I’m in bed, the boring book I have to read for Lit class on my lap, the blankets piled high on my legs to keep my feet cozy. Jayhe’s texting drawings for his art class—the ballerina series he’s doing based on me—and joy flushes through me like too much sugar, leaving me giddy and off-balance. I almost turn to show it to Cassie, who’s at her desk, listening to the Odile sequence on repeat. But then I remember it’s her, and not Gigi, and I feel that familiar pang again, missing Gigi despite myself.
Cassie’s hunched over her laptop, her back to me as she plucks pieces of dried apricot from a bowl by her side. The chewing is incessant—the swish, swish, swish of it. I kind of want to throw something at her. Or throw up. But I can’t, not with her here. So I just glare until she says, “You know, you could take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
The blush takes over before I can even respond. “Those aren’t allowed.” I stand up, suppressing the urge to grab the bowl and dump it. “The sugar attracts bugs. You’re supposed to leave that stuff in the kitchen area.”
“Oh, poor me. I’m so scared of little E-Jun ratting me out.” Her voice is so frigid that it makes me shiver.
I can feel her coldness deep inside. Most people just see those bright blue eyes and straight white teeth when she flashes that pageant grin. Most people remember how well she danced. Most people remember what all of us did to her when she was here before. They don’t realize that maybe she deserved it. So I just grit my teeth and try to focus. But that’s hard to do, given the commotion in the hall. I hear knocks on the doors in quick succession.
An RA check. What perfect timing! I watch her face, the panic quickly spreading over it.
“What’s that?” Cassie scrambles up, knocking the bowl over on her desk. She should be scooping up the apricots, getting them out of sight, but instead she opens the drawer and grabs something from it—a small white box—and shoves it into the pocket of her robe.
I calmly answer the knock at our door, making sure to flash Cassie a smile. It’s one of the RAs. “Room check,” she announces in that bad cop voice she always uses. “Up and out!”
She barges in and starts rummaging through the room, running her hand over our beds, combing through drawers, looking in the closet, checking the cleanliness of the bathroom. She spies Cassie’s fruit on the table and dumps it in the trash bag she’s carrying. Cassie opens her mouth to object, but the RA cuts her off. “These are not allowed in your room. Give me an attitude, and I’ll write you up.”
I offer up a demure nod and smile. As the RA turns to leave, I reach out. “Wait—” And I swear, in that moment, Cassie’s pale skin goes translucent, the blue veins on her face a map that could lead someone right to the truths she’s hiding. Instead, I pick up a fallen fruit from the hardwood and hand it to the RA. “You missed a piece.” I flash my sweetest smile.
Cassie glares, but I refuse to cower. This time, I win.
As the RA disappears around the corner, I let my eyes drop, following Cassie’s pale arm down. Her fist is clenched tight around the pillbox she’s put in her pocket. I can’t stop the smug smile that pops on my face.
10.
Bette
IT’S HALLOWEEN, A NIGHT OF costumes and secret identities, and I let myself sink into a role as I sneak into the ABC lobby. The school’s all decked out—cobwebs stretch over the benches in the plaza named after my great-grandmother, glowing pumpkins sit on every step leading up to the front door, and spooky cutouts plaster the studio’s glass walls. Ghosts, ghouls, and tombstones freckle the glass. Costumed bodies move in and out of the various studios. The conservatory’s cheesy Halloween party is in full swing.
I’m a court jester, with a sparkling green-and-purple mini-romper, my hair tucked under a green velvet cap, green stilettos sky-high, and most important, a clever Venetian-style mask that covers the top half of my face. Three years ago, Eleanor and I went to this lame party together as Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. Back then we actually thought it was fun to be around everyone, drinking warm pumpkin cider and bobbing for apples and playing all the games the RAs set up for us. Everyone had told us how cute our outfits were. I’d dressed up Eleanor in feathery wings and a silver leotard and enough makeup to put a room full of glamorous drag queens to shame. We’d laughed the whole time about secrets and boys and ballet class as we played dress-up, danced, got a little crazy, and pranced around the Halloween party like we owned the place. The desire to be back in that space and time is so strong it’s drowning me.
But I need to focus. I’ve got a plan tonight.
I slip right into the costumed pack of ballerinas. The front desk guard doesn’t look at me twice or ask me for my ID. I belong here. It’s imprinted on me.
The whole school is spread out among the four studios on the ground floor. Every muscle in my body squeezes as I step into Studio B, where the upper students are. I spot Alec easily costumed as a pirate. Gigi is at his side, dressed as a damsel. Couple’s costumes, how cute. And boring.
I hear Gigi say, “Arrgghh, shiver me timbers.” Then she lifts a long, lean leg, all sexy. It doesn’t even sound like her. It sounds like something flirtatious and perfect. Something that I might say.
The room vibrates a little, a deep bass line thumping through from the records the DJ’s spinning in the far corner. My heart flutters when Alec walks close by me—and I catch a whiff of that warm, soapy scent, so familiar and comforting—as he heads toward a table boasting orange-tinted treats. I feel his eyes drift over me, but he doesn’t stop. I wonder if he can smell me, too. If he remembers my scent like I do his.
The room is streamered with black and orange decorations. Old wooden trees from the Giselle set were taken out and positioned in the studio corners and draped with more cobwebs. The mirror is caked with fake dust, probably makeup. Lightbulbs swing overhead, making a shifting menagerie of shadows dance on the walls. And then there is an intangible thing, a terrible energy from all that’s happened in the school in the past year, the strange echo of the things I’ve done. Things I’ve started.
I will my hands to stop shaking, taking care to stay away from the mirror where I wrote Gigi that message. There are too many terrible memories packed into such a tiny space, now also brimming with underdressed, underfed bodies. Everyone is taking Halloween too seriously. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to have fun and be around people who know and love ballet as much as I do. That was the best part of this whole place.
I scan the crowd for Eleanor, but she’s nowhere to be found. Or maybe she’s costumed beyond recognition.
A girl I don’t know waves at me. She’s obviously a cat, with a leotard and ears and very little else on. She’s tiny, or maybe my eyes are used to real-world bodies now that I don’t live here anymore. Her kneecaps are strange and bulbous on her twiggy legs, and even the tiniest suede skirt threatens to fall from her hips. Whatever butt she might’ve had is nonexistent, her thighs meet her hip bones in what looks like a painful arrow. I can practically hear the bones grinding against each other as she walks toward me.
“Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me,” I mumble under my breath. But I’m not that lucky.