of course, as soon as she was gone, I peeked. Photos of Bette and Alec. Pretty much naked. Bette is confident. And a true bitch to leave those for her.

  I turn sideways in the mirror, and run my fingers over my stomach and hips. I’ve never been naked in front of a boy. Not counting summers in Jayhe’s paddling pool when we were little. I could see why Gigi was upset. But she never said anything about it—not to me, anyway—and the next day, she and Alec seemed fine. He came and got her in the morning, and they went on a walk or something. Now, it seems like they’re tighter than ever. She spends every waking minute with him, dancing, rehearsing, studying. And who knows what else. Maybe she has something to prove. To him. To herself. It can’t be easy following Bette. Onstage or in life. I know I wouldn’t want to be in her place.

  As I finish my cooldown, the studio’s empty—except for my mirror image staring back at me from every corner of the room. In an instant, I hate the way I look. My eyes are shallow, my cheeks splotchy. I wish they’d keep the mirrors covered. I’m sick of looking at myself. I danced well, but when I’m not on my toes, a weariness settles in, the exhaustion visible. It doesn’t suit me. I have to shake it off. I bury the voice inside that whispers You need to eat more if you want energy and strength. I stretch out into a deep V, laying my chest down on the floor, spreading my arms out to reach for my extended toes. I can feel the pain in my muscles as they tighten and spasm, then release, a calm washing over me. I rise, and realize I’m not alone. Someone’s watching me.

  Jayhe.

  He’s standing in the doorway, and he ducks his head a little, suddenly bashful, when he catches me catching him. I can’t help it, it makes me grin. The kiss we shared seems like ages ago. Now, I can taste it on my lips.

  “Hey,” he says. “You did good.”

  I nod, still smiling, and he takes that as an invitation. Which it was. Maybe. He walks in and plops down across from me. I’m so shocked I don’t know what to do. “You’ve been working hard, huh? Sei-Jin said you got a solo.”

  I nod again and stand, taking a sip of water from my bottle. I wonder what else she says about me. Why would she share that I got a solo?

  I start to gather my stuff. I quickly realize I smell like stale sweat and probably the same ginseng soap his mom uses, and want to put some distance between us. But he stands, too, as if to follow.

  “Where are you headed now?” he asks, standing not a foot away. There’s a smirk playing on his lips—which are so pink and so pale—as if he knows he’s up to no good.

  “Where’s Sei-Jin?” I ask.

  “Studying.” He shrugs. “She’s got a pre-calc test tomorrow, and she’s been really cranky lately. I told her I’d see her later. And I . . . don’t know . . . was thinking about . . . uh . . .” He shrugs again, suddenly unsure of himself. “You hungry?”

  I look at him, shocked at his request. Then, I gaze down at my dance clothes, feeling a bit naked. I’m a mess. I’m exhausted. But this is too good a chance to pass up. And I should eat something.

  “Let me go change.”

  I’ve been so distracted obsessing about finding my father that I’ve neglected my plans for Sei-Jin. But Jayhe’s walking right into my trap. Or maybe, just maybe, he actually likes me?

  Half an hour later, after a quick shower—for which I stole some of Gigi’s strawberry-scented body wash—we’re at the diner down the block. None of the ABC dancers ever come here. It’s all burgers and grilled cheese and other stuff they’d never touch. Me neither, usually. But today I’m starving. I order a chili cheeseburger and a Coke. Not diet. I’ve never eaten anything like this. Jayhe grins at me.

  “You sure?” he says, sipping his coffee. “I thought you dancers didn’t eat.” He pauses. “Sei-Jin hardly eats.”

  The waitress brings a bread basket by and I reach right into it, like I’m a normal girl, buttering the bread and taking a big bite. I haven’t had butter in, literally, years. It’s rough going down, like I can feel the fat coating my insides. But I make myself swallow. I’m going to be a different June today. A regular girl. The one Jayhe knew all those years ago.

  “You never come down to the old neighborhood anymore,” he says, taking a piece of bread himself. No butter. “To church on Sundays or to the festivals.”

