Shiny Broken Pieces (27 page)

ALL MY THINGS FIT NEATLY
into the three new suitcases Mama sent me. They stare up at me. Tights, leotards, ballet slippers, ribbons, hairnets, pins. The pieces of my life at the conservatory headed back to California with no real purpose anymore. I fold the rest of my tights and bag up pointe shoes that still have life in them, thinking I'll take a class or two in San Francisco. I squeeze the last few things inside.

I gaze around the room. It's naked, unfamiliar. The linens are stripped from the beds. The walls are bare. The closet is full of lonely wire hangers. No terrarium sits on the windowsill. There's no trace that I ever lived here.

Mama never said I told you so. She never looked pleased or even mentioned being happy that I'm headed home. I think she gets it now, finally, what I've lost. What I'm mourning.

What's next?
I flush with worries and unanswered questions.

Mr. K's question replays in my head:
Do you still love ballet?

The answer booms straight through me:
Yes!

Disappointment sets in again. I didn't audition anywhere else. I fixated on the American Ballet Company. Now I have no place to go but home, jobless. My truce with Mama will only last so long before she starts in with the college talk.

A knock interrupts my pity party. “Come in.”

The door creaks open. I see a white hand and in it a tiny origami airplane. Alec's buzzed blond head peeks in.

I slip the origami plane from his hands. The edges are perfectly creased and the plane's wings so light when I bounce it, they flap up and down.

“You ready?” he says.

“No.”

He tucks my hair behind my ear. We haven't talked about what's going to happen to us, or if there's even an us left. He's moving into the company apartments. He's got an apprentice spot at ABC, along with Henri. He's starting his life as a professional dancer. A life we were supposed to have together.

“You think this whole thing is karma?”

“For what? You're a good person.” His blue eyes flicker with confusion.

“I wasn't myself this year.”

“I don't think any of us were, really.”

“I let all of it turn me into someone I wasn't.” I think about soaking Sei-Jin's shoes in vinegar, about sending Bette magazines, about cutting June's hair, about giving Eleanor peanuts, about trying to put those pictures of June up. I think about how good I felt doing it. I think about Cassie, about all the times we
sat and plotted and said horrible things about people. I think about how different I was last year. “I feel like—maybe—if I had just forgiven Bette, and even Will, things might've turned out differently.”

“I can't ever forgive Will.” His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “I still can't believe he did that. There's nothing that can explain it.”

“I'm just tired of being so angry. I feel like it defined me this year. I feel like I let it distract me. That's why they didn't pick me.”

He shakes his head, taking my hands. “You can start over now.”

I want to tell him that I don't want to start over. I want to be right here with him. He lifts me up into his arms. I tuck my face into the nook between his shoulder and his neck. I take in a breath and try to hold the smell of him inside me. I don't know when I'll see him again. I don't know if I'll ever see him.

“I wish we didn't have that fight.” The words land against his skin. “I wish we hadn't wasted that time, now that I'm leaving.”

“Me, too.” He kisses my neck, then finds my mouth. His tongue parts my teeth. I taste the slice of pineapple he must've just had. His hands hold me just like we're beginning a
pas de deux
. Their warmth find its way through my clothes and into my skin. I wonder what life would've been like if I had gotten chosen as one of the apprentices. Would we be back together?

He traces his fingers along the curves of my face. He counts the freckles.

“What are you doing?”

“Memorizing your face.”

A smile bubbles up inside me.

“I don't want you to leave.” His fingers find my mouth and chin.

“I don't want to leave New York. I don't want to leave you.”

An RA yells from the hall that the airport shuttle is out front. My stomach does a flip. Alec squeezes me one more time.

“You can always come back. There are other companies here. The American Ballet Theatre. The Dance Theatre of Harlem.”

“I just thought I'd be—”

“I know. I did, too.”

He moves my suitcases into the hall. The RAs load them onto a cart to bring downstairs for the shuttle to the airport.

“Gigi, let's go,” the RA calls out.

I linger in the room and take it in one last time. I slip my phone from my pocket and group text Mama, Dad, and Aunt Leah that I'm leaving the school for the airport. My finger scrolls past Will's name in my contact list.

“Gigi!” Alec calls from the hall. “We gotta go.”

I type three words to Will:
I forgive you.

I hit Send, then delete and block the contact.

I close the door, and walk away from the American Ballet Conservatory for the very last time.

ELEANOR IS TUCKED INTO HER
childhood canopy bed, her cheeks rosy, and I feel like we're six again. Her room still has the buttercup yellow wallpaper, a dollhouse, and a collection of plastic horses peeking out from her bookshelf. It's so weird to see her here. This room doesn't feel like she belongs in it anymore after all our years at the conservatory.

I thought she wouldn't want to see me after everything that happened. But when I called her mother, she invited me right over, said Eleanor had been waiting for me to call.

“How are you?” I'm lying on the pillow beside her, and we're face-to-face. I try to sink into the bed, not let the anxiety of everything that happened this year linger between us.

“Better.”

