Cinderella Smith (4 page)

Chapter 5
High-heeled Shoes with Curlicue Toes

M
e and Tess and my mom walked home from school with Louie and his mom and little sister. Louie loved kindergarten and talked a mile a minute about pizza for lunch and the classroom pet turtle. I had a lot on my mind, so I didn't talk at all. I was thinking about advice giving and wicked stepsisters and what Dear Abby would have to say on this subject.

After we left the Thomases at their house on the corner, my mom said, “A penny for your thoughts.” That doesn't really mean she's going to pay me anything, though. It's just a way to get me started talking.

“There's a new girl in my class named Erin Devlin,” I said.

“What's she like?” asked my mom.

“She's really tall and has long, dark hair and bangs and pierced ears,” I said. “And I'm just mentioning her ears to explain her and not for any other reason.”

“Got it,” said my mom.

“I'm sitting at the smart boys' table,” I said.

“You are?” asked my mom.

“There were no places left with Hannah and Abby and the Rosemarys.”

We walked in the house, and it just smelled regular—not like chocolate chip cookies.
Alas
.

“I have some sort of homework to do today,” I said. “It involves watching
It's Me or the Dog
.”

My mom's eyebrow went up just a little tiny bit like she didn't quite believe me.

“The new girl, Erin Devlin, and me are doing a research project on our own,” I said. “Can I have my snack in front of the TV?”

“You can if you keep an eye on Tess for me,” said my mom. “I've got to get the website to my client today.”

“Okay,” I said, putting some crackers and apple slices on a plate.

Tess and I sat on the floor in front of the TV.

“This is sort of homework, sort of research,” I told Tess. “The new girl is going to get some wicked stepsisters, and she needs advice on how to handle the situation.”

Tess nodded. She sat Mrs. C on the floor be-tween us.

“So I want to watch Victoria very, extremely closely and get some advice-giving tips from her. Then I need to learn as much as I can about wicked stepsisters.”

I took a bite of apple and thought of something. “I better take notes.” I ran to get a spiral notebook from the extra school supplies in my room. I grabbed one for Tess too.

When
It's Me or the Dog
started, I wrote across the front of the notebook:

WICKED STEPSISTERS NOTEBOOK.

Tess looked over at my notebook and started scribbling on the cover of hers.

In this episode there was a family with a little hot-dog dog called Wickersham. He was a smidgy little dog, but he barked at everyone. I couldn't just watch Wickersham, though, even though he was funny, because I needed to study Victoria.

The first thing she did was ask a whole lot of questions, like how old Wickersham was. Then she said to pretend she wasn't there and sat in a corner just watching the people and the dog. In hardly any time Victoria knew how to fix the problem. She got Wickersham to stop barking; and by the end of the show, the whole family was happy.

Before I forgot anything I grabbed up my notebook and turned to page one. On the first line I wrote:

ADVICE GIVING
all in capitals
.

On the next line I wrote:
Ask lots of questions. Pretend to be invisible. Watch close.

Tess was scribbling in her book too. “Woilà!” She held up a picture.

“Good,” I said. “Now we need to learn about wicked stepsisters.”

I pulled
The Big Book of Fairy Tales
off the bookshelf. I sat down next to Tess and started reading “Cinderella.”

“
Once upon a time there was a little girl whose dear mother died.”
I looked at Tess to make sure she wasn't too shook up by this news, but she wasn't. “
Her father married for his second wife the proudest and unkindest woman that ever was seen.”
Now why would a dad marry someone like that? He has a kid, for heaven's sake; you'd think he would be very, extremely careful who he brought home. That makes me wonder why Erin isn't worried about a wicked stepmother too. That should be my first question for her.

I wrote
QUESTIONS:
really big at the top of the next page in the notebook and then:

1)
What about a wicked stepmother?

I kept reading. “
She had two daughters who were exactly like her in every way.”