  “I don’t really know anyone there anymore,” I say, taking another bite. “Except my mom. And she’s too busy for things like that.”

  “Yeah, I heard that her company is doing great.”

  I nod. The table groans under the weight of all the food the waitress lays down in front of us. Jayhe immediately reaches for one of my fries, then dips it into the meat sauce on his spaghetti. The sight of it makes my stomach turn. My chili burger sits in front of me, expectant. Taunting. I’ve ordered it. But I don’t know if I can actually bring myself to eat it.

  “Does your mom want you to join her company? Or, like, go to college?”

  “I want to dance,” I tell him, hoisting up the burger and holding it in front of my face. Half the chili slips out the other side, plopping down on the plate like a dead animal. Which pretty much is what it is. I can taste the bile in my throat. “I’m going to dance.”

  “Sei-Jin is applying to Harvard and Princeton,” Jayhe says, reaching for another fry. “She’s going to study orthopedics.” He dips it in his meat sauce. “You know, be a bone doctor. She thinks the dancing will make her stand out.”

  He won’t stop talking about Sei-Jin. If I want my plan to work, I have to take control of this situation. I have to get him to stop thinking (and talking) about Sei-Jin. And I can’t believe she doesn’t want to go into a company. To at least try to audition for a company. To be a professional dancer. Will she throw it all away? What’s the point of it all if she doesn’t want to be a ballerina?

  I make myself take a bite. The meat is still a bit bloody and salty in my mouth. The chili is hot and pungent, savory. The whole combination is delicious, unlike anything I’ve tasted. I swallow, and take another bite. Then another.

  Jayhe grins at me. “Good, huh?” he says, twirling his spaghetti and slurping it up. He lifts his fork to me. “Wanna try it?”

  I lean forward, just enough so that the V-neck of my sweater slinks low, and take the hand holding the fork, bringing it to my mouth. I slurp the spaghetti, just like he did, and grin. “Delicious.”

  I eat a fry, and then another, and another. Then look back up at him. He has a glint in his eye. I look down at my plate, sure I’m blushing, as the heat creeps down my neck. I look back up at him.

  “So what will happen with you and Sei-Jin once she’s off to Princeton or Harvard?” I ask. Jayhe’s a smart kid, but he’s hardly Ivy material.

  He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll see her around,” he says. “My parents want me to go to Queensborough, then help with the restaurants. Even marry her, maybe, ’cause her dad’s so influential in Seoul.”

  “Is that what you want?” I ask, leaning forward again, looking right into his eyes. They’re dark chocolate and sleepy.

  He shrugs again, then takes another few bites. “I still want to draw.”

  Ever since we were little, Jayhe scribbled all over everything. He’d draw the old animes we watched at his halmeoni’s house, and he made endless portraits of me. I didn’t know he still did it. But I’m glad.

  “I’d love to see some of your art sometime,” I say, picking at my fries. My stomach is screaming in protest, but I make myself take another bite. A normal girl. “If you’ll show me.�
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  It’s almost dark as we head back to the dorm, walking through the leftover February snow in March, and I’m grateful, for once, that Gigi’s obsessed with Alec. She’s been holed up in his room for days, and I know she won’t be back till bedtime. Or later.

  Jayhe sits on my bed, completely comfortable, as if he’s been here a gazillion times, as if we’re just the same as we were once, long ago. I don’t know why he’s being so nice. I don’t know why he’s hanging out, pretending nothing’s changed, after so many years of ignoring me. I don’t ask him. I try not to care. It was thrilling sneaking him upstairs without being spotted by Sei-Jin or the other Korean girls.

  I sit next to him, and we pore over his draft book, which he had stashed in his bag. He points out this drawing or that. His drawings are so good, so familiar, a grown-up version of his classic bold strokes, still with that wild touch of whimsy. As we reach the end, he tries to close the book, pulling it out of my hands.

  “Wait,” I say, pulling it back. “I’m not done yet.” In the back, there are drawings of a dancer, long and lithe, all sharp angles and soft curves. They’re beautiful.