I don't know if I believe her. Bandages cover her wrists, and her eyes are rimmed with purple and black half-moons. Her skin is translucent and little tremors make her hands shake a little.

“I'm sorry about everything getting out,” I say to just rip the Band-Aid off. “The pictures, all of it.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Someone took my phone.”

“I know.” She smiles at me for the first time in what feels like forever, and in this moment I feel like nothing has changed, even though everything has shifted into unrecognizable shapes. “I'm glad you got the spot,” she says. “You worked really hard.”

“So did you.”

“I just don't have it in me. Not like you do.” She sighs. “Not the talent, not the stamina, not the charisma. That's why I felt like I had to—” She stops there, afraid to say too much.

“You're stronger than you think, El.”

“Just not strong enough.” She lies flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It feels like I'm losing her again, like she'll shut me out for good this time. But then I feel the tremor move through her and right into me, and I know what she's thinking. About him. About them. About things I might never understand. I always felt like the grown-up, worldly one of us, but she's so far out of my reach now, I'll never catch up.

“It's not your fault, Eleanor. No one blames you.”

“But they should. I knew what I was doing. It started out as a tease, just to see what would happen. But I got caught up in the glamour of it. The attention, the adoration. The way he looked at me. It was all about the power. It had nothing to do with dancing at all.”

I inch closer to her. “This wasn't your fault.” I say it again, because she needs to hear it. “Everything got all messed up. You
didn't do this all on your own.”

“Bette, I can't blame him.”

“Why not? I do.” I force her to turn over and face me. Her eyes brim with tears, which cause mine to do the same. “He's the grown-up here, Eleanor, and what they say is true. He's power mad, a predator. You weren't the first, and you likely won't be the last. But not if I get my way, Eleanor. Because I'm going to make him pay.”

“Don't you dare, Bette Abney. I made my choices.” She blinks away falling tears and takes a deep breath. “I decided that I would allow that whole thing to happen. I touched him first.”

“But—”

“I want to let it all go. Ballet hasn't made me really happy in a long time. It's sort of messed me up.”

“I hope you know, you're a beautiful dancer. Even if I didn't tell you enough.” The truth is I should've told her all the time. I should've made sure she knew I thought she was great. I should've been a better friend. A best friend, like she was always to me. Maybe she wouldn't have done this. Maybe she would've relied on me and the strength of her feet and the beauty of her movements to get what she wanted. Maybe this thing with Mr. K would've never happened.

“I don't know what I'm going to do without ballet, but I'm excited to find out. I'm excited to learn what will actually make me happy.”

I slip my hand in hers. “You'll find something. I'll help you.”

“And you'll dance for the both of us,” she says.

“Always.”

I walk into the American Ballet Company building for the first time as a company apprentice, as a professional ballerina. It's my first ballet class after graduation. I stand in the lobby and look straight up. Pictures of the great ballet dancers seem to float down from the ceiling, held by string I can't see.

“You're a little Adele,” someone says.

I whip around.

It's Alina Rozanova, one of the soloists. She doesn't stop to chat, just smiles at me as she heads to the elevator. I want to tell her that I'm Bette, that I'm my own person, but she's already long gone.

“Hey.”

I turn, and see Alec. He's already dressed for rehearsal, in tights and a slim-fitting white T-shirt. It's only been a few weeks since I've seen him, but he looks different somehow. Bigger, more grown-up. Like the shift from student to apprentice has changed him already.

“Hey.” I kind of want to run up and jump him, to snuggle in close and inhale the clean, woodsy scent that's always Alec. But he's keeping a safe distance, his eyes on me but wary, his ears pinkening as I watch him. He rubs the back of his neck with a palm, as if he's exhausted or uncomfortable.

I take a step closer, wishing I could ease it all away, close the distance between us. But he moves back, nearly ending up against the wall, and it tells me all I need to know. We're not the same, Alec and me. We're not a we at all anymore.

He smirks, sheepish. “You excited to get started?” I nod. “So
weird, isn't it? The same, but not. Like we're tiny guppies.”

“Yeah, among the sharks. When we used to be them.” Well, me anyway. I almost have to grin at my silly joke. And it gets a smile from Alec finally. But he doesn't come closer, doesn't offer the hug I realize I've been hoping for.

“I should get moving,” he says. “I need to warm up.”

I almost ask him if he wants to stretch together. It feels so natural, so us. But he's already headed off toward Studio 3, where male soloists congregate. They shake his hand and jab at him, welcoming him to the fold like he belongs there. He's Alec Lucas, legacy, conservatory star.

So do I
, I remind myself.

I go to the ABC finance office and fill out paperwork, which I should have done last week. But as excited as I was, I didn't want to come here before it was official. I fill out a tax form and an emergency card—I put down Adele and my mom. I get paperwork about my salary and health insurance. Signing my name makes me feel like an adult. I'll be paid. This is a job now, not just my passion. After I finish filling out the paperwork, they tell me to go ahead and get ready.

