Read Online Tiny Pretty Things by Sona Charaipotra, Dhonielle Clayton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sona Charaipotra, Dhonielle Clayton
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front of costume designers and teachers and classmates. I’ve had them pinch my sides and weigh me in public and measure every last inch of me to see how far away from perfection I am. So I’m not shy. I put a hand on one of my hips. I let him take me in. He’s probably right. They’re probably all looking at me. I’m a prima ballerina, no matter what Mr. K has to say about it, and the rest of them can see it all over me.
“You look great,” Alec says at last. Which means I’ve won this round.
Will sighs loudly. I sit down hard on the chair, drowning it out. Finally, I wrap one of my feet around Alec’s ankle He responds by pulling me into him and kissing me on the mouth, hard. He smells like coffee and hard work: he got his extra practice in. Smelling his sweat, I feel a pinch of guilt at being in here snaking my foot up Alec’s calf instead of throwing myself into practice, doing pirouette after pirouette, and using the early rehearsal end to keep working on my variation. I kiss him again to make me forget.
“Okay, enough you two,” Will says. His voice is tense now, too. Just like his face. He’s saying the same words he always has, but they sound so, so different.
“Can’t you give us some alone time?” I snap. I can’t take any of his little jabs tonight. I press myself even harder against Alec, shrinking that centimeter of space between our bodies. Will looks like he’s about to say something else, but something in him must melt a little, because he nods and gathers up his stuff. The tiny surrender is enough to make me smile his way, but he misses the look and he’d probably misinterpret it anyway. The secret smiles and eyebrow raises we used to share don’t work anymore. He stopped being my surrogate little brother this summer, and now I just don’t know what we are.
“Alec, call me later?” he says. He lands hard on Alec’s name, and even pauses to accommodate the space where my name would have been. Just one more person who hates me. I know it won’t help matters, but I lean my head on Alec’s shoulder and put a territorial hand over his. Will leaves, taking long dancer strides across the coffee shop. I still like watching the way his limbs move, still admire his impenetrable grace. I’d love even half of his passion. I’d tell him so, if we were speaking in anything but clipped, one-syllable words.
“Get your own boyfriend!” I call out, when he is already half out the door. Will’s shoulders slump and everyone in the shop has heard me. He turns bright red, like his hair. He’s not quite out beyondthe conservatory walls. Boys from Kentucky aren’t supposed to like other boys. His eyes look sad when they meet mine. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not really.
“Harsh, B,” Alec says. “Can’t you guys get over your little spat?” He smirks and puts a huge hand on my thigh. The warmth of his hand travels through my thin tights.
“Not yet.” His hand feels good on me, so I don’t move it away. “So stay out of it,” I say back, so he knows I’m not some weak delicate flower scared to tell him what to do, like the other ballerinas who would love a chance to be with him. He loves me because I’m fiery, feisty, stronger than anyone else.
Neither Will nor I have told Alec the details about our fight. Because the fight is about Alec. Sometimes the words tickle my lips, and I want to tell Alec the secret Will told me, but the bigness of it keeps me quiet.
“You’re all wound up today. And I’m guessing that’s why you put that message up about Gigi,” Alec says. I put several inches of space between us, losing the warmth of his hands on my legs. I hate that he said her name. That he ever has to say it. Sounds too pretty coming from his mouth.
I think about lying to him. Saying I didn’t write the message. But he keeps talking.
“Look, just because Mr. K didn’t cast you as the Sugar Plum Fairy doesn’t mean what you think it does. Don’t be like those other girls
“You look great,” Alec says at last. Which means I’ve won this round.
Will sighs loudly. I sit down hard on the chair, drowning it out. Finally, I wrap one of my feet around Alec’s ankle He responds by pulling me into him and kissing me on the mouth, hard. He smells like coffee and hard work: he got his extra practice in. Smelling his sweat, I feel a pinch of guilt at being in here snaking my foot up Alec’s calf instead of throwing myself into practice, doing pirouette after pirouette, and using the early rehearsal end to keep working on my variation. I kiss him again to make me forget.
“Okay, enough you two,” Will says. His voice is tense now, too. Just like his face. He’s saying the same words he always has, but they sound so, so different.
“Can’t you give us some alone time?” I snap. I can’t take any of his little jabs tonight. I press myself even harder against Alec, shrinking that centimeter of space between our bodies. Will looks like he’s about to say something else, but something in him must melt a little, because he nods and gathers up his stuff. The tiny surrender is enough to make me smile his way, but he misses the look and he’d probably misinterpret it anyway. The secret smiles and eyebrow raises we used to share don’t work anymore. He stopped being my surrogate little brother this summer, and now I just don’t know what we are.
“Alec, call me later?” he says. He lands hard on Alec’s name, and even pauses to accommodate the space where my name would have been. Just one more person who hates me. I know it won’t help matters, but I lean my head on Alec’s shoulder and put a territorial hand over his. Will leaves, taking long dancer strides across the coffee shop. I still like watching the way his limbs move, still admire his impenetrable grace. I’d love even half of his passion. I’d tell him so, if we were speaking in anything but clipped, one-syllable words.
“Get your own boyfriend!” I call out, when he is already half out the door. Will’s shoulders slump and everyone in the shop has heard me. He turns bright red, like his hair. He’s not quite out beyondthe conservatory walls. Boys from Kentucky aren’t supposed to like other boys. His eyes look sad when they meet mine. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not really.
“Harsh, B,” Alec says. “Can’t you guys get over your little spat?” He smirks and puts a huge hand on my thigh. The warmth of his hand travels through my thin tights.
“Not yet.” His hand feels good on me, so I don’t move it away. “So stay out of it,” I say back, so he knows I’m not some weak delicate flower scared to tell him what to do, like the other ballerinas who would love a chance to be with him. He loves me because I’m fiery, feisty, stronger than anyone else.
Neither Will nor I have told Alec the details about our fight. Because the fight is about Alec. Sometimes the words tickle my lips, and I want to tell Alec the secret Will told me, but the bigness of it keeps me quiet.
“You’re all wound up today. And I’m guessing that’s why you put that message up about Gigi,” Alec says. I put several inches of space between us, losing the warmth of his hands on my legs. I hate that he said her name. That he ever has to say it. Sounds too pretty coming from his mouth.
I think about lying to him. Saying I didn’t write the message. But he keeps talking.
“Look, just because Mr. K didn’t cast you as the Sugar Plum Fairy doesn’t mean what you think it does. Don’t be like those other girls
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