Seeing Cinderella (10 page)

I felt sick to my stomach then and looked away from the screen. “Is . . . is there a reason why you didn’t study for it?” I asked softly.

Ellen shut her locker and faced me. “Okay, look—Stacy spent the night last night. Okay? That’s why I couldn’t come over. Her dad was going out of town on a business trip and her mother decided to go. So they needed a place for Stacy to stay for a couple of nights. Stacy came over and brought her dad’s old guitar. We started messing around with it and lost track of time. Okay?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me this last night?” I asked.

“Because I know how much you hate Stacy.”

“You didn’t have to lie to me. And I don’t hate Stacy.”

“Well you act like you can’t stand her, and I didn’t want you getting all mad and making a big deal about it.”

“I’m not making a big deal about it!”

“Yes, you are.” Ellen crossed her arms, and we stared at each other as the warning bell rang.

I looked away first. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ellen said quietly. Then she hefted her backpack over her shoulder. “Look—I don’t want to be late to class. I’ll see you in drama, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry,” I said again.

As I watched Ellen sweep through the crowd, I wondered why I was the one who apologized when Ellen was the one who lied.

When I walked into drama class later that day, Ellen and Stacy whispered and giggled in the corner. Their fair heads were bent together, like the sun and moon were hugging each other. Watching them, I felt like Pluto. All cold and icy and distant.

As I neared them, I reminded myself to be nice and not to make a big deal about anything.

“What’s so funny?” I asked in a cheery voice.

Ellen jumped like she’d been caught cheating on a test. “Nothing,” she said, and Stacy nodded.

“Oh. I thought I heard you guys laughing?”

“You must be hearing things,” Stacy said. “We were practicing our lines.” She recited a line as the Wicked Stepmother.

“Oh, okay. Have fun then,” I said, walking away and sinking into a chair next to Ana.

“Did your mom like the
mole
sauce?” Ana asked.

“Yeah,” I said, not taking my eyes off Ellen and Stacy. “That’s all we ate though, because I forgot to put the chicken in the oven.”

Ana laughed and went back to her script.

The bell rang, and Mr. Angelo announced he was assigning partners to run lines. I tried to catch
Ellen’s eye, but she just listened to Stacy, who pointed at a poster on the wall advertising Pacificview Middle School’s annual Halloween carnival.

Fine, be that way,
I thought at Ellen, yanking my glasses from my backpack and slipping them on. She could ignore me all she wanted, but she couldn’t hide from my super freaky magic glasses. Holding my script in front of me and pretending to study, I spied on Ellen and Stacy’s thoughts.

Stacy:
The Halloween carnival sounds fun. I bet there’ll be lots of boys.

Ellen:
Callie and I hang out every Halloween. It’s tradition.

Stacy:
Why can’t Ellen just tell Callie she doesn’t want to do another boring sleepover?

Ellen:
Maybe I could tell Callie I can’t make it—and then meet Stacy at the carnival.

I slumped in my seat. My eyes felt hot with tears and my throat felt thick. I wanted to cry and yell at Ellen—but I knew I couldn’t. How could you argue with your best friend, when she never told you her true thoughts? When the only reason you know what she really thinks is because you’re spying on her?

Before Ellen told me she “couldn’t make it” on Halloween, I jumped up and marched over to them.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” I said.

“You do?” Stacy sounded skeptical. And so were her
thoughts:
What, like watching a bunch of cheesy horror movies? I swear, Callie likes the most boring things.

I paused. Because last year after trick-or-treating, Ellen and I
had
watched a bunch of cheesy horror movies—and laughed ourselves silly. Which meant Ellen told her what we did last year. Did Ellen think that was boring now?

“Well, what’s your wonderfully great idea?” Stacy prompted.

Since smacking Stacy right then would probably make Ellen mad (and get me suspended), I pointed to the poster instead.

“What if we went to the carnival instead of having a sleepover? We could get a big group of people together.” I turned to Stacy. “You could come with us, if you want to.”

Ellen stared at me, her thoughts slowly scrolling across the blue screen hovering next to her:
I wonder if it would be more fun to just go with Stacy.

I felt something deflate inside me then, and I was about to say that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

But then Ellen shook her head slightly.
Stop it! Callie’s your best friend. What kind of a person doesn’t want to go to the carnival with her best friend? Besides, we had so much fun last year.

“Sounds good,” Ellen said. “Can we meet at your house like last year?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling back at Ellen and holding out my pinkie. “It’s tradition, isn’t it?”

“I’ll go,” Stacy said, smiling widely as Ellen and I crossed pinkies. But her thoughts were not happy at all:
Why does Callie have to ruin everything?

“Great,” I said, floating off as Mr. Angelo called my name. From his thoughts, I knew he was about to pair me up with Scott Fowler.

Right then, I
loved
my glasses.

“Your beauty is exquisite. You’re captivating. You’re . . . you’re . . .”

I leaned farther toward Scott. He was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. My heart raced and I was having trouble breathing. “Really? Tell me more.”

“Your beauty is like . . . like—oh forget it!” Scott flung his script across the multipurpose room. “This Cinderella stuff is a bunch of junk. Good thing we’re just understudies. Know what I mean? At least we don’t have to really know any of it. Not like them.” Scott pointed over to Charlie and Ellen, who also ran lines together.

Students sat scattered throughout the multipurpose room in groups of two. Mr. Angelo stood behind Charlie and Ellen; all three of them looked irritated.

“Come on, you two,” Mr. Angelo said, “The Prince and Cinderella are supposed to fall madly in love at first sight.”

“I
told
Charlie we should’ve signed up for wood shop instead of drama,” Scott muttered.