I take the elevator into the empty locker room near Studio 10. I slip out of the clothes that make me just a regular girl, and into my brand-new leotard, tights, leg warmers, and a ballet sweater for this big day. I make the most perfect and important bun in my hair, and dust my face with makeup. I open a brand-new tube of Chanel pink lipstick and glide it across my mouth. I look in the mirror. I definitely look the part of the music box ballerina.

There's humming in the hall outside the locker room. I peek
out. Mr. K walks toward the elevators. The back of his head bobs up and down, and there's a smug rhythm to his steps. My breath catches in my chest. Heat rushes just beneath my skin. I might fall over from the weight of it.

I step forward. “Mr. K.”

He turns around. A smile overtakes his face. “Great to see you here at the company. I always knew that you'd make it far, Bette. You have what it takes.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Willingness to devote your life to this. To do whatever you have to.” He pats my shoulder like I'm a poodle in need of reaffirmation.

“Eleanor had the same passion.”

Her name makes him recoil. He shifts his weight back and forth, and looks like he wants to scurry off somewhere. A company member walks down the hall. He bows to Mr. K, then slips into a nearby studio.

“Have a good rehearsal, Bette. I wish you well. Make us all proud.”

I step in front of him. He tries to move left, then right. I block his path.

“You ruined her life,” I whisper.

“Ballet can ruin many people—if you're not tough. But you don't have to worry about that.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “You will be fine here. You will make yourself important because that is what this world is about. Those who aren't important don't stay. Those that are can stay no matter what they do. You will learn this. As I have.”

He slips past me and into the elevator. I think about his words for a second, feeling defeated. Is what he said true? Is it all about legacies and bloodlines and paying for spots? Or can talent raise you up, as we've always been led to believe? Would I be here if my last name wasn't Abney? If that's true, then I have nothing to lose. But he definitely does. And eventually, he's going to have to pay. I'll make sure of that.

I'm the first one in the studio. It already feels like home. I sink into a stretch on the floor. I focus on making sure this is the best first ballet class I've ever had, better than my very first ballet class with Morkie. I hear feet and sit up, thinking company dancers will come in soon.

But it's Cassie, staring down at me. “Don't get too comfortable, Bette,” Cassie says. “You won't be here for long.”

I choose to ignore her, bending back down into a deep V.

“It should've been Gigi.”

I don't get up, focusing on the floor and my breathing. “Well, you know what they say about karma.” I pause. “Which means you'll be gone soon enough.”

“I think it's you they'll be replacing.”

I rise, nearly knocking her over in the process, and start to walk away. “I'm not going anywhere, so you can drop those fantasies.”

She smiles, following right on my heels. “Did you find your phone?”

“How did you know I lost my phone?” My heart thumps. My fists ball up. I turn to face her, and she's grinning like a cat on a mouse.

“I told you that I'd never forget or forgive you for what you did to me.” Her eyes flash with rage. “That I was willing to do whatever it took.”

“You posted those pictures of Eleanor.” I step close to her. “You're the reason my best friend tried to kill herself. You.” I want to hit her in the mouth, to tear that smug grin off her face. I'm shaking.

“It's nothing worse than what you did to me.” She shoves me back. “You weren't supposed to come back. You weren't supposed to still be here.” Her face is bright red from the tip of her nose to the lobes on her ears. Like Alec's. “You should be banned from ballet and every company. I'll make sure of it.”

“There you go again, ranting and raving like a crazy person. Someone should take care of that. Lock you up again.” I look around innocently. “Where's your keeper, anyway? Did you finally scare Henri off?”

“You leave Henri out of this. He told me everything you did while I was away. How you tortured Gigi and the others. You're evil, Bette, truly.”

“I'm evil? Why don't you worry about your boyfriend? He nearly got that poor girl killed, and he messed with Will's head. He's disgusting, you know? And while you were gone, he was all over me.”

“Don't flatter yourself. I told him to get close to you.” She laughs.

“Did you tell him to kiss me?” Her face falls, her eyes wild. “Because, let me tell you, he really enjoyed his mission. Couldn't keep his hands off me. Wonder if he was up to the same antics
with Will. Maybe I'll call and—”

“You're lying.”

“You and I both know I'm not.” We're face-to-face now, so close I know she can smell my Chanel perfume and almost taste the lipstick I'm wearing. “Ask him about the mole on my rib. He'll know exactly where it is. Now, if you're done, I need to finish warming up.”

She grabs my arm. “You didn't win! Adele and Eleanor suffered because of you—everything that happened to them is your fault. You took those pictures. I did Eleanor a favor by posting them. And you were supposed to fall through the trapdoor. Not Adele. It was all for you. How can you live with yourself?” She's scratching so hard, bloody red welts have come up on my arm. “If you think I'm anywhere near done, well, you're even stupider than—”

“Cassandra, hands off Bette this instant.”

Cassie's eyes dart to the studio doorway.

Madame Dorokhova stands there, her hand to her throat, worried but composed. She's got a phone in her hand, and she dials a number quickly. “Damien. We need you in the girls' studio now.”