Shiny Broken Pieces (8 page)

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.

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.

“Is that you, Megan?”

“No, I'm a new commuter student.” I don't know who Megan is, and I don't care. I need this girl away from me as soon as possible. “Susie.” I pick a name I hate.

“Level 6 with Ivanov? I've never seen you in class.”

“Level 5.” I try to soften my voice and act like I'm fourteen and in ninth grade. She pets my shoulder like I'm a charity case and starts telling me the ins and outs of the conservatory. Her name's Piper. Figures. Another stupid name. She's one of those people who talks too much and tells too much of their personal business because she never learned the rule that no one really cares.

I step away from Piper midsentence, tired of playing nice.

I hear
her
laugh before I can see her.

Cassie.

I look to the left. An unlit cigarette hangs from Henri's lip and he drapes an arm around her shoulder. She's Ariel from
The Little Mermaid
, complete with the coconut bra. She shouts out for Gigi, and then Gigi drags Alec over. Alec has an arm wrapped around Gigi, and for a strange instant, they seem like they're all on a double date. Alec leans forward and yanks the cigarette out of Henri's mouth and I wonder when they became friends. If Cassie forced them to get along now that she's back. The very sight of Henri sends shivers through me, and I remember the cold, merciless look in his eyes that night Gigi nearly died. Now, here she is, laughing at his jokes. If I didn't hate her so much in this instant, I would warn her. She should know. Alec should know, too. I wonder what he'd think of his new friend if he knew the way Henri touched me last
year, the things he manipulated me into doing.

But instead Alec's hanging on his words, laughing as they mock fight, basking as he watches Gigi share a knowing look with Cassie. Sweet Cassie. Of course they're friends. They're meant to be BFFs, both sappy idiots who ooze charisma, who steal the show without even trying, who were “victims.” They deserve each other. As good as Cassie looks, Gigi's the standout in that little foursome, with her skin aglow—from the lights, from inside, whatever—and the tinkle of that head-thrown-back laugh. From the way she leans, casual, comfortable, against Alec, from the way she kicks up those endless legs, you'd never know anything happened to her at all. She's flawless. It's infuriating.

“Who's drinking?” Alec calls out, and Gigi gives him a dreamy look: sleepy eyes, blinking lashes, her lips soft and ready. I want all that back.

Alec pulls out a few water bottles that must be filled with liquor, handing them out, trying not to trip over the sword to his costume, which dangles awkwardly off his belt. Level 6 sophomores pass by, leaving a trail of girly giggles in their wake, no doubt in love with them both, Alec and Henri.

That's when I notice Will. He hangs near the very edge of the little foursome, talking to some girl dressed as a sexy maid, and staring over her head into their conversation. He seems desperate to be included, but relegated to the outside. I try to keep from smiling and fail.

Alec looks around for the RAs, then takes a big gulp of his drink, as if to show everyone how it should be done. I want to march over there and reveal myself, tell them I'm coming back,
that I was wrongly accused. I'll have proof soon. I want to shove my hand in Alec's and feel the calluses on his palm from lifting tiny ballerinas. I want to feel the steadiness that he brings, the reminders of when everything was right.

I take a step in their direction. Clever phrases play in my head. I freeze as more girls cut in front of me. The hairs on my arms lift with a little fear, a little excitement, a little anticipation.

Gigi's body is wrapped around Alec's. But up close he is stiff, upright, and not grabbing her back, in spite of what I assume is a good amount of vodka in his system. He pokes Henri in his chest with his water bottle and slurs out, “I used to think you loooooved Gigi.”

Cassie leans forward and her lips purse. She never was good at hiding her emotions. Henri stops laughing. Gigi tries to say something, but drunk Alec keeps talking. “The way you used to look at her. That's why I didn't like you at first.”

Henri stiffens even more, tightening the few muscles that weren't already flexed. Alec's accusing him of something dangerous, and I don't really know why. Maybe it is the Halloween spirits, if you believe in such things, making him crueler, turning them all into troublemakers, bringing out emotions.

