Seeing Cinderella (11 page)

Inside my room Stacy lounged on a throw pillow. “Cool wall,” she said, leaning her head against my daisy mural.

“Yeah,” Raven said, slumping at my desk chair. “It’s really shiny and happy.”

I ignored Raven. “Thanks, my dad and I painted it.”

“You painted it yourself ?” Stacy said, sounding awed. “Hey—you know what would be cool? Painting murals on all the other walls. That way, no matter where you sat it would feel like you were outside.” Stacy looked at me. “I could help you paint, if you wanted.”

“Um, I’ll think about it,” I said.

With one last look at the mural, Stacy popped up, opened her ginormous purse, and tipped it over, unleashing an ocean of makeup on my dresser.

Stacy and Ellen started primping in front of
my dresser mirror like it was the prom, instead of just Pacific view’s Halloween carnival. Stacy picked through the pile of makeup and pulled out a brown tube she offered my way. “I’ve got a concealer stick,” she said. “You know, in case you want to cover up your freckles.”

“Not enough makeup in the world for that,” I heard Raven mutter under her breath.

“No thanks,” I said to Stacy. My mom didn’t allow me to wear makeup yet. And even if she did, my skin was so oily the concealer would end up, well,
concealed
in puddles of grease anyway.

I continued to watch them, feeling like I was a guest in my own room. So I did what I was starting to do every time I felt nervous: I put my glasses on.

The air waved and shimmered and blue screens launched up by Stacy, Ellen, and Raven.

Raven stared at Stacy and Ellen, looking just as uncomfortable as I felt. Inside the screen hovering by her, white words scrolled across a blue screen:
Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe I should’ve stayed home with Mom and her loser boyfriend after all.

The screen next to Stacy showed a picture of Green Braces Girl sitting alone on a couch with a bowlful of candy.

Stacy frowned at her reflection, wiped off her lipstick, and grabbed a different color tube. When she caught me looking at her, her thoughts changed:
What is she looking at? She can be so judgmental sometimes.

I looked away. Was I judgmental? From reading people’s thoughts I already knew sometimes they thought I was stuck-up because I didn’t talk a lot. I was trying to change that, though. Hadn’t it been my idea to get everyone together tonight in the first place?

But judgmental? Was that me? I felt mad, and ashamed, and confused, all at the same time. I wasn’t sure what Stacy meant, and I almost wanted to tell her I was sorry.

But then I shook myself. Stacy was trying to steal my best friend. I wasn’t apologizing to
her
for anything.

“What time is Ana coming?” Ellen asked.

“
She’s
coming?” Raven asked. “Why?”

“Callie invited her,” Ellen said. “Ana’s her Spanish tutor.”

I should have said something then. Something about how Ana was my friend, not just my tutor. But Raven’s searing glare sealed my mouth shut.

“Whatever,” Raven said, picking up a compact and beginning to apply white powder to her already chalky skin. “She can’t even speak English right.”

I flinched, figuring she meant Ana’s accent. Raven scowled at her reflection in the mirror. In the screen hovering next to her, her thoughts were just as nasty as her words. Except she wasn’t thinking about Ana, she was thinking about herself:
But Ana’s not even American and she reads better than you, little miss reads-at-a-fourth-grade-level. What kind of an idiot are you? Why can’t you see words like normal people instead of jumbling them all up?

Raven Maggert was the last person I wanted to feel sorry for—but I did anyway. Words never jumbled up on me, and I still struggled in school. From spying on Raven’s thoughts I knew she stressed out whenever we had to read aloud in history, English, or drama class. I guess now I knew why.

“It’s been really helpful, having a tutor,” I said carefully.

“People who need tutors are losers,” Raven said.

Raven went back to powdering herself into a ghost. Ellen stared defiantly in the mirror while she fluffed her bangs, and I read the screen hovering next to her, showing me her thoughts:
I’m tired of being good little Ellen all the time. No matter how much or how well I do, Tara always does better. I’ve had it. Mom can refuse to buy me a guitar—but she’s still going to see a different Ellen this year. She can just deal with the changes.

