“What’s going on?” I say, all out of breath and too quiet for anyone to really hear me. The bodies block my vision. My heart races and my hands begin to shake as people turn to stare at me. Mr. K motions for Doubrava to come. They shout at each other in Russian. He hollers for everyone to get back.
Bette watches my face. The boys grip the curtains they’ve just pulled aside, seemingly frozen in place. People shuffle away from me and whisper. I can’t see anything over the crowd, all the bodies blocking me, fluttering around like butterflies. All I hear is my heartbeat. I push through the bodies.
Mr. K peers at the glass, shaking his head. I hear him say, “Who did this?” He turns to glare at us all. He repeats his question three more times, and lunges at us. “I will not tolerate this type of behavior in my school! Not again! Ballet is supposed to be beautiful. You’re making it ugly.”
I want to ask, “What happened?” But I swallow hard. I feel shaky.
Mr. K stalks through our now silent group. My head feels light from my racing heart and all the voices and the confusion. I get a clear look at the mirror. A message is scrawled across it in pink lipstick:
The Sugar Plum Fairy has farthest to fall.
8
Bette
FRIDAY NIGHT REHEARSAL ENDS EARLY after the message is discovered. I’m on a high with a rare chunk of free time, so I’m going to use it wisely. I took a pill after seeing the way Alec rushed to Gigi’s side after the message was revealed, and another after hearing snippets of Gigi’s conversation with Mr. K about the bullying incident and her delicate feelings.
Eleanor’s in the café, so I use our private bathroom to smooth a deep red 1940s Dior shade on my lips. But that won’t save me from the teachers’ suspicions about who did it. There will be the ones who recognized my loopy handwriting or the Chanel lipstick that is my signature color, and my sister’s signature, and originally my mother’s signature. A saturated pink that was way too obvious and will probably get me into serious trouble. But I couldn’t resist putting the message up there. It was sloppy. I didn’t even want her to see it yet. Will did that on purpose. He knows me too well. I used to be much more discreet. Undetectable.
I remember the secret pranks Liz, Eleanor, and I played on Cassie last year: putting purple hair dye in her conditioner so her blond curls got all stained, shredding up her leotards and tights just to see her get in trouble with the Russians for not having the right thing to wear for class, slashing all her shoes or soaking them in vinegar, trashing her room. But nothing compared to the look on Gigi’s face today. She’s such an easy mark. And the message was so much more clever, and the thrill of it made me feel powerful, but I can’t make the same mistakes I made last year.
I check my cell phone for a message from Alec. Nothing, but three missed calls from my mother, and no plans to call her back. I am certain Gigi’s mother bakes cookies and sends care packages and tells her she’s perfect as she is. Gigi has the glow of someone who has lucked out. She’ll probably get a special delivery after she tells them about the message and her hurt little feelings.
Leaning hard on the edges of the bathroom sink, I imagine Alec’s hands around Gigi’s waist, lifting her in a tutu and spinning her around during their pas. I imagine her liking the feel of his touch. I imagine him kissing her. I imagine him liking how different she is, her curly black hair and light brown skin and cute freckles and California mellowness. Two pills aren’t enough to erase those images and feelings. I swallow the third one dry and can taste the bitterness as it goes down. I’ll have to get more soon if I keep up this pace. The same energy that had me raring to go now gives me a new, singular focus. Find Alec.
The hum of the Adderall in my bones and buzzing in my head obliterates any sort of potential pity party. My entire body and mind want only Alec, now. After the pills, there’s only ever room for one desire at a time.
My phone buzzes, and I bristle, thinking it’s my mother harassing me still, but it’s Liz. She’s at the coffee shop on Sixty-fifth street, and, she reports, so are Alec and Will. It’s not an invitation exactly, but rather a warning. I don’t want Alec and Will alone together.
I slip off my ballet slippers and step into flats, but don’t bother actually getting dressed. Alec likes me in my leotard and dance skirt and leg warmers and slicked-back hair. He likes to pull the blond mass out of its perfect little bun and snap the leotard off my shoulders. I shiver at the thought. I should not have had that last pill. I’m practically rabid thinking about him, and that’s no way to get his attention. Alec likes me icy and unreachable.
And Will hates when I get Alec’s attention.
The evening guard has his boot heels on the front desk, his hands folded over his belly, and is in a deep sleep. I sign myself out. I slip out of the building and use the short walk to get myself under control. It’s chilly for late October. Usually New York City holds on to the summer heat a little longer. I’m shivering when I get to the coffee shop, fingernails blue. Snow Queen it is.
Alec’s at a table by the window, wrapped up in a striped scarf and a cashmere sweater. Freshmen and sophomore ballet girls watch him over calorie-filled cups. Even a study group of girls from the nearby Catholic school snatches glances at him. I hate being just one of the many girls drinking in Alec’s good looks. But here I am, standing just inside the little coffee shop and letting my gaze linger before I approach. I like seeing him when he can’t see me. No games. No pressure to look pouty and together. Just the pleasure of seeing someone beautiful and sure.
It doesn’t last.
From her corner, Liz smiles, flashing me a knowing look, as Alec waves me over. I’ll owe her one. I don’t go over to Liz’s table, not wanting Alec to know she texted me. That I have eyes everywhere. Will is behind him, partially hidden by a wooden beam. Too close to Alec. I grimace at how pathetic it makes Will look. I can never decide if I’m pissed at him or just feel bad for him.
“Here to see me?” Alec says, lighting up. I love that I have that effect on him, still.
“Of course she is,” Will says. His eyebrows reach toward each other. He used to be so fun. He used to be normal. He used to keep his feelings to himself.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” I say. I keep my lips pursed and let Alec look me over.
“I like you standing,” Alec says, trying to be edgier because I told him I liked it. Another girl could get shy in a moment like this. But I’ve been ass naked in front of costume designers and teachers and classmates. I’ve had them pinch my sides and weigh me in public and measure every last inch of me to see how far away from perfection I am. So I’m not shy. I put a hand on one of my hips. I let him take me in. He’s probably right. They’re probably all looking at me. I’m a prima ballerina, no matter what Mr. K has to say about it, and the rest of them can see it all over me.