“You looked at Bette like that, too,” he slurs out, which makes me blush. He does think of me. Deep down he still cares.

“Why would you bring her up? You're too drunk, Alec,” Gigi says, grabbing the water bottle from his hands. And I agree with her, because that is what alcohol does: erases that pause between thoughts and words said aloud.

“What are you talking about, Alec?” Cassie's eyes turn to
slits, lost in eyeliner and glitter, the blue of them no longer visible. She's in his face now, searching for answers about how her doting boyfriend behaved while she was cooped up recovering. Was he not a perfect angel?

The DJ lets the room know that this will be the last song, so I turn to leave and do what I came here to. I slip out of the room and into the dimly lit hall.

In the office corridor on my way to the elevators, I hear familiar laughter. Eleanor's.

I want to reveal myself, to show her how clever I am. I want her to remember all the fun things we did together.

Then there's more laughter. I follow her voice toward the stair doors. There she is, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood in a tight bodice, flowing skirt, and hooded cape, the deep red making her look as pale as snow. Her skin is luminescent with shimmer, a glow so soft and deep and inviting, you want to touch her. And someone is. A tall, masked figure leans in close, whispering in her ear, serving as the cause of that ringing laughter. I can't see his face.

They hear me scuffle as I tumble forward, a bit wobbly in these heels. Then they disappear into the stairwell, and Eleanor's gone.

Who was she with? If this were last year, I would've known everything about that mystery boy before she'd built up the nerves to talk to him. I'd know what he liked to eat for dinner and how many siblings he had, and every nauseating detail about the way he danced. There's a squeeze in my chest and I feel like I've missed so much by being at home. That the space I used to
occupy in this building, in this world, in her life, is disappearing.

I go up to the twelfth floor. The RAs have decorated the bulletin boards and doors with spiders, witches, and ghosts; and little pumpkins sit outside every girl's room. I wiggle all the handles of the rooms on the right side of the hall. My side, if I were here. They all turn easily and it seems the open-door tradition of the school is still in effect, regardless of what happened last year. I get to Gigi's room. Maybe it's just the magic of the night, but her door opens, too.

When I flip the lights, Gigi's room comes alive. Her butterflies are gone, but a large glass terrarium full of strange-looking plants sits on the windowsill. Halloween cutouts of ghosts and witches are taped up around the room, and a bowl of orange-wrapped chocolate pumpkins sits in a candy dish. She's got some physical therapy stuff stashed in front of the closet in the corner, and a few of Alec's old sweatshirts are tossed on the spare bed. A ballet barre crowds the middle of the space.

I find a spot for a tiny video camera in between a bunch of books lined up along the desk shelf, tucking it securely between her copy of Shakespeare's tragedies and the latest teen romance. I open the app on my phone that's connected to the feed and make sure it works properly. There's a pinch in my stomach. I shouldn't be in here, doing this, invading her space like this. What if she finds it?

But I have to. She invaded my space, took everything—and everyone—from me. I wasn't the one who hurt her. So I will watch her. Whoever wanted to hurt her will try again.

I hear voices in the hall and quickly step out of her room.
There's too much movement and laughter for anyone to really pay attention to me. I get bumped several times. I used to walk into a hallway and girls would move out of my way. They'd hold their breath or try to talk to me. They're all so spindly and narrow I can push right through them. The weakest ones look like haunted little skeletons that will never make it because they think they can just starve themselves and that will be enough. They forget about strength, that crucial component of ballet.

The elevator door opens and more girls pour out. It's Gigi and Cassie and a few others I don't recognize in their costumes, or maybe because I never got to know them. Then there's Eleanor. I get into the elevator, standing right next to her. We don't say anything to each other. I wonder if she recognizes me, if she can smell my perfume, if she can tell that it's me. She gets off on the next floor and looks back. Her eyes find mine and I see a flicker of recognition. I blow her a kiss as the elevator doors close. Her mouth drops open in a surprised O.

As the elevator descends, tears wet my mask and become so furious that it can't catch them all. Not angry or bitter ones. Little girl tears. Sad tears. Unexpected tears.