Seeing Cinderella (19 page)

I
’D LIKE TO SAY
I
WAS THE BEST
C
INDERELLA EVER
. I
’D
like to say that when I spoke, my voice rang out strong and clear. I’d like to say all those things, but I’d be lying if I did.

The truth was I stumbled a lot. Literally—I kept forgetting to hike up Ellen’s too-long costume when I walked across the stage. I forgot some of my lines. And when the Wicked Stepsisters made fun of me, I got nervous and spoke so softly I had to repeat the line. I wasn’t too embarrassed though; it seemed like something Cinderella might have done, too. So being onstage wasn’t totally horrible after all.

Actually, I sort of liked it.

When the curtain came down, I was surrounded by a swarm of ball gowns, oversize mice, Wicked Stepsisters, and an ecstatic Fairy Godmother, all congratulating me. I could still hear the applause as Charlie thrust a bouquet of roses into my arms, shyly telling me it was tradition. Everyone told me I’d been an incredible Cinderella.

Wondering what they
really
thought, I slipped over to the dressing room, where I had stashed my glasses during intermission. I had just put them on when I felt a tap on the shoulder. Behind me, Scott grinned.

“Nice flowers,” he said, gesturing to the roses as I placed them on the dressing table. “You were awesome.” The air shimmered and an image of Scott backstage, dozing on a couch, waking from the applause of a couple students next to him appeared on the hovering screen.

Okay, so he was lying. But everyone told little white lies like that. Over the past few months, I’d learned not to take it personally.

“I mean it,” Scott said. “You’re really talented. And I thought—with Ellen sick and all—maybe you would like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me tonight?”

Scott was Ellen’s boyfriend now. I shouldn’t have wanted to say yes. But a part of me did, even though Charlie had already asked me. Another part of me felt evil
for wanting to go to the dance with someone else’s boyfriend. But if Ellen was sick, wasn’t Scott supposed to stay home with her? Wasn’t that the whole point of having a boyfriend?

And why did he ask me? Last time I checked, Scott thought I was a weirdo. His thoughts changed then, and I had my answer:
I am not missing that dance. Ellen will get over it. It’s too bad Stacy already has a date. But at least Callie doesn’t.

Excuse me? Why did he think I didn’t have a date? He never asked.

Instead of answering, I said what I’d wanted to tell him all semester. “I really liked the haiku you wrote.”

“What?” Scott furrowed his brow.
Has she gone mental?

“The haiku you wrote in English last year—I really liked them.”

The screen hovering by Scott’s head changed, showing a picture of him sitting at a desk—in what I assumed was his bedroom—as he copied something from a book. I squinted and read the title:
101 Romantic Haiku
.

“Yeah thanks,” Scott said. “It’s just something I like to do.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Scott Fowler was a liar. A. Big. Fat. Liar. And a bad boyfriend.

And just like that, my crush on him was gone.

“Well, how ’bout it? Want to go to the dance with me?”

I gave him the biggest smile I could and said, “Gee, Scott, I would’ve loved to. But I already have a date. No offense, but you’re not my type. You’re a little too—mental.”

My dress swished noisily as I spun around and marched out of the dressing room and down the hall. As I rounded a corner, I smacked straight into Raven, who carried a stack of play programs. The programs fell from her hands and skittered to the floor.

“Watchit, loser!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” I bent to the ground to pick up the programs and found a piece of blue paper that was crumpled and worn—like someone had been carrying it around for a while. When I smoothed it out, I realized it was the flyer I stuck in Raven’s English textbook a few weeks ago.

“Here,” I said quietly, standing up and handing it to her.

A screen sprang up next to Raven as she took it:
I knew it was from her. Maybe she’s not a total loser after all.

“Not totally, no,” I said, and then flushed when I realized I’d spoken out loud.

Raven gave me a strange look and said.
“Thanks. You know, for . . .” She trailed off, and just waved the flyer slightly. Then Raven did something rare. She smiled.

But only briefly. Then her usual sneer slid back into place and she said, “This is a mess.”

“Yeah,” I said, quickly looking away from Raven and down at the scattered programs. “I guess we’d better pick them up.”

