Shiny Broken Pieces Read Free Page B

participate in this conversation.”
    I watch her anger grow.
    â€œShe’s still in the hall with all those girls.” Mama’s tone is pointed.
    â€œEach student lives on a floor with the others in their level. The Level 8 hall has been traditionally the most sought after of them all,” Mr. K says in that soothing voice he uses with benefactors and board members. “We wouldn’t want to isolate her.”
    â€œShe is already isolated by virtue of what she looks like and what happened to her.”
    â€œMama, it’s fine. It’s where I need to—” She shushes me.
    Parents turn their attention to us. In this room, Mama sticks out like a wildflower in a vase of tulips, in her flowy white dhoti pants, tunic, and Birkenstocks. They all take in Mama’s exasperated hand gestures and facial expressions, and how calm Mr. K remains under all her pressure. He even smiles at her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, like he’s inviting her into a pas de deux .
    â€œI assure you that we’re doing everything we can to make sure she is safe. She even has her own room this year—”
    â€œYes, and that is much appreciated, but what else? Will there be a schoolwide program initiated to address bullying? Will teachers be more mindful in addressing incidents? Will security cameras monitor—”
    â€œAside from Gigi having her own personal guard, we will do as much as we’re able to,” he says.
    She jumps like his words are an explosion and shakes herhead, her billowy afro moving. “Do you hear that, Giselle? They don’t care. Is ballet really worth all this trouble?”
    I touch her arm. “Mama, just stop. We’ve had this conversation a million times.” A flush of embarrassment heats every part of my body. “Please trust me. I have to be here.”
    No one moves. Mama’s eyes wash over me. I chew on the inside of my cheek, afraid that she’ll change her mind and take me back to California. I want to tell her that she doesn’t understand what ballet means to me. I want to remind her that I almost lost the ability to dance. I want to tell her that I can’t let Bette and the others win. I want to tell her that I’m stronger than before, and that those girls will pay for what they did. I have been thinking about it since the day I left the hospital. Nothing like what happened last year will happen to me again. I won’t let it.
    Mr. K winks at me and moves to stand beside me. He places a very warm hand on my shoulder. “She’s moya korichnevaya . She’s strong. I need her here. She was missed during summer intensives.”
    His words fill up the empty bits of me. The tiny broken parts that needed a summer of healing, the ones that needed to know I am important here. I am supposed to be dancing. I am supposed to be one of the great ballerinas.
    It took all summer to heal from a bruised rib, fractured leg, and the small tear in my liver. I stayed in Brooklyn with Aunt Leah and Mama, dealing with countless X-rays and doctor visits, weekly CAT scans and concussion meds, physical therapy twice a day after getting out of my cast. And, of course, counseling to talk about my feelings about the accident.
    I worked too hard to get back to this building.
    Mama touches the side of my face. “Fine, fine.” She pivots to face Mr. K. “I want weekly check-ins with you. You will have to make yourself available.” He walks Mama to the beverage table. She’s smiling a little. It’s a tiny victory.
    Warm hands find my waist. I whip around. Alec’s grinning back at me. I practically leap into his arms. He smells a little like sunscreen.
    â€œThey’re calling you the comeback kid, but can I just call you my girlfriend?”
    I laugh at his terrible attempt at a joke. Young dancers look up from combing through their colorful orientation folders, full of papers that list their current ballet