Shiny Broken Pieces

to pay. I’ll make sure of that.

I’m the first one in the studio. It already feels like home. I sink into a stretch on
the floor. I focus on making sure this is the best first ballet class I’ve ever had,
better than my very first ballet class with Morkie. I hear feet and sit up, thinking
company dancers will come in soon.

But it’s Cassie, staring down at me. “Don’t get too comfortable, Bette,”
Cassie says. “You won’t be here for long.”

I choose to ignore her, bending back down into a deep V.
“It should’ve been Gigi.”
I don’t get up, focusing on the floor and my breathing. “Well, you know
what they say about karma.” I pause. “Which means you’ll be gone soon
enough.”
“I think it’s you they’ll be replacing.”
I rise, nearly knocking her over in the process, and start to walk away. “I’m
not going anywhere, so you can drop those fantasies.”
She smiles, following right on my heels. “Did you find your phone?”
“How did you know I lost my phone?” My heart thumps. My fists ball up. I
turn to face her, and she’s grinning like a cat on a mouse.
“I told you that I’d never forget or forgive you for what you did to me.” Her
eyes flash with rage. “That I was willing to do whatever it took.”
“You posted those pictures of Eleanor.” I step close to her. “You’re the
reason my best friend tried to kill herself. You.” I want to hit her in the mouth, to
tear that smug grin off her face. I’m shaking.
“It’s nothing worse than what you did to me.” She shoves me back. “You
weren’t supposed to come back. You weren’t supposed to still be here.” Her face
is bright red from the tip of her nose to the lobes on her ears. Like Alec’s. “You
should be banned from ballet and every company. I’ll make sure of it.”
“There you go again, ranting and raving like a crazy person. Someone should
take care of that. Lock you up again.” I look around innocently. “Where’s your
keeper, anyway? Did you finally scare Henri off?”
“You leave Henri out of this. He told me everything you did while I was
away. How you tortured Gigi and the others. You’re evil, Bette, truly.”
“I’m evil? Why don’t you worry about your boyfriend? He nearly got that
poor girl killed, and he messed with Will’s head. He’s disgusting, you know?
And while you were gone, he was all over me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I told him to get close to you.” She laughs.

“Did you tell him to kiss me?” Her face falls, her eyes wild. “Because, let me
tell you, he really enjoyed his mission. Couldn’t keep his hands off me. Wonder
if he was up to the same antics with Will. Maybe I’ll call and—”

“You’re lying.”
“You and I both know I’m not.” We’re face-to-face now, so close I know she
can smell my Chanel perfume and almost taste the lipstick I’m wearing. “Ask
him about the mole on my rib. He’ll know exactly where it is. Now, if you’re
done, I need to finish warming up.”
She grabs my arm. “You didn’t win! Adele and Eleanor suffered because of
you—everything that happened to them is your fault. You took those pictures. I
did Eleanor a favor by posting them. And you were supposed to fall through the
trapdoor. Not Adele. It was all for you. How can you live with yourself?” She’s
scratching so hard, bloody red welts have come up on my arm. “If you think I’m
anywhere near done, well, you’re even stupider than—”
“Cassandra, hands off Bette this instant.”
Cassie’s eyes dart to the studio doorway.
Madame Dorokhova stands there, her hand to her throat, worried but
composed. She’s got a phone in her hand, and she dials a number quickly.
“Damien. We need you in the girls’ studio now.”

45.

Gigi

“WHAT’S NEXT?” AUNT LEAH ASKS. We’re sprawled out on Mama’s
couch, legs intertwined, watching a bunch of old movies. Mama’s in the kitchen.
I smell the smoky scent of barbecue wafting in from the patio. I spot my dad’s
shoulders through the window, leaning over the grill.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wait for audition season for the San Francisco
Ballet, or go up to Portland.” I pull the blanket over my legs. “I don’t want to
think about it.”

“Your mom wanted me to try to talk to you about it. Talk you into putting in
some applications. Maybe community college, then apply in the fall for a
university.”

“I don’t want to go to college yet.”
“What is it about ballet?” She pushes her foot against mine.
I love to dance now more than ever, but there are moments when, if I’m
honest with myself, I regretted going to the American Ballet Conservatory, and
all that’s happened. There are days since graduation where I still feel broken,
and the whole thing feels pointless, not having earned an apprenticeship.
But then I think of the accident and what I went through to get it all back. It
makes me want it that much more.
“You never danced,” I say.
“Yes, but I do understand art.” She goes off on a tangent about the art world.
I don’t tell her that I feel like ballet is like a drug. A rush that always goes to
my head—the zip of excitement and thrill that comes with every casting, every
performance. I always want to bask in it, and when the rehearsal period is over
or the performance curtain comes down for the last time, I want it all back again.
But ballet hurts sometimes. I wonder if the high is worth all the lows—all the
criticisms, the chewed-up feet, the bloody blisters, the aches that never seem to
go away. All the time wasted in front of the mirror, watching every bite that goes

into your mouth and wondering where it might end up on your body, the
thoughts that you aren’t good enough.

