I click on videos, and scroll. Some of them are past ballet productions, secret snippets of the conservatory’s auditions, or more love outpourings for an injured Gigi. But one on the bottom is called “Girl Gets Hit by Car.” I click it and while the little circle shows the video content is buffering, I read the video description: Worst thing I’ve ever caught on film. The date is Friday, May 16.
My heart starts to pound as the video plays. I see the club exit. Girls parade in front of the camera. I see myself. The person filming taunts us about our skintight dresses and too-high heels. Then I think I see someone who looks like Henri slip out of the club. He runs his hands through his shaggy hair and steps behind me.
The things I’ve been keeping calm start to rebel: I can’t stop my hands from shaking or from sweat dripping down my back.
I wait for the push. I wait to see Henri shove her. I wait for the relief of all this to be over.
The video feed cuts off and an error box appears. I almost scream before clicking a thousand times, and restarting my computer. But every time I reopen the video, it cuts out in the exact same spot. I keep clicking, over and over again, until it’s no use.
A sob looms large in my chest. I try to hold it in. Thoughts scream in my head. The impossibility of this, the gigantic shift it has caused in the shape of my life, the desire to have this all over with.
But I can’t let myself give in to it. I have to do something.
I leave a message for the videographer with my phone number and email, even though he hasn’t posted anything since that date. I wonder if the account is still active. I bookmark the page and make a plan to find out who posted this. I have a deep headache now from too much concentration, one too many Adderalls, and staying up too late. But I know I’m close. I just have to find that last piece.
14.
Gigi
ALEC’S LEGS HANG OFF THE edge of my bed. His lanky frame swallows up the whole thing. I can barely see the swirly pattern on the comforter Mama bought me. He keeps reaching for me to come lie on the bed with him. With all the new rules and more RAs on staff, we’ve been trying to be careful. Neither of us can afford to get in trouble. But even as I remind myself of this, I still like being with him in my room and the scent his skin leaves behind on my blankets and sheets.
“So what do you think? About the magazine?” I asked Alec if he’d want to do a couples story for People magazine, but he’s been blowing it off. “We have to let them know this week. The publicist has been calling me and my parents.”
He shrugs, lying back down. “I dunno.” He’s frowning, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, isn’t it a tabloid? Serious people who love dance don’t read that stuff.”
We’ve already argued about this twice already. “It’s a media opportunity. It’s exactly what we need to lock our apprentice spots in the company—they love that stuff. The school needs good press. And the magazine has done all the big names.”
I know what he’s thinking. It’s what I need. He’s a legacy, and clearly the best male dancer the conservatory’s trained in years. He’s definitely getting a contract at ABC at the end of the year. I don’t have that certainty. I should plan to audition for the Hamburg Ballet and the Dutch National Ballet when ABC hosts their US auditions in January. I should plan to tour the country auditioning so I can have a backup plan.
“Why don’t you do the story?”
“They don’t want me, they want us.”
“Then they suck.” He rests an arm over his eyes, and I know he’s done talking about this.
“You just need to focus on ballet class. Show them your technique is still strong. Better even.”
His phone buzzes. I crane to see the screen. I spot Bette’s name, plus smiley faces and hearts.
I flush with heat and frustration.
“You should come lie down.” He strokes and pats the spot beside him on my bed. “Be little spoon.” He turns on his side, carving out a sliver of space for me to curl into. My heart does a little flutter—in a good way. He begs a little more, and I finally sit down beside him. “We’ll go back downstairs soon. We will have to go sign in at the café, eventually.”
I nibble at the inside of my cheek, trying to find the right words. He lifts my hair and kisses my neck. I try to shake out the tiny trembles in my hands as I rub them over his buzzed blond head. A twinge of guilt flickers through me. I think of June’s hair, and what I did to her. If I’d cut it any shorter, she would’ve had to buzz it all off like his. What would Alec think if he knew what I did? Would Alec understand? Would he like the new me?
He kisses me. I try to sink into it, but all I can hear is the ping and vibrate noise his phone makes. I kiss him harder, so it’ll erase whatever strange feeling is spreading inside me.
“I missed you,” he murmurs into my neck between deep kisses and tugs on my newly straightened hair. “I feel like we barely get to see each other.”
The phone vibrations get louder.
I lift my shoulder and push his face away. “I need to ask you something.”
“I told you I don’t want to—”
I put my finger to his lips. “Just shut up for a second.”
He props up on one of my pillows, looking at my face. “Okay.”
“Have you been talking to Bette?” I grab my phone, tighten my grip around it, ready to show him the pictures of Bette that he liked on social media. Maybe I’m making too much of this. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
He frowns. “No, not really. Why?”
“Is it a no or a yes?”
His fingers graze my leg, but I dodge his touch. “What’s going on?”
“I just saw—” I turn over my phone. Bette’s grinning face stares up at us. She’s documented every bit of her quarantine at home, like she’s on some glamorous vacation. “You liked her photos. I—”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” I click the phone off. “And I just saw her name flash on your phone. It’s weird. If you aren’t friends anymore, and you aren’t together ’cause you’re with me, then why would you like them?”
“They’re just photos.”
“It’s confusing. Makes me think you don’t really like me.”
“You know what’s confusing?” He sits all the way up and moves away from me. “You stalking Bette’s social media and going through her likes.”
“But—”
“You know what else? It’s weird you spend so much time with Will. That you let him talk you into this magazine stuff. I know this was all his idea. It sounds just like him. The old Gigi wouldn’t—”
I stand up now. “He’s your friend. Or he was. And now he’s my friend, too.”
“He and I haven’t really been close since the end of last year. You know that. It’s been weird. He’s been weird. I just—he’s just changed a lot. So have you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re different.” He shrugs. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”