Tiny Pretty Things (46 page)

THE DJ
’
S SPINNING HIP-HOP MUSIC
and I can’t stop moving. Not ballet moves.

Wild. Unsanctioned. Loose.

Positions Morkie would hate. Movements Mr. K would frown at. We’re all bunched in a group, dancing all together, laughing all together. Bette is laughing and smiling. Even June—who I thought had left—is back and letting loose, this faraway grin on her face. I feel a little better. Spirits lifted just like Alec promised.

Alec leaves to go get more drinks at the bar. While I wait for him to return, the floor oscillates in waves beneath me. The lights streak across the floor like rainbows trapped inside. I stretch my arms and legs out and feel the room spin. My wristband glows different colors and I don’t know if it’s my eyes or the actual wristband. I don’t mind wearing something other than my monitor. I’ve had too many glasses of champagne and God knows what else. More alcohol than I’ve ever had in my entire life. More alcohol than Ella and I ever consumed back home on the beach for her sixteenth birthday last year. It feels nice to float, and I wish I had my very own cloud.

I laugh as the whole room spins me in a circle, like I’ve fallen into a whirlpool. I think I can feel the earth’s rotation and I’m positive that I’m turning along with it. I feel like a regular teen again.

I’m sure I’m imagining things.

“Truce?!” I hear over the music.

Bette holds out a drink. It’s got a pineapple slice floating around in it.

“What is it?” I holler.

“A special delivery,” she says, her words running together. She seems pretty drunk already.

I laugh. “No, really.”

“Seriously. That’s what the drink it called.” She pushes it into my hand. “I’m sorry for my part in some of the stuff this year. I was wrong.”

I don’t know what to say. What new thing is she exactly owning up to?

“I didn’t put that glass in your shoe, though. That wasn’t me,” she says. She puts her hands up,
like she’s not guilty. She stumbles forward, and I catch her arm. “And I sure as hell didn’t kill your butterflies.”

“Okay . . . ,” I say back, not sure how to respond.

“So, starting over?” She raises her drink. I let it hang there for a while, then give in to get her to go away. I clink mine with hers, and sip the drink.

Alec returns. We all dance and spin until I can’t feel my legs anymore. He pulls me closer to him. Buries his face in the place where my neck meets my shoulder. At first he just rests there. Then he starts kissing the soft skin.

I’m shaking from the mix of the alcohol and the nearness of him. The feel of his tongue near my earlobe. The heat between us.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“That feels amazing,” I say, barely recognizing the breathiness of my voice. He moves from my neck to my mouth and the kiss is intense, passionate. I wrap my arms more tightly around him. Listen to the sharp intake of breath when I press myself against him. Soon he’s got me pushed into a dark corner, his hands are up my dress, wandering from one patch of skin to another eagerly. I’m focused on Alec, but I can feel eyes on me. Bette’s probably, of course, despite what she might say. But when I look up, I also see Will watching us, and Henri not far behind him. For once in my life, though, I don’t care. Let them watch. Let them want.

We pull apart to catch our breath and neither of us can hold back our smiles. He kisses me again, and I crumple into him. Alec parts my legs with his hand and my mouth with his warm tongue. I love the heavy way he feels, like I’m in a safe little space beneath him.

I slip in and out of time until Will interrupts us. “Time to go, lovebirds. RAs figured us out. They’re on a rampage. I’ve got a dozen calls. Mr. K is on his way down here.”

We race outside. Alec is ahead of me. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up. My vision is blurred, but it’s Will.

“Heyyy,” I say, wanting to thank him for the heads-up about Mr. K coming down here. But Alec calls my name from ahead, and I try to catch up.

My feet slip and slide on the old-fashioned cobblestones, but I feel like I should be able to walk on these streets if I can dance in pointe shoes. I can’t stop laughing. We’re all falling over one another, and thrilled by the idea of Mr. K’s angry face. The excitement (or maybe all the alcohol) is making me light-headed. June, all buttoned up again but softer still, smiles at me as she walks beside Jayhe. even though Sei-Jin’s watching them, about to explode. I wonder what’s going on. And Bette and I even laugh at the same stupid joke Will makes on our way out the club doors.

I step into the street to cross over. My heel snags on one of the cobblestones. I feel hands on my back, and my body lurches forward.

My eyes go blank.

The irregular beat in my chest quiets.

The street stands still.

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THERE ARE SCREAMS AND SO
much movement on the street it feels like backstage before dress rehearsal. I feel the beginnings of tears in my eyes. The world is fuzzy. I am frozen in place, heavy and slow, it feels like I’m underwater. And I’m drowning.

All I want is Alec.

Gigi is stretched out on the street in front of a yellow taxi. One leg is bent beneath her, the other is covered in bloody cuts. She isn’t moving.

The cabbie is frantic, crying, worrying, on the street, and somewhere not too far off, sirens are zooming, closer by the second. I back away and almost fall backward onto the curb. Will stands there with his hand cupped over his mouth.

“Where the hell is Alec?” I finally manage to say, and I know I’m spitting out the words. I know I don’t look well.

“What . . . just . . . happened?” Will says, all trembles—hands, mouth, voice.

The sounds of sirens echo from down the block.

“Where’s Alec?” I say.