  It takes me a minute to realize they’re not of Sei-Jin. “She’s me,” I say.

  He looks at me then, for a long time. Like he’s making up for all the moments we lost. My heart leaps, and my stomach lurches, but this time it’s not the bile that’s with me all the time. “I drew them the other day, when I was watching you. I don’t really know why.”

  His fingers graze my arm, the heat of them penetrating through my sweater. He touches my cheekbones, my jawline, studying me, memorizing me.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says. And then he leans in, kissing me.

  My heart is hammering and my brain churning with thoughts of chili and onion breath and how it’s finally happening for real and how I should have brushed or maybe thrown up or a gazillion other things. But he just leans close, his breath on my ear, and says “Sssshhh,” as if he can hear my thoughts going a mile a minute, as if he’s known what I’ve been thinking all along.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s okay.”

  It’s dark when Gigi finally comes in. Jayhe left hours ago and since then, I’ve been lying on the bed, emptied and brushed and scrubbed clean, but I can still feel all the places where his lips have been, like he’s marked me. Like I really am a different June.

  After Jayhe left, I showered, and I looked at myself, naked, in the mirror, for a long time. I saw the way my ribs jutted and the way my backbone arched, visible, when I turned. And I thought, Maybe if he could find me beautiful, I could be. And I was so excited, and I couldn’t wait to see him again and kiss him again and I almost didn’t even care about how it will affect Sei-Jin. Almost.

  But then I threw up. I had to. I couldn’t hold it all in, not anymore. I weighed myself on the small scale I’ve got hidden in the closet—102. My first thought was to head back to the bathroom, or to the studio to dance it off. But, exhausted, I dressed in my oldest flannel pajamas and climbed into bed. It’s been three hours now, and the shadows have fallen, and they’re preying, like the old beasts Jayhe’s grandma used to tell us about, feasting on my mind.

  I have to tell someone. And since I can’t tell anyone else, it’ll have to be Gigi. She startles me when she comes in, flips on the light, and finds me sitting straight up in bed. “Oh, I thought I was alone,” she says with an awkward giggle. “Were you sleeping?”

  “I kissed someone today.”

  She grins. “Fun!” She shuffles around the room, taking off her snow boots, tossing her ski cap in the corner, shaking out her curls. “Anyone I know?”

  “I can’t say. But I had to tell someone.”

  I look up at her, and she has that glow, the light flush of first love, like a light’s been switched on inside her. Maybe I have that glow, too? “He thinks I’m beautiful.”

  “Of course he does, June,” she says, her smile genuine. “You are beautiful.”

  I smile back at her, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself think it’s true. I lie back down on the bed, tired but happy, as she shuffles about, getting ready for bed. Then I realize what I’ve done.

  “Gigi,” I whisper, just as she opens the door to head to the showers. “Gigi, you can’t tell anyone, though.” She looks surprised, conflicted, as if she’s tired of keeping my secrets. “No one can know.”

  She nods, quiet, and shuts the door behind her.

  25

  Gigi

  “SOMEONE TELL ME THE STORY of Giselle,” Mr. K says at the start of rehearsal.

  “She came here from California,” Will calls out, winking at me. There’s a twitter of giggles from some younger Level 5 and 6 girls who still think he might be straight, but the rest of us maintain serious faces. Mr. K doesn’t really have a sense of humor.

  “Someone tell me the story of the ballet Giselle, please,” Mr. K says. His face is stern. “I didn’t think I had to specify that. I didn’t know you all wanted to behave like idiots tonight.”

  Hands go up and he scans them, settling on Eleanor to answer.

  “Yes, Miss Alexander, please tell us what this ballet is about.”

  She bites her fingernail before starting. Bette cringes. “Giselle is about a young peasant woman who falls in love with a nobleman.”

  “Is that all?” he asks.

  Her face turns pink as she opens her mouth to continue, but Bette interjects, “And because she’s not allowed to love him, she dies of a broken heart.” Her tone is cold and matter-of-fact as she glances back at me, flashing her big, feathery eyes in my direction.