I cut into Aunt Leah’s story about museum curation. “I know you all don’t
understand it. I just need you—and especially Mama—to trust me. Can you tell
her that for me? Work on her? I’ve only been home a week.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling.
I play on my phone to avoid talking about this anymore. A picture of June
appears in my feed. She’s at the barre at Salt Lake City Ballet. There are a string
of congratulations. I take a large breath and type in a bunch of smiley faces. I’m
happy for her. I am.
Mama comes in from the patio with trays of food. She hands both of us
bowls of fresh summer corn, cut from the cob and cooked with tomatoes and
okra. I smile up at her. The phone rings, and she scurries to answer it.
Aunt Leah and I turn back to the movie.
“Gigi,” Mama calls from the kitchen. “It’s for you.”
“Tell Ella I’ll call her later.” She’s been trying to get me to come out with
her new friends, plotting another bonfire. But I haven’t been up to it. Not just
yet.
“It’s not Ella,” Mama says, waving the phone at me.
I grab the receiver. “Hello?”
“Gigi, it’s Damien Leger from the American Ballet Company.”
I hold my breath and pray that my heart slows, beats out a rhythm I know is
safe. But it’s not listening, thumping hard and fast in my chest. I’m instantly
flushed and sweating.
“Gigi? You there?” he says.
“Yes, I’m here,” I manage to squeak out.
“Well, I’m calling because we have another opening at the company. We lost
an apprentice. We’d love to have you. You still interested?”
An excited panic rushes through me. My heart goes into overdrive, triggering
my monitor, and I can already feel Mama panicking. I want to scream.
“Yes,” I shout.
Mama rushes out of the kitchen. Aunt Leah pauses the movie. I feel frozen as
Damien explains the process for me moving into the apprentice apartments and
the paperwork I need to send to him. “Everything clear?” he asks.
“Yes. Yes.” It’s the only word I can seem to form. After he hangs up, I still
stand there gripping the phone and waiting for my heart to slow down, waiting
till I can breathe again, to tell them the good news.

A week later, I’m back in New York, back at Lincoln Center, back home. At the
company building, the skylight windows let so much light into the locker rooms,
I sit and bask in it for a minute, letting the sun warm my shoulders. I’m early for
my first ballet class at the company. I run my fingers across principal and soloist
members’ lockers and trace over those important names: Becca Thomas,
Samantha Haan, Svetlana Barkova, Angela Liao, Michelle Feldman. The space
is three times larger than the one at the conservatory. Vanities are well stocked
with bobby pins and hair spray.

The doors open. One of the corps de ballet members enters. I think her name
is Maria. She smiles at me as she heads to the back to the showers. Other girls
start to pour in. Ballet class will start in two hours. I pretend to keep getting
dressed just to linger here and see who comes in. I don’t know what to do with
myself. The excitement bubbles up in me.

“Gigi!” Bette is right behind me.
“What are you doing here?” Her words echo around us, getting tangled in the
warm lights and the hanging practice tutus and the clouds of hair spray of the
dressing room. Her beautiful blue eyes flash with shock.
I smile. “I’m back.”
“It’s good to see you,” she says, as other company members watch.
“I’m sure it is, Bette. I’m sure it is.”

Acknowledgments

WE’VE LEARNED FROM OUR TIME in the trenches that publishing is all
about family—the family you’re born into, which helps you get to The End in
the first place, and the family you make. We’re so grateful to be surrounded by
both kinds. To keep it short and sweet, we want to thank our own families, for
all their love and support along the way, always.

To our pint-size powerhouse of an agent, Victoria Marini. Thank you for
always taking the risk and making the leap with us. We couldn’t do it without
you.

We want to thank our HarperTeen family: our editors, publicist, the library
and marketing team, and all the people behind the scenes who make this magic
happen.

We can’t forget the lovely early readers who helped us vet the manuscript
through edits: Alla Plotkin, Ellen Oh, Kathryn Holmes, and Renee Ahdieh.
Thank you so much for giving us your time to make sure we got things right.

We’re also forever grateful for our publishing tribe: the We Need Diverse
Books team, our cheerleaders, our confidantes, our safety net, and our shoulders
to cry on. We’re so proud to be a part of this very important mission.

And finally, last but certainly not least, our readers, who stuck around
despite the cliffhangers and crazy antics. Thank you so much for reading.

Back Ads



DISCOVER
your next favorite read

MEET
new authors to love

WIN
free books

SHARE
infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more

WATCH
the latest videos

TUNE IN
to Tea Time with Team Epic Reads

About the Authors

Photo by Navdeep Singh Dhillon

SONA CHARAIPOTRA & DHONIELLE CLAYTON met while attending
the New School’s acclaimed Writing for Children MFA program. Sona is a
journalist who has written for the New York Times, People, Parade,
Cosmopolitan, and other major media. Dhonielle is a librarian at a middle school
in Harlem, and taught English at a cutthroat ballet academy. Together, the pair
cofounded CAKE Literary, a boutique book packaging company with a
decidedly diverse bent. Find them online at www.cakeliterary.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

Books by Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton

Tiny Pretty Things
Shiny Broken Pieces: A Tiny Pretty Things Novel

Credits

Cover art © 2016 Sean Freeman
Cover design by Michelle Taormina

Copyright

HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

SHINY BROKEN PIECES. Copyright © 2016 by Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton. All rights
reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees,
you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-
screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered,
or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission
of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015955159
ISBN 978-0-06-234242-3 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © June 2016 ISBN 9780062342447

16 17 18 19 20 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FIRST EDITION

About the Publisher

Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632

Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com