“What changes?” I asked, and then froze. I’d said it out loud. Not good.
So
not good.

But I don’t think Ellen even realized I’d read her thoughts. She just stared at me in the mirror as different images flashed on the screen hovering near her. Ellen, at what I thought was a club meeting, looking bored. Ellen glancing over at a boy in the cafeteria, then blushing when he smiled at her. Ellen laughing with Stacy while they played around with the guitar. The screen changed again, and one sentence scrolled across:
Callie wouldn’t understand.

Callie wouldn’t understand. I was so sick of reading about how “Callie wouldn’t understand.”

“Why are you wearing those?” Ellen asked suddenly, turning around and facing me.

“Wearing what?” I looked down at my costume.

“Your glasses. You told me you only need them for reading, but you wear them all the time.”

“Um . . .” I glanced around my room, hoping to find a good excuse. Because telling Ellen the truth was so
not
an option.

“I thought—I thought they’d go well with my costume.”

“It definitely adds to the loser factor,” Raven said.

“Well it looks ridiculous.” Ellen’s thoughts told me she wasn’t buying it.
She’s lying. I always know when Callie’s lying.

“Give them to me.” Ellen held out her hand.

I didn’t want to
give
Ellen the glasses. I wanted to
throw
them at her. At the demanding hands she held out, hands that just assumed I’d obey her. And I wanted to yell—yell at all of them—and tell them they weren’t allowed to boss me around, or say mean things about me, my costume, or my freckles. Not in my own room. Maybe in the hallways of Pacificview I was just the frizzy-haired girl with freckles and ugly glasses. But in my room, I was the queen. And no one was allowed to be mean to me.

But if I said any of that, Ellen would tell me I was being ridiculous, Raven would say I was too sensitive, and Stacy would giggle and secretly wonder if Ellen and I were about to break up as best friends. So I did what everyone in the room expected me to do: I politely handed the glasses to Ellen.

And watched in horror as she stuck them on her face.

Think nothing but nice thoughts, I commanded myself frantically, squeezing my eyes shut. Don’t think about how much you don’t like Stacy, how you think Raven is nasty, or most of all, how mad you get at Ellen. Just think nice, happy thoughts. And you’d better start thinking of a darn good apology:
I’m so sorry I’ve been spying on you guys. Really, I didn’t mean to do it. Okay, well I guess I did. But I didn’t do it that often. Only when I was mad, or nervous, or frustrated. Which has been a lot this year.

I am so dead
, I thought as Ellen continued to stare at me.

After what seemed like forever, Ellen took them off and said, “Your eyesight stinks, Callie. I can’t see anything in these!”

Stacy giggled, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I took my glasses back.

“You guys finish getting ready. I’m going next door to get Ana.” I hoped they didn’t hear my voice shake as I backed out the door.

That was close.

Chapter 11

Super Freaky Glasses Rule #
₁₀

Never leave home without your glasses (and a pack of Red Hots). You never know when they might come in handy.

A
NGRY VOICES SPURTED FROM AN OPEN WINDOW AS
I walked up the porch to Ana’s house. The voices fell silent when I knocked, and I heard footsteps padding toward the front door. I hoped Ana would answer so I wouldn’t have to talk to her uncle. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Hola.”
Ana stepped out onto the porch. Behind her, I saw Mr. Garcia lurking in the entryway, staring at us. I wondered what they had been arguing about.

“Ready to go?” I asked, although clearly Ana wasn’t ready. Instead of the nurse’s costume she said she had, Ana was dressed in her too-small overalls. I almost asked
if she’d changed her mind and decided to go as a farmer, but didn’t.

“I cannot go. I am sick,” Ana said.

“Oh. Okay.” I frowned, and not just because I felt disappointed, but because I had this strange feeling Ana was lying. She looked tired, so maybe she really was sick. But something about the way she held on to the door—like she couldn’t wait to close it—made me feel like she was lying. If Ana had gotten in trouble with her uncle, she could’ve just told me.

