The Ending Beginnings: Clara (An Ending Series Novella) (The Ending Series) (4 page)

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“What’s
wrong, munchkin?” Clara asked as she plopped down beside Beth on the red sofa.
The instant she did, she regretted it. Her head was pounding, and she was short
of breath. The afternoon light filtering in through the windows throughout the
rec room was too bright, and the smell of cleaning supplies was too pungent. “I
feel like shit,” she grumbled, leaning her head back against the overstuffed
couch with a groan.

“I
don’t feel good, either,” Beth breathed as she wrapped herself up in a brown,
fleece blanket.

Clara’s
head lulled to the left so she could see the other woman better.

Beth’s
face was flushed, her bangs were matted to her temples, and her skin looked
slick with sweat.

“Did
you go see Nurse Hadly?” Clara asked. She would generally brush Beth’s health
concerns away, but she could tell Beth really was sick, and Clara was feeling
especially ill herself.

Beth’s
rumpled hair swished against the back of the sofa as she nodded. “The door was
locked, and the light was out. I think she’s off today.”

“Do
you want me to get you some water or something?”

With
a slow shake of her head, Beth said, “No, thank you. I just want to sit here
and stay warm.”

Clara
shrugged and reached for the TV remote, propping her feet up on the battered
oak coffee table.

Beth
pulled a book out from under her blanket. Its bright blue cover caught Clara’s eye,
and she raised her eyebrows as a spurt of excitement overshadowed her headache…a
little. “You like fairy tales, huh?”

“Yeah,”
Beth said. “Well, actually I’ve never
read
any of them, not the real
ones, but my grandma sent me this book last week.” Her fingers traced the
gilt-embossed canvas cover. “She said she saw it and thought of me since I
loved Disney movies so much when I was a little girl.”

Opening
the book to the first story, Beth cleared her throat and began whispering as
she read the opening lines of
The Ugly Duckling
. She barely made it
through two sentences before she started coughing.

Clara
snatched the book out of her hands. “I’ll read it to you.”

“Oh,
um…thanks,” Beth whispered. She rested her head against the sofa cushion,
letting out a deep sigh as her eyes flitted closed.

Tugging
at Beth’s blanket, Clara pulled a portion of it over her own shivering body and
settled in to read. She hadn’t thought about fairy tales since that night—the
night she’d lost her prince. The memory was still too painful and infuriating,
but secretly, Clara still yearned to prove her theory right. She wanted to prove
that there was still truth to the stories everyone thought were mere
fairytales.

After
a few minutes of reading, Clara quickly fell back into an eager, fluid rhythm. Her
voice became lighter, her thoughts less dismal.

“‘Ah,
you ugly creature, I wish the cat would get you,” and his mother said she
wished he had never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and
the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away…’”
Clara twirled her long ponytail around her finger, the anthology propped up on
her lap as she flipped through, enthralled. She could feel Beth’s toes wiggling
beneath the blanket as she listened, coughing every so often.

“That’s
really annoying,” Clara said, looking at Beth and trying to school her growing
aggravation.

Beth
wore an injured look. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

Clara
felt bad for the little thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to go lie down? You
should probably get some sleep or something.”

Beth
shook her head. “Not yet. I like the way you read…the way you do the voices.” A
small smile tugged at her mouth. “I’ll wait until you’re finished.”

Clara
was happy to hear that. She didn’t want to stop reading now, not when they were
about to get to the good part; the part where the duckling became the envy of
everyone who’d ever mistreated him.

 “Have
you read this story before?” Beth asked. “You seem to like it a lot.”

Clara
nodded. “Fairy tales are like my bible,” she admitted.

“What
do you mean?” Beth started biting her pinky nail, coughing on her hand as she
chewed instead of covering her mouth.

Clara
shivered. “Stop it,” she said and swatted Beth’s hand out of her mouth. “Biting
your nails isn’t an attractive quality. Do you think any of these
princesses”—she held up the book of stories—“ever bit
their
fingernails?”

Beth
looked at the book in Clara’s lap, then up at Clara. “Well…probably not.”

“And
they always get the prince, right?”

“Well,
I suppose…”

“Right,
and do you know why?” Clara strummed her fingers on the book impatiently.

Beth
shook her head.

“Because
there are rules if you want to be a princess like them, Beth, or at least a
modern day version of one, and biting your fingernails is against the rules.”

“What
do you mean,
rules
?”

Clara
sighed. “They’re more like steps, actually,” she said, exasperated. “There are
rules to everything, but no one ever thinks to pay much attention to them.”

“What
are
the rules?” Beth seemed enthralled, and Clara felt another spurt of
enthusiasm.

“If
I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret of mine, and I don’t want
people like Alicia finding out about my secrets. Do you understand?”

Beth
nodded emphatically, looking even more like a little girl than she usually did.

“Well…you
know how there are rules whenever you’re playing a game? Like, you have to take
certain steps to achieve your goal and win the game?”

Beth
nodded again.

“It’s
the same thing in life. Not everyone is born with everything they want, but
that doesn’t mean we can’t fight for it.” Clara pointed to the book. “If you’re
the ugly duckling, you can overcome that, but you have to work hard for it.”
Clara thought about how hard work and determination had changed her life
completely. She’d earned great grades in high school and taken the first
scholarship she’d been offered to the University of Colorado in Boulder,
finally leaving that hellhole in Oklahoma. Taking
that
step for herself had
helped her get away from her mom and Joanna. She’d given herself a fresh start.
She’d
done it for herself.

