Tiny Pretty Things

by Sona Charaipotra

  “Bette, what is it?” She doesn’t move to the side to let me in. “It’s late. Everyone’s sleeping.” She lives with three other American Ballet Company members.

  “Can I come in?” I ask. “It’s only eleven.”

  “And tomorrow’s opening night for our Nutcracker season. Or did you forget?” Her eyebrow lifts, and she leans forward just like our mother to inspect me.

  The fog of Alec’s breakup and losing the Sugar Plum Fairy is distracting me from things I’m supposed to know. I should have the company’s opening nights and closing nights memorized if I want to be part of them one day. I should’ve remembered that she does eight ballets a season as a soloist, so she’s perpetually tired and distracted.

  “Your pupils are all dilated.” She reaches a hand for my locket before I can step back. “Chill with these, okay?”

  I pull away. I thought my pills were a secret. “With what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. I can tell.”

  I’ve never been quite good at lying to my sister. “I’ve just . . . it’s just—I just—”

  “Go back to the dorms. Take a hot shower. Until you’re pink. Until you’ve gotten it together. Then call me. Tomorrow.” She closes the door before I can say anything else, and there I am, alone again.

  The next day, Mr. K cuts rehearsal short, and if I was the kind of girl that sent thank-you notes, I’d send him one. Being around Alec after the news he dropped on me is too much. So I choose to not deal with it. Instead, I focus on the glitter. It’s all about the glitter. Red lips, eyes lined in purple, glitter on my cheeks, my shoulders, my collarbone, any part of me I want them to look at.

  “Whoa,” Eleanor says when she opens the door to our room. I haven’t chosen a dress yet, so I’m mostly naked, except for heels and layers of makeup and my locket.

  “Get your ass in gear.” I’m dragging her out tonight for a little fun and distraction. It’s Saturday, after all, and normal sixteen-year-olds in New York City would be out.

  “Rehearsal sucked, huh?” Eleanor says, stripping off her leotard and tights. Her hair’s still in a bun and I reach over to undo it myself. “Alec joining us?”

  I flinch, signaling to her that I don’t want to talk about it. I haven’t told her or Liz anything. I don’t even want to picture his face: his smile full of pity while watching me dance the Snow Queen variation and not the Sugar Plum Fairy, the sound of his whistle after Gigi danced. It’s probably for the best he won’t hook up with me right now. I don’t want someone looking at me like that when we’re kissing, touching, having sex. I’ll just wait until he wants me again. Until he sees I’m still better than everyone else. I think he’s just confused about his feelings right now. Has to be. He’s never danced a pas with anyone but me. I’ll forgive him for not knowing what to do. And for us not having our usual amount of time together.

  “Just me, you, and Liz tonight,” I say, clipping the words.

  “Alec was being too nice to Gigi,” Eleanor starts. “I even saw—”

  “We’re not talking rehearsal anymore tonight. Or Alec. And most of all Gigi,” I order. “Get your hair down and your boobs out.”

  I’m a little giddy from coffee and pills and all the adrenaline of dancing for the last five hours. Eleanor pulls away from my hands in her hair. It’s a mess of congealed hair spray and sweaty strands, and a shower of bobby pins rains from her scalp to the hardwood floor. We’ve been playing with each other’s hair and helping each other in and out of costumes since we were little girls. There’s really no distinction between her body and my own. Backstage, she’ll help me pull my costumes on and off for quick changes, and I’ve always helped her perfect her makeup.

  “You’re cleaning those up.” She gestures to the spilled bobby pins. Already she’s pushing her hair back into a less structured but still painfully tight ponytail. As she pulls it back, her eyebrows rise. Her face is too chubby; the whole thing makes her look fat. “I’ll clean them up while you get ready,” I say.

  “I’m tired, and so many parts of my body hurt. Do we have to go out?” Eleanor says, but even as she whines she grabs her towel and turns toward our private bathroom, because she knows I’m not taking no for an answer. “And is our laundry back?” she asks, like it’s her housekeeper who washes, folds, and delivers our laundry to the front desk every three days. “This is my last towel.”

