Tiny Pretty Things (27 page)

“Just wanted to have a little fun,” I say. I sound faraway, muted, even to myself.

“Ballet is fun,” Eleanor replies in a tight little voice. All her bravado is gone. All that’s left is plain old Eleanor, even though she seems older and wiser. “She’s really sick, Bette.”

“Yep.”

“Should we tell her mom? She needs help.”

“Yep,” I say again.

“We can never let it all get to us like that, right?” Eleanor says, her voice climbing to that familiar whine. I’m sick of hearing it. “Maybe we shouldn’t try to deal with it alone. Maybe we should tell Mr. K, instead of taking matters—”

I grab her arm, forcing her to look at me, forcing myself back to steady. “I always take matters into my own hands. That’s what you do. Because you have to fight. And you need to step up and take what you want, too.” I don’t know if these words are mine or belong to all the alcohol I drank. “You need to take control. Just like you did when you got that part in
The Nutcracker
.”

Eleanor sighs, like she isn’t hearing me. “Bette, what if Liz gets worse? Or comes back to school for the summer session?” she asks, all her bravado gone. “What are we going to do?” Eleanor blinks away tears.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Because I really, really don’t.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

VALENTINE
’
S DAY HAS COME AND
gone, but everywhere I turn it’s still all pink and red and hearts and flowers. It’s enough to make a girl want to throw up. Not that I haven’t been on the edge of that already. The RAs haven’t even changed the hall bulletin boards to spring kites and windy clouds they always put up in March. And it’s already the fourth.

Lately, I can’t stop thinking about my father, about who he could be, about how I might find him. But I refuse to ask my mother again, and I won’t go home. Which leaves me at a dead end, my brain on an endless loop, rehashing what little information I do have over and over again. I tried to ask Madame Matvienko again, but she closed the costume room door in my face, muttering in Russian like she didn’t understand my question.

So I’ve been throwing myself into dance, rehearsing every spare moment of the day, and late into the night, when the others have abandoned the studios for studying or greasy, midnight Chinese food deliveries that they’ll wear on their hips for months. Or hooking up. Like Gigi.

I stretch my leg across the barre in studio G, and can’t keep myself from smiling in the mirror. Valentine’s night, she came home all forlorn, like something went wrong on her oh-so-perfect date with Alec. She was all sweaty and worked up, so she’d either been dancing or something else entirely. But she had a paper towel wrapped around something she was trying to hide, something she tucked into the drawer, hoping I wouldn’t notice, before she went off to shower. Of course, as soon as she was gone, I peeked. Photos of Bette and Alec. Pretty much naked. Boy, Bette is confident. And a true bitch to leave those for her.

I turn sideways in the mirror, and run my fingers over my stomach and hips. I’ve never been naked in front of a boy. Not counting summers in Jayhe’s paddling pool when we were little. I could see why Gigi was upset. But she never said anything about it—not to me, anyway—and the next day, she and Alec seemed fine. He came and got her in the morning, and they went on a walk or something. Now, it seems like they’re tighter than ever. She spends every waking minute with him, dancing, rehearsing, studying. And who knows what else. Maybe she has something to prove. To him. To herself. It can’t be easy following Bette. Onstage or in life. I know I wouldn’t want to be in her place.

As I finish my cooldown, the studio’s empty—except for my mirror image staring back at me
from every corner of the room. In an instant, I hate the way I look. My eyes are shallow, my cheeks splotchy. I wish they’d keep the mirrors covered. I’m sick of looking at myself. I danced well, but when I’m not on my toes, a weariness settles in, the exhaustion visible. It doesn’t suit me. I have to shake it off. I bury the voice inside that whispers:
You need to eat more if you want energy and strength.
I stretch out into a deep V, laying my chest down on the floor, spreading my arms out to reach for my extended toes. I can feel the pain in my muscles as they tighten and spasm, then release, a calm washing over me. I rise, and realize I’m not alone. Someone’s watching me.

Jayhe.

