Tiny Pretty Things by Sona Charaipotra

Author:Sona Charaipotra
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

23

Bette

I’M STANDING ON THE SCHOOL’S front staircase, waiting for Eleanor and our cab. She’s late. She’s always late these days. It’s almost ten, and we’ve got rehearsal tomorrow, but I’m determined to not let Valentine’s Day be a total wash. I shiver and pull on my coat. It’s not very heavy, but the fur collar warms my cheeks. A vintage rabbit fur bolero stolen from my mother’s closet. A classic. I push away thoughts of what Alec and I used to do on Valentine’s Day. Our tradition of making snowmen in the park or going dancing, all dolled up, like we were tiny versions of our parents.

I stare at the door and think about going back inside to wait when I hear my name. It’s Adele. She’s wearing one of those Russian trooper hats, ice-white, like her hair and skin. Her eyes almost glow blue in the darkness. Her coat hugs her body, and even though she has on layers, you can’t tell. Those kinds of fabrics would make me look huge. Of course, Adele escaped the family curse of curves without any help, according to my mother and everyone else I’ve ever talked to. But we can’t all be as shiny and spindly and delicate as Adele.

The day before winter break was over, my mother asked if I was wearing a padded bra. When I said no, her eyebrows shot up to the sky and she gave me her pouty-lipped pity smile. “Well. At least the boys will love you,” she’d said. Adele, so kind it hurts, told my mother to stop harassing me. I think Adele being nice about it made it even worse.

“Did you get my texts?” she says, so annoyed that her face starts to resemble our mother’s.

“No.” I buried my phone at the bottom of my purse to avoid looking for texts from Alec that will never come.

Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and it makes me think back to when we were little, running around on the winter beach in Montauk. Before our father left and took the beach house with him. “What are you doing out here?” she asks, frowning at my thin jacket, my gloveless hands. “Mom told you I was coming over today, didn’t she?”

She looks up at the school emblem over the door lovingly. And for a moment I just want to sit next to her on my bed, her old one, let her sew ribbons on some of my new pointe shoes, bitch about our mother, hear all the company hookup gossip, and rehash what went wrong during my audition for the lead role in Giselle. But that would mean being me. Tonight, I want to be someone else. I want to be somewhere else, I want to forget all the things going on between these walls. Especially with Henri.

“Yeah, guess I forgot. Now I’m headed out. It’s Valentine’s Day,” I say. “You don’t have plans?”

“I’m trying to be promoted to principal, Bette. There’s no time for plans outside of ballet,” she says.

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