Read Tiny Pretty Things for Free Online Page B

hopefully not video) about what just happened. And I know he’s the reason half the school is down here watching in the first place. He loves seeing me fall.
    Eleanor tries to hold me in place, so that I don’t run after the vultures, but I practically throw her off me. Maybe I got drunk on my mother’s breath. I don’t know. But I’m getting really tired of keeping it together, especially when it doesn’t make a difference. I fly after the students, fueled with the desire to hit one of them. I almost do, too. June’s just a hand’s length in front of me, and I could push her too-skinny ass straight into the elevator doors if I wanted. And I do want to. Just to hurt someone. Just to feel a release.
    Hitting her will only get me into more trouble, though, and she’s not the person I hate most of all right now.
    “Watch out, ladies! Bette’s a real animal,” Will calls out with a smug grin on his face. I want to slap the look off his face, but I shove past him, past June, past all of them, making sure to elbow as many girls as possible on my way into the elevator at the very end. I don’t let anyone get in with me. It zips up to the eleventh floor. I throw open the door to my bedroom. And then the door to my bathroom. And there she is, the girl I hate. The one I really want to punch. I draw my hand back, make my first real fist and punch the mirror. Hard. So hard it shatters around my hand. So hard sad pieces of glass clatter in the sink. So hard my knuckles start to bleed. It hurts, but not as much as the rest of the day.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
     

    AT 7:30 EVERY MORNING AND 8:30 every night, on the dot, my mom calls. Like clockwork. She wants to ensure that her good little girl remains exactly that, which means I have to be tucked away in my room, safe and sound, a half hour before curfew. To confirm that I’m actually in the dormitory and not just pretending to be, she doesn’t call my cell phone but rather the pay phone in the girls’ hallway. What she doesn’t realize is that I am always here—in the studios, the dorm, a classroom, or the student lounge. I do nothing but study and dance. I am her good little girl.
    I watch the hall and wait to see if Gigi’s back. That nut got up at six a.m. to go to Central Park to feed the ducks. Last time she brought me a flower for my desk, which is kind of nice or whatever. She’s really into nature, but she should be stretching or seeing how Bette’s looking this morning, since she slept through all of last night’s theatrics. She’s the Sugar Plum Fairy, after all, and that means she is probably Bette’s next victim. Or everyone’s victim for that matter. We don’t handle change to our hierarchy very well. I’m still shocked by Mr. K’s decision. And I’m still on the fence about Gigi. Some days I like her, some days I don’t. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend, I don’t know what to do, how to behave.
    This morning I’m worn out from staying up late to watch Bette’s mom cut her down to size. I didn’t relish it the way the other girls did, but I like to know what I’m up against. I like to knoweverything about everyone because it all matters at this school—what you eat, what you wear, where you came from, how much you weigh, your ballet training, who your friends are, how much money you have, if you have good feet, if you’ve won any competitions, what kind of connections you have, if your parents have season ballet tickets, if your mother or father was a dancer, if you know the history of ballet. And I plan to know it all. About every single dancer here. That’s the only way to be on top.
    I thumb the pay phone’s receiver at 7:26 a.m., my stomach griping as I wait for it to ring. I feel like I ate too much for breakfast. My mom is always exactly on time, so, knowing I have exactly four minutes, I run into the hallway