He’s standing in the doorway, and he ducks his head a little, suddenly bashful, when he catches me catching him. I can’t help it, it makes me grin. The kiss we shared seems like ages ago. Now, I can taste it on my lips.

“Hey,” he says. “You did good.”

I nod, still smiling, and he takes that as an invitation. Which it was. Maybe. He walks in and plops down across from me. I’m so shocked I don’t know what to do. “You’ve been working hard, huh? Sei-Jin said you got a solo.”

I nod again and stand, taking a sip of water from my bottle. I wonder what else she says about me. Why she’d share that I got a solo?

I start to gather my stuff. I quickly realize I smell like stale sweat and probably the same ginseng soap his mom uses, and want to put some distance between us. But he stands, too, as if to follow.

“Where are you headed now?” he asks, standing not a foot away. There’s a smirk playing on his lips—which are so pink and so pale—as if he knows he’s up to no good.

“Where’s Sei-Jin?” I ask. Pointed.

“Studying.” He shrugs. “She’s got a pre-calc test tomorrow, and she’s been really cranky lately. I told her I’d see her later. And I . . . don’t know . . . was thinking about . . . uh . . .” He shrugs again, suddenly unsure of himself. “You hungry?”

I look at him, shocked at his request. Then, I gaze down at my dance clothes, feeling a bit naked. I’m a mess. I’m exhausted. But this is too good a chance to pass up. And I should eat something.

“Let me go change.”

I’ve been so distracted obsessing about finding my father that I’ve neglected my plans for Sei-Jin. But Jayhe’s walking right into my trap. Or maybe, just maybe, he actually likes me?

Half an hour later, after a quick shower—for which I stole some of Gigi’s strawberry-scented body wash—we’re at the diner down the block. None of the ABC dancers ever come here. It’s all burgers and grilled cheese and other stuff they’d never touch. Me neither, usually. But today I’m starving. I order a chili cheeseburger and a Coke. Not diet. I’ve never eaten anything like this. Jayhe grins at me.

“You sure?” he says, sipping his coffee. “I thought you dancers didn’t eat.” He pauses. “Sei-Jin hardly eats.”

The waitress brings a bread basket by and I reach right into it, like I’m a normal girl, buttering the
bread and taking a big bite. I haven’t had butter in, literally, years. It’s rough going down, like I can feel the fat coating my insides. But I make myself swallow. I’m going to be a different June today. A regular girl. The one Jayhe knew all those years ago.

“You never come down to the old neighborhood anymore,” he says, taking a piece of bread himself. No butter. “To church on Sundays or to the festivals.”

“I don’t really know anyone there anymore,” I say, taking another bite. “Except my mom. And she’s too busy for things like that.”

“Yeah, I heard that her company is doing great.”

I nod. The table groans under the weight of all the food the waitress lays down in front of us. Jayhe immediately reaches for one of my fries, then dips it into the meat sauce on his spaghetti. The sight of it makes my stomach turn. My chili burger sits in front of me, expectant. Taunting. I’ve ordered it. But I don’t know if I can actually bring myself to eat it.

“Does your mom want you to join her company? Or, like, go to college?”

“I want to dance,” I tell him, hoisting up the burger and holding it in front of my face. Half the chili slips out the other side, plopping down on the plate like a dead animal. Which pretty much is what it is. I can taste the bile in my throat. “I’m going to dance.”

“Sei-Jin is applying to Harvard and Princeton,” Jayhe says, reaching for another fry. “She’s going to study orthopedics.” He dips it in his meat sauce. “You know, be a bone doctor. She thinks the dancing will make her stand out.”

He won’t stop talking about Sei-Jin. If I want my plan to work, I have to take control of this situation. I have to get him to stop thinking (and talking) about Sei-Jin. And I can’t believe she doesn’t want to go into a company. To at least try to audition for a company. To be a professional dancer. Will she throw it all away? What’s the point of it all if she doesn’t want to be a ballerina?