Tess pointed to a picture of the wicked stepmother and her daughters arriving at Cinderella's house. The stepsisters had brought tons of chests that were all piled up on top of the carriage. Frilly clothes and sparkly jewels and high-heeled shoes with curlicue toes were all spilling out.

“Messy,” Tess said.

“Yes, sir.” I wrote on the
QUESTIONS
page:

2)
Are they messy?

3) Do they have lots of luggage?

We kept reading and I kept adding to my list of questions:
Are they loud and bossy? Are they lazy and sleep a ton? Do they stare in the mirror a lot? Do they have lots of clothes? Do they have big feet?

“I think that's a pretty good list of wicked stepsister questions,” I said when we got to the end of the story.

“More,” said Tess.

“More questions?” I asked.

“More reading,” said Tess.

I sighed a big sigh, but I'm not sure why because I like reading fairy tales and I like Tess too, most of the time.

Chapter 6
Flip-flops

“W
hat about your wicked stepmother?” I asked Erin the minute we got our first recess the next morning.

“What wicked stepmother?” she asked.

“The one that comes with the wicked stepsisters,” I said.

“They come with a stepfather.”

“Is he wicked?”

“He's okay, I guess,” she said.

I followed Erin over to a bench and showed her my notebook.

“What's that?” she asked.

“A
WICKED STEPSISTERS NOTEBOOK
,” I said.

“Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” I fished the pencil out from the metal spirals and opened to the first page. “I have some questions for you.”

“Okay,” she said.

“What can you tell me about your wicked stepsisters?”

“Not much,” she said. “I haven't met them yet.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I'm not going to meet them until right before the wedding.”

“That seems a little fishy.”

“It does?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Maybe your stepfather is very, extremely ashamed of them.”

“Maybe,” said Erin. “But I think it's just because they're away at college.”

“Hmm,” I said, “so

they're a lot older and

bigger than you.”

“I guess so,” she said. “What are your stepsisters like?”

My heart dropped a little bit inside me. “I actually don't have any.”

Erin stared hard at me.

“That's not why I'm called Cinderella,” I said, and then got all nervous about what would happen next.

“So you can't help,” she said.

“Yes, I can,” I said. “Even though I don't have stepsisters, I can still help you find out if yours are wicked or not.”

“Of course they're wicked,” said Erin.

“But you haven't met them yet, so how do you know?” I asked.

“Because all stepsisters are wicked,” she said.

“No, they're not,” I said very sure, even though I wasn't so sure really.

Her forehead crinkled into one big frown and she opened her mouth to say something, but Rosemary T. appeared right by the bench just then.

“What are you two doing?” she asked. She didn't say it like it was a question, though.

“We're . . . ,” I started to answer.

“None of your business,” Erin said.

That made Rosemary T.'s eyes go all big and round. She thinks everything is her business. She looked like she didn't know what to do and so she just huffed off.

I was a little bit shocked by all this and just sat there for a minute. “Wow,”

I finally said.

“Why ‘wow'?” asked Erin.

“‘Wow' because you just talked to Rosemary T. like that. I wish I could sometimes.”

“Why can't you?” she asked.

“I'm not sure.” I thought hard about why not, but I couldn't figure it out right then.

Erin's forehead was still crinkled in a big frown. I started to worry that Erin didn't want my advice and help after all now that she knew I wasn't an expert. Maybe she wouldn't sit by me at lunch either. Maybe she would sit with Rosemary T. even if wicked stepsisters weren't any of Rosemary T.'s business.

I was about to say “A penny for your thoughts” when the bell rang for the end of recess and we started to line up.

Charlie got in line right behind me. He bounced his basketball as close to my feet as he could.

“Quiet in the line, everyone!” called Mr. Harrison. “Let's try to set a good example.”

I wanted to slip my foot under one of Charlie's bounces and send his basketball across the playground, but two things stopped me. One, I wouldn't be setting a good example. And two, I was wearing my flip-flops, and the ball might smash my toes.