I stared at Scott in a daze. I’d never been so close to him before. If I shut out the rest of the class I could imagine we really were at a ball. That we really were—

“Hello? Anybody home?” Scott waved a hand in front of my face.

I snapped back to attention, jerking my head back against the folding chair behind me.

“Ouch!” I rubbed my head.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Scott asked.

“W-well,” I began, but stopped. I never actually talked to Scott last year. I just sat behind him—two desks away, to be exact—admiring his poems. Every response that came to me seemed dorky, and I didn’t want Scott to think I was a weirdo.

I took my glasses out of my backpack and slipped them on. Then I turned back to Scott. But he’d given up trying to talk to me, and was glancing around the room, looking bored.

“Come on, people,” Mr. Angelo hollered to the class.
“Use this time to get to know your character. Learn your character. Become your character.”

The air around Scott shimmered and the screen appeared next to him:
Mr. Angelo needs to get a grip. He takes this drama stuff way too seriously. Why does Charlie like him so much?

Then his thoughts turned to the weekend:
Maybe Charlie and I could see a movie this Saturday.

“S-so,” I began, but stopped again. I almost asked him if he was going to the movies this weekend, but I thought he might get suspicious. Or worse, he might think I wanted to ask him out.

But the screen hovering next to him showed me he thought something else:
Dude, Callie is
weird.
Has she got a speech problem or something?

I didn’t know if I should’ve felt hurt that he thought I was weird, or happy that he now knew my name was Callie instead of Carrie. I went with happy. And instead of asking him about his weekend plans, I decided to talk about mine.

“Stacy, Ellen, and I are going to the Halloween carnival this weekend,” I said. “Think you’ll go?”

“Yeah, I think Charlie and I are hanging out,” Scott said. His next thought sent my heart fluttering:
Maybe I should ask them to go with us. She’s cute.

I swear, I almost fainted right then. Scott Fowler
thought I was cute! Me—Polka Dot—with the frizzy hair and freckly face! I bit the inside of my cheek, to keep from saying yes before he actually asked. But then Mr. Angelo had to go and ruin the moment.

“You’re not practicing your lines,” he said, handing Scott back his script. “Understudies are quite important, you know. You must be prepared to carry on the show at a moment’s notice if one of the leads becomes sick or is otherwise unable to perform.”

“Whatever,” Scott said. “Charlie never gets sick.”

“Yeah, neither does Ellen,” I said.
So could you please leave,
I added silently.
I’m about to get asked out on my first sort-of date!

But the spell was broken.

“I guess we’d better work on this,” Scott said, looking at his script.
I hate drama,
he was thinking.

So do I,
I thought back at Scott as I glared at Mr. Angelo’s retreating figure.
Believe me, so do I.

Chapter 10

Super Freaky Glasses Rule #
₉

It’s easier to dislike someone when you don’t have to read their thoughts.

“C
ALLIE, GET THE DOOR
!” M
OM’S VOICE SCREECHED UP
the stairs.

I looked in the mirror, and stuck my tongue out at my goofy reflection. Last year, Ellen insisted we buy matching yellow rag-doll costumes. It cost me a month’s allowance, but Ellen said it was cute, and that we could wear them the next year. But we forgot one small thing: growth spurts.

Now the costume’s skirt hung a couple inches above my knees; so I had pulled a pair of black stretch pants on underneath—making me look like a freckly honeybee.
Since Ellen was a few inches taller than me, I wondered if she would think the skirt was too short also.

I shouldn’t have worried.

“Happy Hallowee—” I broke off as I opened the front door and saw Ellen and Stacy—dressed identically as a trendy Little Red Riding Hood, complete with swishy red-and-white skirts, clunky red shoes, and red choker necklaces.

“That’s a way cute costume,” Stacy said, stepping inside and brushing past me. “I had one just like it when I was in third grade.”

“Thanks,” I said, staring hard at Ellen. “Ellen and I bought it last year.”

Ellen wore an apologetic expression on her face as she stepped inside. She should be sorry. True, we never actually
said
we were wearing our rag-doll costumes tonight—but that had been the whole point when we bought them last year.

So while I looked six years old, Ellen and Stacy looked like middle-school models. Maybe I stunk at algebra, but I could still do the math: If Ellen and Stacy wore identical costumes, then they planned it—without including me. I probably wouldn’t have dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood (my hair and freckles were red enough), but it would’ve been nice if they’d asked.

I moved to shut the door when a rough voice said, “Wait.”

I looked in disbelief at Raven, who skulked in wearing her usual black shirt, black jeans, and dog collar.

“Dig your costume,” Raven said, smirking.

“Hello, girls,” Mom said, walking into the hallway. “Oh you both look so lovely,” she said to Ellen and Stacy. “And what are you supposed to be?” she turned to Raven.

Raven looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your costume. Are you a witch?”

“I’m not wearing a costume. These are my normal clothes,” Raven said.

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” Mom said, and scurried away.

“Where’s your room?” Stacy asked. “I need to fix my makeup.”

“Upstairs, second one on the right.”

Stacy and Raven filed up the stairs. Ellen started to follow until I grabbed her arm.

“What is Raven doing here?” I whispered.

Ellen shrugged. “Raven heard Stacy and me talking in science class, and Stacy invited her. She’s really not that bad. She’s a good lab partner, actually.”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet Raven lets you do most of the work.”

“So what?” Ellen said. “It wouldn’t be any different if
you
were my lab partner.”

I closed my mouth. She had me there.

“And anyway,” Ellen continued, “you’re the one who said we should get a group of people together. I didn’t think you’d mind—I don’t think Raven has very many friends.” Ellen started walking upstairs. “Where’s Ana?”

“She’s not here yet,” I said, following behind Ellen.