I make myself take a bite. The meat is still a bit bloody and salty in my mouth. The chili is hot and pungent, savory. The whole combination is delicious, unlike anything I’ve tasted. I swallow, and take another bite. Then another.

Jayhe grins at me. “Good, huh?” he says, twirling his spaghetti and slurping it up. He lifts his fork to me. “Wanna try it?”

I lean forward, just enough so that the V-neck of my sweater slinks low, and take the hand holding the fork, bringing it to my mouth. I slurp the spaghetti, just like he did, and grin. “Delicious.”

I eat a fry, and then another, and another. Then look back up at him. He has a glint in his eye. I look down at my plate, sure I’m blushing, as the heat creeps down my neck. I look back up at him.

“So what will happen with you and Sei-Jin once she’s off to Princeton or Harvard?” I ask. Jayhe’s a smart kid, but he’s hardly Ivy material.

He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll see her around,” he says. “My parents want me to go to Queensborough, then help with the restaurants. Even marry her, maybe, ’cause her dad’s so influential in Seoul.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask, leaning forward again, looking right into his eyes. They’re dark chocolate and sleepy.

He shrugs again, then takes another few bites. “I still want to draw.”

Ever since we were little, Jayhe scribbled all over everything. He’d draw the old animes we watched at his
halmeoni
’s house, and he made endless portraits of me. I didn’t know he still did it. But I’m glad.

“I’d love to see some of your art sometime,” I say, picking at my fries. My stomach is screaming in protest, but I make myself take another bite. A normal girl. “If you’ll show me.”

It’s almost dark as we head back to the dorm, walking through the leftover February snow in March, and I’m grateful, for once, that Gigi’s obsessed with Alec. She’s been holed up in his room for days, and I know she won’t be back till bedtime. Or later.

Jayhe sits on my bed, completely comfortable, as if he’s been here a gazillion times, as if we’re just the same as we were once, long ago. I don’t know why he’s being so nice. I don’t know why he’s hanging out, pretending nothing’s changed, after so many years of ignoring me. I don’t ask him. I try not to care. It was thrilling sneaking him upstairs without being spotted by Sei-Jin or the other Korean girls.

I sit next to him, and we pour through his draft book, which he had stashed in his bag. He points out this drawing or that. His drawings are so good, so familiar, a grown-up version of his classic bold strokes, still with that wild touch of whimsy. As we reach the end, he tries to close the book, pulling it out of my hands.

“Wait,” I say, pulling it back. “I’m not done yet.” In the back, there are drawings of a dancer, long and lithe, all sharp angles and soft curves. They’re beautiful.

It takes me a minute to realize they’re not of Sei-Jin. “She’s me,” I say.

He looks at me then, for a long time. Like he’s making up for all the moments we lost. My heart leaps, and my stomach lurches, but this time it’s not the bile that’s with me all the time. “I drew them the other day, when I was watching you. I don’t really know why.”

His fingers graze my arm, the heat of them penetrating through my sweater. He touches my cheekbones, my jawline, studying me, memorizing me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. And then he leans in, kissing me.

My heart is hammering and my brain churning with thoughts of chili and onion breath and how it’s finally happening for real and how I should have brushed or maybe thrown up or a gazillion other things. But he just leans close, his breath on my ear, and says “sssshhh,” as if he can hear my thoughts going a mile a minute, as if he’s known what I’ve been thinking all along.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s okay.”

It’s dark when Gigi finally comes in. Jayhe left hours ago and since then, I’ve been lying on the bed, emptied and brushed and scrubbed clean, but I can still feel all the places where his lips have been, like he’s marked me. Like I really am a different June.

After Jayhe left, I showered, and I looked at myself, naked, in the mirror, for a long time. I saw the way my ribs jutted and the way my backbone arched, visible, when I turned. And I thought, maybe, if he could find me beautiful, I could be. And I was so excited, and I couldn’t wait to see him
again and kiss him again and I almost didn’t even care about how it will affect Sei-Jin. Almost.