Shiny Broken Pieces by Sona Charaipotra

you all don’t realize is that our beautiful ballet world is very small, and what happens here”—he motions all around him—“ripples out. That scandal has affected even other notable ballet schools and companies. We need to do something—something big—to rescue the school and the company.”
    He pauses to let that sink in. “This means boosting enrollment numbers, increasing ticket sales, revitalizing the school and company’s image—making ABC a force once again in the dance world. Revamping the way you all interact with one another—creating a real community here. What dancer wants to come to a place where she feels under attack?” He looks pointedly toward Gigi and then Cassie. “How will American Ballet Conservatory put a legion of talent into its own company, and those around the world, if people don’t want to come here? If people are afraid?” He gestures toward his assistant and the papers she’s holding. “To that end, we have started a new initiative—a mentorship program. Some of you will be paired with the newer students in order to guide them as they adjust to life at ABC. Make them feel welcome and integral.”
    He holds out his arm. “I’ve also asked Gigi and Cassie to speak a few words about how the bullying affected them.”
    Gigi stands first and walks over to Mr. K. He puts a hand onher shoulder. She takes a deep breath. “Everyone basically knows what happened to me.” Her voice quavers.
    My heart races. I grip my thermos tight, the heat of it almost burning my fingers.
    â€œIt all started as little things. Nasty looks, whispers, and messages. Glass in my shoes. Even—” Her voice breaks and I know what’s next.
    The word butterflies . It thuds in my chest and I can’t help but remember the worst thing I did last year. The worst thing I’ve ever done.
    Everybody says butterflies are beautiful. In Korean they’re called nabi . My grandmother used to send me cards every spring back when she and my mom still spoke. She told me to look for pretty yellow butterflies out my window because they signaled good fortune.
    Maybe some are lucky and pretty. Gigi’s were not. They were a dull orange, with black stains streaking across their backs, and large, menacing dark eyes that stared at me when I reached into Gigi’s window terrarium, that trusted my delicate and graceful hands coming toward them. Eyes that still haunt me now. But in that moment, it felt good to push needles into them and finally still that endless, frenetic flapping that bothered my sleep for months.
    My halmeoni would say that I gave up all my good fortune that day.
    The memory causes me to shake. I will myself to forget about it. I tell myself I’m not the same girl who did that. I can make it up to Gigi. Mr. K claps and I startle out of it. Cassie and Gigihold each other’s hands before sitting down again.
    Mr. K motions at Damien. He steps forward. “Thank you, Anton. I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. Honesty is part of what makes us all artists. I’ve heard much about you—some of it good, a lot of it not so good. The press calls you a morally flawed lot of dancers. Last year’s Level 8s were a disappointment, too. Their talent and technique subpar, and not ready for the ballet world. You all have the talent, but your choices have had a tremendous effect on the company itself. Along with not dancing The Nutcracker , you also won’t be choreographing senior workshop pieces at the end of the year.”
    The gasp is an audible, deep, collected breath. The weight of it, of hearing this news aloud, is staggering. We knew this could be a possibility. All of us knew, deep down inside, that our actions could deem us unworthy—after all, we nearly killed a girl. But surely Gigi should get to dance? I’m staring at her—we all are, I realize—and her face has gone pale,