“We?” Raven summoned her best Wicked Stepsister voice. “You’re Cinderella.
You
pick them up.”

Raven stomped off and I finished picking up the programs. Mr. Angelo appeared then, with several other students, including Charlie and Scott.

“Wonderful, excellent!” Mr. Angelo said. “I’ve never seen such a vulnerable interpretation of Cinderella!” The air shimmered, and a screen sprang up next to him:
She’s saved drama’s budget! This year, anyway.

“Mr. Angelo!” Stacy came running up, cheeks flushed, and eyes sparkling. “That was waaay fun! Do you think I can wear my costume to the Sadie Hawkins dance tonight?” Everyone laughed while Stacy twirled around in her Fairy Godmother dress.

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Angelo said. “But I’ll tell you what, you can keep your magic wand. How about that?”

Stacy grinned and held up the sparkly plastic wand.
With a swish of her hand, she waved the wand and pretended to turn Scott into a toad, and everyone laughed again (although Scott didn’t seem to think it was that funny). Then Stacy held the wand out to me. “Actually, I’d like to give it to Ana. It should have been hers, anyway.”

I took the wand. “Okay, maybe I’ll stop by her house later, and see if her flu is any better.”

Mr. Angelo nodded and said that was a good idea. But I barely heard him. Instead I stared at the words scrolling across the screen hovering next to him.
Flu? Well, I suppose it was easier for Ana to say that than to tell Callie the truth.

I read those words and something in me went cold. A million tiny things clicked into place. The time Ana told me she was sick, and couldn’t come to the Halloween carnival. How she wanted to join all those clubs, but then suddenly seemed to change her mind. How she never had clothes that fit well. The secret she wouldn’t share with me that day in the park …

Even though I had a pair of magic glasses, had I been blind all this time?

Use your glasses wisely,
Dr. Ingram’s voice rang through my head.

And finally, I knew what that meant.

Clutching the fairy godmother wand, I ran as fast as my glass-slippered feet would carry me, down the staircase and out the back entrance of the multipurpose room.

“Callie! Wait!” I heard Charlie call behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t even slow down—I wanted to talk to Ana
now
, before I lost my nerve.

A glass slipper caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and wrenched off my foot. I left it behind, and kicked off the other slipper as I ran out of Pacificview, down the street, and into my tract.

All was silent on Butterfly Way as I passed my house and hurried up the Garcias’ front lawn. Through the window I saw the bluish glare of the television. Mr. Garcia’s white SUV wasn’t in the driveway. I bent over my knees, panting to catch my breath. Then I slipped on my glasses and rang the doorbell.

My reflection showed dimly in the glass door. My hair was snarled in the tiara, which hung lopsided on my head. Wrinkles and smudges of dirt covered my costume, and sequins were missing. I looked down, and saw my feet were dirty from running barefoot.

With a click, the door cracked open. Inside, I heard the beeping and zinging of a video game. Ana peered
out at me, her eyes were red and puffy, like she’d been crying. When she saw my rumpled Cinderella gown her eyes widened. “Why are you wearing—”

“Can you come outside?” I said, cutting her off. “Please?” I added, when Ana hesitated. “Just for a minute?”

Ana ducked back into the house and said something to Anthony and Miguel in Spanish. Then she stepped outside and carefully closed the door behind her. She sat down on the porch and hugged her knees to her chest.

I knelt down next to her and handed her the fairy godmother wand. “This is from Stacy. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ana said, looking down at the wand.

Okay, I’d had the glasses long enough to know no one meant it when they said they were fine. The air waved and shimmered, and the screen launched up by Ana. As usual, Spanish words—and some English words—scrolled across. But I still couldn’t understand much of it.

“Are you sick, Ana?” I asked. “Really?”

Ana didn’t answer right away. But the words in the screen hovering next to her changed. And for the first time, I saw one full sentence in English:
Leave me alone.

Normally, if I knew someone didn’t want to hang out with me, I
would
leave, faster than you can say coward.
But Ana wasn’t sick. And I wasn’t leaving until I found out why she lied to me.

“Come on. You can tell me. What’s going on?”

Ana said nothing, and continued to stare at the wand, a sad look on her face.

“Please, Ana. Something’s not right, and I want to know what it is.”