  Mr. K rubs his beard. “Must be the ides of March. You all aren’t thinking.” He paces before the mirror. “The ballet Giselle is about much, much more. You all have simplified the story. Taken out the most important part. The heart of it all. It’s about nature and fate and love and desire.” He points to the ceiling. “It’s about the gods.” He shakes his head, then continues: “Giselle loves someone she isn’t supposed to. And he loves her.”

  Alec pulls me into his chest and wraps his arm around my waist. I feel his heart thumping, his thumb pressing into my hipbone. We’re back to normal after our fight on Valentine’s Day. He swung by my room the next morning, and I took him to my little corner of Central Park, which was totally deserted. It looked like one of those I ♥ NY ads, the untouched snow, the trees weighed down in white, the morning quiet. And there, I told him. Not about my heart. But about my run-in with Bette. About what she said about the hotel, and that I couldn’t compete with that. That I’m a virgin, and even though I really like him a lot—and if I’m being honest with myself, even though I may love him—I’m not ready for that. Not yet. And he took my hand and was so sweet when he told me that he liked me so much, too much. He said he’d wait, that we could go as fast or as slow as I wanted. That we’re on my timeline. That we don’t ever have to. That made me feel better; it did. For a minute. But then: those pictures.

  I watch Bette, sighing and rolling her eyes and being dramatic as Mr. K continues his lecture. I can hardly look at her after seeing those naked photos of her on Valentine’s Day. I haven’t told anyone, not even Alec. I want to trust what he says, but I’m waiting for him to be honest with me—about what he had with Bette. They’ve known each other forever. They come from the same kind of family; they both belong in this world. He and I, we’re all wrong together. Could his feelings for me ever be that strong?

  “But the forces of nature did not commend this union. It was not sanctioned. This must be a hard thing for you all to make sense of. It is an Old World idea of fate,” Mr. K goes on, certainly enjoying the sound of his own voice and the adoring looks he gets from the ballerinas. “Today, if you want something, you go after it. But people did not always believe this. And, as is still true today, when you go against fate, the result can be dangerous.” He mutters so
mething in Russian to the teachers, and I wish I knew what it was.

  I catch Bette’s eye. She is staring me down. Her pink lips turn up at the corners, the hint of her one dimple barely indenting the surface of her perfect face.

  I try to focus and soak in Mr. K’s words. The first time I ever saw Giselle was when my mother took me to the San Francisco Ballet. I practically held my breath the entire time as that ballerina glided across the stage, shimmering as if her delicate arms and legs were made of stars. I loved that we shared a name and I felt an immediate kinship with the role, even though I was certain I’d never be in love quite like that. Now I lean a little more heavily against Alec, wondering if maybe I’m finally tasting the kind of romance that drives the ballet.

  “In life there are many things beyond your control. And in ballet, even more so.” Mr. K’s voice fills the room. “Some are born to dance, some are born with afflictions—things that stand in the way. And some are born in second place, always in the shadows of others, and no matter how hard they try or how hard they work, they’ll never surpass them. That is what this ballet is about,” he says. “The forces of nature. What is written in the sky. What you are born with. Butterflies, I need to feel love and danger in your variations. I need to experience the joy and sorrow of destiny.” He finishes and waves us off. “Alec, Gigi, show me what you’ve got so far.”

  The teachers turn their backs and walk to their chairs at the front of the studio. Alec sneaks and kisses me on the mouth, like Mr. K’s speech was a direct order to us. His hands cup my face, and I have never been steadier, held like that. After a few moments, he pushes his hands back so that his fingers find the back of my neck. I gasp at the spark of desire.

  We move to the center. It’s supposed to be midnight in the peasant village cemetery, and I’m in a world of female spirits who have died before their wedding nights. I inch forward in tiny half steps on pointe as the light gradually illuminates my path. I am dead, my skin and hair powdered white, transforming me into Giselle. My body blending with the stark whiteness of my long white practice tutu.