  “Yeah, it came today. Your bag is in your closet.” I riffle in the bright pink laundry bag on my bed. “Found these, too.” I dangle a pair of frilly black panties that are straight out of a lingerie store. “They aren’t mine. Are you hiding something from me, El?”

  Her mouth drops open. She grabs at them and starts to stutter out a million reasons why she has something other than her usual cotton underwear. How it’s nothing. How they were a gift.

  “You want someone to see those, don’t you?” I say.

  She tries to change the subject. “I should just go to bed. So tired.”

  “It’s Saturday night. No Pilates tomorrow. We’re going out! You can wear the silver dress.” I take out the shiny minidress I bought over the summer, the one she fell in love with, hanging it on the closet door for maximum effect. Eleanor walks up to the dress with religious reverence and touches the fabric.

  An hour later, it’s hugging her body and she doesn’t even look like a ballerina anymore. Eleanor has always been like my own personal Barbie doll. Her mother never taught her all the little tricks of being a girl that my mother taught me, so she lets me take over in that department. When we were twelve, the costume mistress Madame Matvienko pulled her aside and told her to get her act together, that she looked like a slob. She came to me, snotty and crying, asking for my help, and I’ve always been there for her since day one at the conservatory. Tonight she lets me tease her ponytail and line her eyes in the darkest kohl. I purple her lips and drape four long, beaded necklaces over her neck. She’s so tiny under all that makeup and shine and sparkling beads that she practically disappears.

  As my mother would say, the dress is wearing her.

  My dress is the color of my skin: ivory-white and off the shoulder. Green high heels. Nothing to hide.

  I knock on Liz’s door and give it a little push. “Ready?”

  It’s dark and smells like a mix of sweaty feet and leotards and vomit. Eleanor says she can’t take it and stays in the hall. Liz is all wrapped up in blankets and not in the dress I told her to wear for tonight. Her roommate, Frankie, isn’t in the bunk bed above her.

  “Why aren’t you ready?” I say. “And it smells terrible in here.”

  “It’s too cold to go out,” she says, looking up at me with hollowed eyes, wrapping herself tighter, and clicking on her heating pad.

  “You sick?” I ask, not wanting to deal with the fact that this is all something else. The sudden weight loss. Well, not so sudden when you think about it. But I don’t want to think about it. At all. And she’s been bragging to me about it. Sending me little texts when she meets her goals.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’m so tired.” I tell her that I’ll bring her some tea. “Stay in bed, okay? You need the night off.”

  After delivering Liz’s tea, Eleanor and I take the long route out of the building—down the elevator for a basement visit first. I avoid any talk about Liz. I can’t add another bad thing to think about to the growing pile in my head.

  “Can’t we just go straight outside?” Eleanor complains, already limping in my expensive heels. She tugs at my five-hundred-dollar dress. “We do this every time.”

  “This is the best part,” I say. “And I need it, okay?”

  The coed student lounge is full—some watch TV, Henri and a few boys play pool, others play air hockey, and Alec strums his guitar in the corner.

  Will spots me and sighs loudly, which gets Alec’s attention. I blow Will a kiss. He used to go with me when I
went out. It used to be all five of us—Alec, Liz, Will, El, and me—out in a little pack. Now I can’t stand the thought of him going anywhere with me. He frowns, looking the same as he did the first day I met him. New kid sobbing outside of the boys’ ballet class after being caught by Mr. K in pointe shoes. I’d consoled him. That reality is so far away.

  I bump Henri’s pool cue on purpose when I pass by.

  “Pardon,” he says, then steps so close to me I can smell the chocolate he must’ve just eaten.

  “Move,” I say. “You’re in my way.”

  “No.” His eyes scan me from top to bottom. “You stepped in my way. Made me miss my shot.”

  Eleanor grabs my hand. “Let’s go,” she says, trying to pull me away.