Then again, she probably couldn’t, I realized as I looked over her shoulder at Mr. Garcia. Not with him spying on us. I wished I could’ve put my glasses on and found out the truth. But after the close call with Ellen, I’d left them at home.

“See you at school.” Ana sounded like Mr. Angelo when he dismissed us from class.

Ana stepped back inside her house. Something made me stick out my foot, catching the door before it closed.

“What are your symptoms?” I asked.

“Symptoms? I do not know this word.”

“Symptoms, you know—coughing, sneezing.” I faked a sneeze.

“Oh. I feel cold. And my head hurts.”

“So you have a headache?”

“Yes. I have a headache. Good-bye, Callie.” I moved my foot, and Ana firmly shut the door.

I stared at the door, wishing I’d brought my glasses. Wishing I could’ve tried to read Ana’s thoughts, even if most of them were in Spanish.

Because I knew Ana was lying to me. What I didn’t know was why.

The scent of popcorn, hot dogs, and cotton candy wafted down the street and met us as we walked to Pacificview. Raven and I trudged behind Ellen and Stacy. Cars honked as they raced by us.

I patted my costume, relaxing when I felt my glasses. After leaving Ana’s house, I decided I wanted them with me at the Carnival. So I tucked them into the pocket underneath my apron. I just felt . . .
safer
having them with me.

Loud music and shouts and the roar of a roller coaster greeted us as we neared Pacificview Middle School. Dusk had deepened and a Ferris wheel rose up over the tops of Pacificview’s buildings into a pink-and-purple streaked sky.

“What do you guys want to do first?” Stacy asked when we arrived.

“I’m hungry,” Raven said.

I looked over to the snack stands and saw Scott and Charlie eating hot dogs. “I’m hungry too,” I said quickly.

While we ordered sodas, french fries, and a bucket of popcorn, I kept my eye on Scott. If he’d almost asked me to go to the carnival, then he’d come over as soon as he noticed me.

I was right.

“Ahoy thar, me ladies, be this the isle of sustenance? We’ve come in search of refreshments for our weary souls.” Charlie wore a pirate costume, complete with an eye patch, a gold earring, and a stuffed parrot sitting on his shoulder. Scott stood next to him, looking totally cute dressed in a martial arts costume.

Raven rolled her eyes, but Ellen and Stacy giggled.

Charlie grabbed a french fry off my plate, which I could tell Ellen thought was rude, but I didn’t care. Scott Fowler was standing four feet away from me!

“Aye, french fries, just what my aching soul is craving,” Charlie said, stealing another fry.

“May your soul be refreshed.” I pushed my plate toward him. Who could eat? When Scott Fowler was standing. Four. Feet. Away. From. Me!

Everyone laughed while Charlie pretended to feed his stuffed parrot a few fries.

“Where are you guys headed after this?” I asked Scott.

“Over to the Monster’s Mirror Maze,” Charlie answered.

“Want to join us?” Scott asked.

Hmmm, let me think about that for one—

“Okay,” Ellen and Stacy chorused, before I could say anything.

At the maze, Ellen suggested we team up in partners and have a race. Scott and Charlie took off, and Ellen said, “Who wants to be my partner?”

“I do!” Stacy and I both said.

Ellen looked from me to Stacy, her head swiveling like she was watching a tennis match. Then she said, “I’ll be partners with Raven.” Ellen ran into the maze, followed by a not-very-excited-looking Raven.

“Come on, Stacy. Let’s go,” I said impatiently. Maybe I could catch up to Charlie and Scott. Maybe then Scott and I could talk, and maybe then, well, who knew?

But Stacy seemed entranced by the mirrors, and kept lagging behind. Finally I gave up trying to hurry her and stared at the mirrors too.

In one mirror my ears looked twice the size of my head, reminding me of a pair of oversize cymbals. In another mirror, Stacy’s body plumped out while her head looked
like a shrunken raisin. Stacy stopped and studied herself, seeming to forget I was there.