Mr. Harrison told us to take out our math journals. He pointed to the blackboard and bounced a little bit on his toes.

“This math problem has three parts,” he said. “Part A is to write it down in your math journals. Part B is to figure out the answer. And part C is to write about the Process.”

People's hands went up all over the room.

“I don't get the Process part,” said Jack.

A lot of other people didn't get it either.

“Just give it a try,” said Mr. Harrison, “and we'll discuss it in a minute.”

So I did. I wrote down the problem in my math journal, which was:

Next I wrote the answer, which was:

“As soon as everyone's finished at your table,” said Mr. Harrison, “have a discussion.”

“Did everyone get strawberry as the answer for
B
?” asked Logan.

“Yep,” we all agreed.

“What did you write for
C
?” Trevor asked.

“I didn't write anything,” said Christopher, “because I didn't know the right answer.”

“I didn't write anything either,” said Logan. “What did you write, Cinderella?”

“I wrote that these cupcakes must have been homemade and that strawberry is my least favorite flavor, so it was good it was the shortest.”

“That can't be the right answer,” said Christopher.

“I don't think there is a right answer,” I said. “It's journal writing, for heaven's sake.”

“There has to be a right answer,” said Trevor, “because it's math.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Harrison. “Who would like to share?”

Logan raised his hand.

“Yes, Logan?”

“Our table wants to know what the right answer is,” said Logan.

“What do you think it is?” asked Mr. Harrison.

Rosemary T. raised her hand. “Strawberry,” she said.

“We know
that
answer,” said Logan. “We mean the answer to
C
, the Process part.”

“What do you think it is?” Mr. Harrison asked again.

“I am flummoxed,” said Logan, trying out a new vocabulary word.

“What did you write down?” Mr. Harrison asked.

“I didn't write anything,” said Logan.

“You didn't explain Process,” said Trevor, “so we didn't know the right answer.”

“I see.” Mr. Harrison stopped bouncing. “I was hoping you would try to figure out what the Process was on your own. Who can tell me what the word
process
means?”

A few people raised their hands, and Mr. Harrison called on Charlie. “The way you figure something out,” Charlie said.

“Exactly!” Mr. Harrison's excitement started coming back. “The Process is just the way you organize a problem so you can solve it, especially a complicated problem with a lot of information. For instance, you could have made a chart with the three flavors of cupcakes across the top.” Mr. Harrison started drawing on the blackboard. “And under each flavor you could write what you know about it.”

Logan raised his hand. “So what's the right answer for
C
?”

“There is no right answer,” said Mr. Harrison. “Everyone's Process is different.” Everyone groaned a little, but I kind of liked the idea of no right answers all the time.

I spent the rest of the morning only half thinking about school things and half thinking about Erin and her stepsisters. Every time I looked over at her she had that same frown on her face. I didn't know if it was because we were writing in our science journals or because of her stepsisters problem. Figuring out if they were wicked or not would be complicated. There were a lot of questions that needed to be answered and a lot of facts to gather. Then, all of a sudden, I had a big, huge
AHA!
which, by accident, I said out loud.

Charlie laughed, and all the loud sports boys joined in.

“Did you have a breakthrough, Cinderella?” Mr. Harrison asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said.

“Do you want to share?” he asked.

“Not with everyone.” I looked over at Erin and smiled. Her frown went away and she smiled back. Then I just couldn't wait for lunch, because I knew that Erin would want to sit with me and not the Rosemarys after all.

We sat at a table with horse girls and artsy girls. The Rosemarys were far away at the other table. Every time I looked over at them they were staring at us and whispering.

“I think Rosemary T. is still surprised that you told her to mind her own business,” I said.

“Really?” asked Erin.

“Yep,” I said. “Every time I look over at the Rosemarys they're staring at us and whispering.”

Erin looked over at the Rosemarys. Sure enough, they were doing it. Erin leaned over to my ear and put her hand up to her mouth. “I like lunch today,” she whispered.