Will gives me a good long stare, and strange emotions pass over his face, one after the other in quick succession. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look away, just lets the feelings overcome him until he gets his voice back. He’s frozen in place.

“I can’t find Alec,” I say when a minute has passed and some amount of the news has sunk in.

“Alec!” Will shouts like he’s come back to life. He knows what to do.

We run through the crowd, dodging onlookers. Bodies blur around me, a mosaic of arms and legs and moving parts.

“Will!” I whip around at the sound of Alec’s voice.

“Gigi was right behind me,” Alec says. The look on Alec’s face says it all. His blue eyes are all big and cloudy. He sinks to the curb and sits.

“Where have you been?” I say. My voice starts rising.

“Let him breathe, Bette,” Will says. But I want to claw at him for suggesting I need to do anything but figure out what is happening.

“I can’t explain it . . . ,” Alec says, trailing off.

“What happened?” I say. I keep stepping closer and closer to Alec, who just will not get off the ground. “We were all standing there . . .”

Ahead of us in the street, the paramedics surround Gigi. Cops push back the crowds. They start asking questions. I bolt, and I try to blend into the crowd. I get farther away from the curb. I find Eleanor nearby, whose eyes are red from crying.

“Jesus,” she says when she sees me. “Where’d you go?” She’s worried, but she puts an arm around me. Hugs me to her. And I know I can trust her. She’s the same girl I met when I was six years old—my best friend. I try to stop my body from shaking. It all happened so fast. The scene replays in my head like some twisted ballet: where everyone was standing, the cacophony of the taxis’ blaring horns, the uneven cobblestones. I try to make it all make sense in my head. We called a truce. We were all pals, hanging out. I didn’t touch her. Did I?

“Please tell them I was standing beside you. Please. I think they might accuse me.” I cry then, dig my head into her shoulder and hide there. She doesn’t agree or disagree, but she rubs my back, and I think maybe it will be okay. She whispers in my ear, “I was across the street, Bette. You were right beside Gigi, and so was Will and June.”

When I emerge from the moment on Eleanor’s shoulder, I look up to see Alec talking to the police. I want to run again, badly, but I hold back. I squeeze Eleanor’s arm until she yelps. I need her to hold me steady. Like she’s always done when things get bad. I feel like I might fall.

“You’re hurting me,” Eleanor says, but I can’t let go.

I’m next. I know they’ll call me next. I turn around and look to see if I can go inside a nearby store, to at least get a grip before trying to talk to police about this girl that everyone knows has been my enemy all year. But I can’t get out of the crowd, because a wide set of shoulders block me.

“Hey there,” Henri says. He’s not crying. He’s not shaking or sad. He’s not hiding his face in his hands. He’s smiling. He’s smirking. “Where do you think you’re going? The police want to talk to all of us.”

He’s terrifying. The ambulance lights wash him in blues and reds. His eyes almost glow.

The cops approach with their pads. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I just want to call my mother. I want her for the first time ever.

“Where were you standing?” the cop asks for the fourth time.

I can’t answer.

Eleanor squeezes my hand. “Bette, answer.”

Henri raises his hand like we’re in English class, and says, “Officer, I saw Bette Abney push the victim into the street.”

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WE ALL MOVE IN A
dream state. I watch the paramedics roll Gigi to an ambulance. She is strapped in and her head is in a brace. Pretty face, long limbs, perfect feet all a mess.

The others bombard me with questions, so I make my shoulder shrug over and over. Up down. Up down. Up down. Mouth a little bit open. Eyes blinking slowly. Hand making its way to my forehead every few minutes, like I could somehow wipe away the headache.

I’m barely here.

Bette bursts into tears. Not angry ones or bitter ones. Little girl tears. Sad tears. Unexpected, after all the vitriol in her voice. I almost reach for her, to pat her arm or something, but she’s still Bette. She’s still untouchable and unpredictable, and I’m still June. Even in my tight dress and overpowering makeup. Not that much has really changed.

She screeches, “I didn’t push her!”

And the cops move her to the side.

Since everyone but Will is frozen, and Bette and Alec are locked in some horrible death stare, I don’t know what to do or where to go. I sink right down on the curb. I think through what just happened. I try to place everyone on the street.

I was the last one to leave the club. Henri was first. I think Bette, Gigi, Alec, and Eleanor went out together. I think Will was in the clump, too. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t think. I can’t rearrange them in my head.

Gigi’s parents and Aunt Leah appear out of nowhere, and they are crying and turning from person to person, looking for answers. We don’t have any. A few of the dancers pat Mrs. Stewart on the shoulder, but the rest of us just look at the ground and mirror her tears. Gigi looks like her mother—big, curly hair like a lion’s mane, a few freckles, warm eyes, that caring smile. Her father just stares blankly at everything and everyone.

Mr. K passes right in front of me. I didn’t know he was here yet, but people keep popping up on the street, unexpected, the way they are in dreams. Out of context. He isn’t in his normal clothes. Has a robe wrapped around him and uncombed hair. Mr. K has bed head and a panicked voice. The world is all wrong.

“Get inside these cabs,” Mr. K orders. “Everyone. Now!” But there’s no power behind the order. And for the first time ever, we don’t listen.

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