  I glance back at her, only to see if Alec is watching. And he is, his hand frozen on his guitar, which makes me happy. He still cares. I turn back to Henri. I put a hand on his chest, and push a little. “Are you going to make me stand here all night?” Instead of irritation, I decide to flirt and add a smile, enjoying the whole thing.

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” he says, his lilt teasing. “Or maybe you’re going to invite me to go with you? Isn’t that what girls like you do?” He takes my hand from his chest and holds it, squeezing it a little, until I snatch it away. I step forward, planning to walk through him. He’s nothing. He’s nobody here. Dancing a pas with me will make him something.

  “You don’t know anything about me or this place,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “I’ve seen your type before. Plenty of you at Paris Opera,” he says. “Yes, you’re nothing special. In fact, I know all about you.” He leans close to my ear. “Especially what you did to Cassandra. Pretending to be her friend.”

  I snap back and feel my cheeks redden. I give him a look that screams You don’t know anything. I hope my face doesn’t betray me, doesn’t reveal that I know what he’s talking about.

  Alec walks past us without even stopping, without even checking if I’m okay. I follow his back with my eyes, not understanding why he didn’t stop to help. Even Eleanor shifts away from us, leaving me cornered by Henri.

  “I know a lot, Bette Abney. I know lots of things you probably wouldn’t want me to know. And I plan to prove it. Show everyone who you are.” He lets his fingers graze my collarbone.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say.

  Does he really know the things I did?

  I can’t seem to move.

  He laughs. “Your secrets are safe with me,” he says. Then he adds, “Well, maybe not.”

  Eleanor bucks up. Finally. She grabs my shaky hand and pulls me away from Henri. In a daze, I let her drag me all the way to the school’s side door entrance. I don’t even put my coat on before we step out into the cold November air.

  “What’s wrong?” Eleanor says, but I ignore her, my thoughts haunted by Henri’s accusation, by Cassie and what I did. I sink down to the stoop, my legs weak and wobbly. All I know is, if I’m going down for this, I won’t be alone. We were all in on it together.

  Last year, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to get close to Cassie. After all, she’s Alec’s cousin from the Royal Ballet School, here to take on New York, she’d always said with her fake British accent, thinking it was cute. Not just a normal new girl who’d be easy to get rid of. But she was too good, and it got so hard to watch her come in and dance the parts I wanted, the parts I’d been training for at this school since I was five.

  In April, I sat along the edges of studio B, watching Cassie’s pas run-through for the spring ballet La Sylphide with Scott Betancourt, a senior boy likely to be offered an apprenticeship with the company. My mother made sure I got to be there, probably after accusing Mr. Lucas and Mr. K of preferential treatment. She always knew how to throw her weight around in just the right ways.

  Scott labored when lifting Cassie over his head that day because she was all clenched up, stomach muscles braced and flinching at his touch.

  “Let him hold you,” Morkie had yelled. Cassie tried to adapt. She wasn’t as pretty when she was worried. I tried not to smirk, fought with my lips to stay relaxed. I tried not to enjoy that she wasn’t as good as the teachers always said. That I could’ve been cast. Should’ve been cast. I liked seeing Cassandra’s eyes get all big and watery with confusion and worry.

  Morkie clapped her hands in an angry beat along to the music. “Ballet is woman,” she’d hollered, and continued to scold Cassie about letting Scott support her in the flying shoulder lift and hold her low in the hips because she was so tall. “He’s trying to make you look beautiful. But you don’t trust him.”

  Will slipped into the studio while Cassie and Scott resumed their battle to dance like soul mates. He’d sat down next to me with a huge smile on his face, and I knew he wanted me to ask. I’d thought about not giving in, but I needed to know what he was doing here. “Why are you in here?”

  “Mr. K says I get to understudy this pas.” The words tumbled out so fast he was almost screaming them.

  “When did that happen? You didn’t tell me.” He was supposed to be one of my best friends. I would expect a text, at least, right after he found out.

