Under the paper is a cardboard box poked with holes. It holds a glass orb filled with soil, rocks, sand, and strange bright plants in purples and greens. Some are freckled, with thick, fleshy stems. Others are spiky and ridged. There’s even a cute little three-fingered cactus. The terrarium fits in my hands like a cantaloupe.
“They’re suc-succulents.” He stumbles over the term, and I fill it in for him. “I don’t really know what that means, but I bought them at the farmers’ market near the Museum of Natural History. I built it for you. I thought, you know, these could replace—” I put my finger to his mouth. I don’t want to talk about my butterflies. I don’t ever want to think about what happened to them again.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” The words fall out lopsided and tangled with one another, like I’ve never received a gift before. I try to keep my voice steady.
“I know it all must be hard.” He plays with my hair, tucking and untucking that section near my ear. “Coming back to the conservatory to dance.”
“I just like being here with you.” I kiss him again until someone calls his name from the hall.
We go back down another set of stairs. “Your home is beautiful,” I say to him.
“It never used to look this way,” he whispers close to my ear. “My stepmother changed everything. Renovated it for two years, and it feels more like a hotel than a real home.” He opens the doors to the dining room, and there she is with an unamused expression on her face, like she heard what he said.
“Hello, Giselle.” She takes my hands and kisses both of my cheeks. “So happy you could join us tonight.” Her lips are cold.
The table is decked out with candles, flowers, and ribbons. Sophie wears a crown of flowers, and she’s laughing with three other girls I’ve seen at the conservatory. They swallow their laughter after seeing me. I wonder if I should print out a sign that says Did Not Break and tape it to my chest and back, like an audition number. Then all the questions people are thinking when I’m not around might go away.
I’ve only said a handful of words to Sophie. She watched our Level 7 classes last year, and if our eyes met, she would smile and I would smile back, but it’s never been more than just that.
“Happy birthday, Soph,” Alec shouts out and rushes over to kiss her cheek. She squirms away from him.
“Lay off,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“You know Gigi, right?”
“Of course, everybody does.” Her friends parrot her and nod their heads. Their eyes volley around the room from me to each other and back again.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
When Sophie looks at me, I see Alec’s blue eyes and how the corners of hers crinkle up just like his when she smiles.
“Please sit.” His stepmother motions at two empty seats at the table. Her nails are painted cream and a diamond bracelet rings her thin wrist. She’s so put together she looks more like a portrait than a person. I know she isn’t Alec’s mother, who went back to England after the divorce, but she has the same blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pale white skin. Like Mr. Lucas buys them from the same factory every time. Mr. Lucas kisses Sophie on the top of the head before he takes his seat at the head of the table.
“I can’t believe Alec’s never brought you over for dinner before,” Mrs. Lucas says.
“Yes, why is that?” I tease him.
“We’ve always been too busy.” He reaches for a roll that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I look around and catch the back of a woman dressed in a maid’s uniform. It reminds me of a Halloween costume from one of those tacky stores, except unsexy. I try to imagine Mama and Daddy at this birthday party. Mama likes messy food, she calls it—family-style dishes that litter even her nicest tablecloths with remnants of her cooking—and lots of laughter and singing until the neighbors call and tell them the music on her old record player is too loud.
The dining room door swings open. “Sorry I’m late.” Cassie’s voice rings through the room like a bell.
Mr. Lucas stands up to hug her, and he kisses both her cheeks. Cassie makes her rounds—tickles Sophie’s neck, acknowledges each of Sophie’s little petit rat friends, thumps Alec’s ear, and kisses her stepaunt on the cheek. She winks at me and takes her place to the left of Sophie. I’m actually happy to see her.
The server returns with a porcelain bowl. No one says thank you as she ladles the thick, rich potato leek soup into our bowls, but I whisper it.
Her smile is faint and brief as she moves on to Alec’s bowl.
“How’s Level 6 with Armeiskaya?” I ask Sophie.
“She’s always pushing— ‘Swing, swing! Your legs are too heavy. Lift from the top of the head! Turn faster!’” one of the girls mimics.
The soup disappears before I can finish. It’s replaced with a perfect portion of salmon and green beans.
Mrs. Lucas waves her hand in the air. “No ballet talk please. It sets you all on a rampage. I need one ballet-free night.”
A deep blush settles on my cheeks and I chew several green beans in succession. I stab my fork too hard on the plate and the sound it makes brings everyone’s eyes back on me.
“Everything okay, Giselle?” Mrs. Lucas asks, her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting with concern.
“Yes. Great. Everything is delicious.”
“I see that you enjoy green beans. I’ll have Marietta serve you more.” Mrs. Lucas motions at the woman who stands off to the side awaiting anyone’s wants or needs.
“Oh, I really shouldn’t have any more,” I say.
“I insist. You barely touched the salmon.”
“I have a slight fish allergy,” I say.
“Oh, my apologies,” she says. “I called Alec several times to go over the menu with him.”
Alec’s jaw clenches.
“I could never quite get him on the phone.” She waves at the servant. “Please serve Giselle something else. That’s so funny. Bette was allergic to fish, too.”
The woman approaches with green beans, piling them on my plate. The room freezes. Alec lets his fork hit the table and sighs. Bette’s name feels like a pinch.
“What would you like? I can have something else made for you.”
“No, it’s fine, Mrs. Lucas. I’m pretty full from the soup, the green beans, and salad.”
“Name it. Marietta, here, is a fine cook. What about some steak? We have a few nice fillets in the fridge. Or farfalle carbonara? That only takes a second.”
“Mrs. Lucas, it’s okay.”
“Don’t be silly. What would your parents think? You must—”
“Back off, Colette,” Alec says.
“Aunt Colette, I think she’s fine,” Cassie adds.
“Honey, it’s okay.” Mr. Lucas pats her hand.
“Yes, Mrs. Lucas, everything has been delicious. Wonderful. I am full. I promise.”
Her forehead creases. “I was just—”
Alec gets up from the table and cuts her off. “Let’s go.”
“Now just wait a minute.” Mr. Lucas stands, but Alec is already halfway to the door.
“No, we have to get back to the dorms.” Alec storms out of the room.