Finally, the Spanish words vanished, and images flashed on the screen. Images of Ana and what I think her life must have been like these last few months: Ana showing Mr. Garcia a flyer advertising Pacificview’s clubs, and Mr. Garcia shaking his head no. Ana, looking unhappy as she took the Garcia kids trick-or-treating on Halloween. Ana setting the table for dinner, and walking into the living room to call the Garcia family, who watched television. Ana standing at her locker, while a group of girls walked by, giggling and pointing to the long skirt she wore. Ana watching Mr. Garcia and Anthony and Miguel play video games in the living room. Mr. Garcia offered the controller to Ana, who politely shook her head no. Then she slipped away to her room upstairs, lay down on her bed, and began to cry.

Then one more image: Mr. Garcia yelling at Ana—shaking his head no at whatever she said in return. Then he picked up the phone and handed it to her.

“Did your uncle say you couldn’t be in the play?” I guessed.

Ana closed her eyes and nodded. “He—what do Americans call it?—grounded me.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m grounded because I lied to him. Yesterday I told him we were studying after school. But then your mom saw him out in the front yard this morning and she said something about picking us up from the pizza place.”

“You
lied
to your uncle?” I asked, stunned.

“I just wanted to go out somewhere. Just once,” Ana said in a high-pitched voice. “Tío has old ideas about girls. He thinks I should help around the house, and I must do well in school. But he doesn’t approve of things like dances, or clubs, or girls our age going out without an adult.” Ana began to cry, deep sobs that made her shoulders shake and her chest heave. I didn’t know what to do or what to say, so I just put my arm around her.

I felt sick as I watched her cry. Because Ana had tutored me in Spanish, and listened to me talk about Ellen and Scott, and my dad. But had I ever asked her about
her
family? When had I asked her if it was easy moving to a new country and living with relatives she barely knew?

The answer was that I hadn’t.

When Ana’s sobs subsided I asked, “Have you told your parents any of this?”

Ana sniffed and shook her head. “My father is really sick. I don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful. Tío sends them money, and he helps me with my homework. He bought me new clothes—even if they’re a little . . .” She gestured to her long skirt and trailed off, like she was looking for the right word.

“Feo?”
I supplied.

I saw the faint trace of a smile on Ana’s face as she gave the English translation, “Ugly, yes.” She paused, and added, “I don’t think Tío understands very much about girls and middle school.” Ana sniffed again. “Anyway, I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

“You could have told me,” I said.

“I didn’t want to tell
anyone
. I didn’t want them to—how do you say it?—make fun of me? Some girls at school already make fun of my clothes.” Ana began to cry again.

I thought back to the beginning of the year, and how nervous I was about wearing my glasses to school. I had been so certain everyone was just waiting to make fun of me. But most people hadn’t. And the people who had—people like Raven—had their own worries.

One thing the glasses taught me:
No matter how different we looked on the outside, on the inside we worried and wondered about the same things. We all hoped we’d find someone who would see us for the person we really were, and the person we wanted to be.

I opened my mouth to tell Ana all this, but right then she wiped her eyes and handed me back the fairy godmother wand. “Keep this,” she said, standing up. “I have to go. I have to make dinner for the boys before Tío gets home.”

“Wait, Ana. Why don’t you come to my house. Maybe—”

“I can’t. And anyway, it’s okay. I’m fine.” Ana opened the front door, and said, “Good-bye, Callie.”

The door clicked shut. And from the tone of her voice, I didn’t think Ana meant, “Good-bye, we’ll talk about this later.” I thought she meant, “Good-bye. The next time you see me at school, please forget I ever said anything.”

I stood up and walked across the lawn to my house, twirling the wand in my hand. My plastic tiara was still snaggled in my hair so I pulled it free. Under the spotlights of the multipurpose room, the tiara and wand had glittered brilliantly. But now, with dusk settling, they both seemed dull and dim.

Right then I wished I really was Cinderella, with a real fairy godmother. Because I would tell my fairy godmother
I didn’t need the beautiful dress, the magic pumpkin, or even the handsome Prince. I’d just ask her to wave her magic wand, and, in a puff of swirly smoke, give my friend the happy ending she deserved.