“It
breaks down like this: step one, the underdog can always come out on top.”
Clara had proven that theory every time she’d stolen Joanna’s boyfriend. In the
end, Clara’d had it all, and Joanna hadn’t been able to hold a candle to
Clara’s popularity.

“Rule
two, there just has to be a transformation.”

Beth’s
eyes widened.

“Like
the ugly duckling,” Clara said.

Beth
sniffled. “But not everyone is a swan.”

“Not
naturally, no, but there are tons of ways to change that.”

Beth
cleared her throat. “Is that what you did?”

Clara
tried not to be offended by Beth’s ignorance. “I had issues in elementary and
middle school, and embracing the underlying messages of these stories made
everything easier for me.”

“Really?”

Clara
nodded. “Think about it. Who do you think wrote these?” She waved Beth’s
impending answer away as the woman glanced down at Hans Christian Andersen’s
name, written in gold script on the cover. “Yeah, Hans did, but he didn’t just
make these up. The ideas had to stem from somewhere. I’m sure he had a little
sister who was picked on or saw a little orphan girl on the streets back in the
day and wrote about her in a way everyone could relate to. These stories were
originally social commentaries, his observations of the world around him. He
just wrote them in a way people would
want
to read them. It’s like
subliminal messaging, and most people are too stupid to get it.”

“I
don’t think—”

“For
instance,” Clara continued. “What’s to stop someone from getting a makeover or moving
somewhere new to start over, to be someone else? What’s to stop them from
recreating themselves to become the swan? To become the princess?”

“But”—Beth
shook her head—“shouldn’t people just be content with who they are?”

Clara
glared at her. “Not unless you want to be pathetic your whole life, and you
want people like Alicia to pick on you all the time.”

“Did
someone pick on
you
when you were in elementary school?”

“Of
course! Kids are horrible. Especially the rich, pretty ones. But there are
things you can do to make things right, to turn them around. Nothing’s set in
stone, Beth. Everything changes, the hierarchy in high school, your sheets, the
government, a giant piece of glass can be broken into tiny shards…can you think
of
anything
that never changes at all?”

Beth
frowned and shook her head.

“Exactly.
So popularity and social status…all of that can change, too. Buy a nicer car,
and people will automatically see you differently. It’s easy to make things
better for yourself.”

“What
did you do to make things better for
you
?”

Clara
let out a harsh laugh. “Everything I could. I stole my mom’s clothes so I
didn’t have to wear my old, ratty ones…and I watched countless videos of how to
put on makeup and what to say to boys. I read books, studied movies, and memorized
lines from my favorite romances…” Clara let out a deep breath.

“Sounds
like a lot of work.” Beth started coughing again.

“Yeah,
well if you don’t put in the work, you stay at the bottom and continue to get
pushed around. People are lazy, and they simply accept their lot in life,
something I
refuse
to do.”

“Well,
I think I’d like to try that when I get a little better.”

“Yeah?”
Clara nudged Beth with her elbow. “I’ll help you, and then we’ll show them all
that you’re not the pushover they all think you are.”

Beth
smiled. “Maybe Alicia will start being nice to me.”

Clara
smirked. “Oh, she will.” Clara leaned over to set the book on the coffee table.
Strangely, her time with Beth had helped her shake the growing sickness, and
she felt invigorated.

“What’s
number three?” Beth asked, nestling down further under the blanket.

“What?”

“You
said there were three rules.”

Clara’s
eyes narrowed. “Yeah, there’s a third one…but it’s not as easily attained as
the rest.”

“Why?
What is it?”

Clara
glared at Beth. “Something about the princess always getting the prince.” Her voice
was cold.

 “Why
doesn’t it work?”

“It
doesn’t matter,” Clara spat. “It’s not like you have a prince you’re trying to
catch.” Pushing the blanket off her legs, Clara stood up and walked over to the
window beside the wall-mounted TV. She gazed down at the snow-covered grounds, enjoying
how pristine and icy everything appeared. The tops of the hedges lining the
drive were barely visible, and the birds were restricted to leafless branches
as they played in the sunny afternoon.

Nearly
blinded by the glare coming off the snow, Clara closed her eyes. As much as she
wanted to never think about him again, she couldn’t contain the whirlwind of
memories.

Clara had been
on her seventh lap around the track, unwinding from a tedious day of classes
and keeping up appearances. As she came around the final bend, approaching the
water bottle she was using as a mile marker, she knew that once she passed it,
she would be done and could shower, put on clean clothes, and head back to her
dorm to freshen up before going out for a night on the town.

She loved
being in Boulder; it was so different from Bristow. There were possibilities
here. She was finally away from all the drama and could be comfortable in her
own skin and focus on her future. Boulder was her fresh start, and college was…promising.
There were tons of cute boys and potential Prince Charmings. She loved it.

But while Clara
was lost in frivolous thoughts, she misstepped and tripped, landing on the turf
with a shooting pain in her ankle. “Shit.” A sprained ankle would ruin her
plans for the night.

Clara pulled
up the spandex of her jogging pants as a shadow was cast over her. She peered
up and squinted into the sun, trying to see who was approaching.

“That looked
like a bad one,” a young man said, his voice low and playful. “Are you
alright?”

Clara tried to
move her foot, cringing. “I think it’s sprained.”

He crouched
down, his fingers pressing against the tender skin around her ankle. “You
training for a marathon?”

Clara shook
her head. “No…?”

“I’ve seen you
out here almost every day since the semester started. I thought maybe you were
training for something.”