  “Two days ago,” he said. “I didn’t want to mess it up. Make sure it was for real first.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” I said, feeling a knot of jealousy tangle in my stomach. I glanced at the glass wall where Liz stood in the hall, glaring at Cassie, and thought through all of our midnight chats, where Liz, Eleanor, and I plotted to mess with her a little. “Is it all official? The casting?”

  “Yup,” he said, pushing down into a deeper stretch.

  “Can’t be taken away? Not a ‘let’s see how rehearsal goes’ thing in case you mess up?” I whispered, an idea storming through me.

  “Why?” He sat up, and I pulled him closer. We’d spent so much time curled up like this with our secrets and gossip and machinations. I smoothed down a hair sticking up on his head. And I remembered what I loved about him the most: he was solid and thoughtful, and certain. He would always help me.

  “Favor?” I said, in just the right way, the way that always got him to do whatever I needed him to. “You owe me for getting you out of that fiasco with your mom catching you with Ben, and that other time when you needed Vicodin and—”

  He frowned, and pushed a hand over my mouth, annoyed. “Okay, okay. What?” he said, a little pissed now. I bit his palm.

  “Drop her,” I’d whispered quickly, before I could lose my nerve. “Just once. And not too hard. Just enough.”

  His nose crinkled a little, so that I knew he was judging me.

  “Injuries change cast lists,” I’d said, sort of not believing what I actually was saying. Like I’d stepped into some alternate version of my life, where I could just do whatever I wanted. “You owe me. Your mom even thinks we’re dating. I still text with her, you know?” The silence stretched between us so long I thought he’d never say anything again. That I’d finally done it. Ruined us. But somehow, I kept that icy calm, that sheer force that the women in my family have, even though I was seething inside. He shouldn’t have even hesitated. I patted his leg in just the right way. My way. “Please.”

  My hands were all shaky, and I gazed around for Morkie and Viktor. They hovered right beside the piano.

  Will started to speak. I railroaded through his response. “C’mon, you have to.” I managed a smile to soften it. Alec always said I’m beautiful when I smile. Cassie rushed over and plopped down beside us before he could answer me. Will and I swallowed the entire conversation, and I felt lost, afloat, unsure of my footing. Cassie whined for a while about drinking and being “off.” I pretended to sympathize, but come on! She was the only sophomore Level B girl to get a solo. I didn’t feel bad for her at all.

  Then Morkie called them to the center. Will looked back at me, and for a minute I wanted
to tell him not to do it, and tell him I was sorry for bringing up his homophobic mother. But my mouth just hung open. I had to dance her part. I had to be like Adele, a ballet prodigy. And this could make it happen, make all my dreams come true.

  The moment Cassie fell out of Will’s arms, I’d flashed her a smile that was so goddamn pretty she wouldn’t ever forget who was on top, who she should thank, who she should’ve been afraid of.

  The memory sends shivers down my spine.

  I’d had nightmares that evening. The kind that came with screams and flung blankets and a desperation so deep I woke Eleanor up. She’d brought me water and a cool washcloth, like I was her kid and not her friend. Even when I was hurt or sick or panicked, my mother never did that for me. Just having Eleanor in the room with me wasn’t enough, though. I needed someone to share the responsibility. I needed to take off a tiny bit of the weight of what I’d done. I couldn’t very well tell Alec. He was so good, so right all the time, and not to mention related to Cassie. He’d hate me. He’d never speak to me again. I couldn’t bring it up with Will. He made it clear that our conversation never happened. That it’d been an accident.

  So I told Eleanor. Begged her to tell me it was okay. Made her promise, on her life, on her reputation at the school, that she wouldn’t tell anyone else, ever. I had never been so honest with someone, but it seemed like the only way out of the guilt and panic. She hugged me and said she understood. I cried into Eleanor’s pillow. Slept much more soundly in Eleanor’s bed with her spooning me. We never spoke of it again. I waited every day for a month to get pulled into the office for what I did. But it never happened.

  The memory won’t go away. Eleanor squeezes my hand and whispers, “Henri doesn’t know anything, Bette.” And even if she’s lying, it makes me feel a little better, like no one will ever find out.