If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) (2 page)

J
onah jumps on his toes. “Let’s just step inside before it eats us.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Maybe then it won’t gobble up any more furniture.” Last time, the mirror sucked up a swivel chair and most of my parents’ old law books. I guess the plus side of our parents being too busy for even teeth brushing is they haven’t come down here in the last few days. They’d have a million questions and I’d have no answers.

“I can’t wait to see Snow!” Jonah exclaims. “And the dwarfs! And everyone!”

I grab my brother’s hand. “Me too. Let’s do it!”

We hold tight and walk in. At first it feels like we’re stepping into a vacuum cleaner. I close my eyes. Then,
thump
.

I land on my butt and open my eyes. I expect to smell trees. Or ground. Last time, we arrived in the middle of a forest.

We are not in a forest.

Where are we? All I see is white. And NOT as in Snow White. “Jonah? You okay?”

“I’m tangled.”

“In what?” I have no idea where I am. Why do I only see white? Am I in a marshmallow? I reach out to touch the whiteness. It’s furry.

It’s an animal. Crumbs! An animal ate me! “Help!” I scream. “I’ve been eaten!”

I try to push myself to safety. I end up petting it. Aw. So soft!

It doesn’t move. I push the furry thing off me and stand up. The fur is on a coat hanger. “Oh! It’s a coat!”

I glance around the small space. We’re surrounded by coats. Wait a sec. “We’re in a coatroom!”

There are about a hundred coats all around. Leather coats. Wool coats. Mink coats. Hats. Shoes. Ponchos.

“Are we at the dry cleaner’s?” Jonah asks.

“It’s a closet. A coat closet, I think,” I say. The door to the closet is slightly ajar, and a stream of candlelight is shining in.

“I don’t remember Snow having a closet like this,” Jonah says.

“No. Hmm. What’s that sound? Do you hear music?”

Jonah nods. There are trumpets and some drums. Dance music. Is it a party?

The closet door swings open. Holding a green cloth coat, a skinny young man with a goatee and wearing a purple uniform grabs a hanger off the pole.

I try to duck, but it’s too late.

“What are you doing in here?” he screeches.

“We’re not sure?” I say like it’s a question.

“You kids better not be stealing coats!” he yells. “I’m up for a promotion and I can’t get fired!”

“We’re not, we swear,” I hurry to say.

“We’re here to see Snow,” Jonah adds.

The guy blinks. “It’s snowing? I should salt the stairs.”

“Not snow, the weather,” Jonah explains. “Snow, the person.”

The guy shakes his head. “Snow is a name?”

“Yes!” I say. “She’s the queen!” Who
is
this guy?

He hangs up the green cloth coat. “Clarissa is the queen of Floom.”

“Floom?” I repeat.

“Yes, Floom.”

“We’re in Zamel,” I say.

“No,” the skinny guy says, tugging on his goatee. “Floom.”

“Rhymes with room,” Jonah says.

“And loom,” the guy says. He eyes us suspiciously. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“We’re from Smithville,” I say.

“Is that far?” he asks.

“About a mirror away,” I mumble. “So there’s definitely no Snow White here? I wonder where we are. Another story maybe. You said the queen is Clarissa?”

“And the king is Eugene, and the prince is Jordan.”

“Is there a princess?” I ask.

“Not yet. Of course we’re all hoping that will change. How old are you, nine?”

“Ten and a half, thank you very much.” Humph. I try to push past him, but he blocks my way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He looks me over. “Are you the court jester?”

My cheeks burn. “No, I am not!” I really did not think this pajama-wearing plan through.

“Well, you’re too young to be eligible for marriage.”

“Um, no kidding.”

A man and a woman, both wearing sheepskin coats, approach the coat man. “Don’t go anywhere,” the coat man says to us. “I have to help them.”

Right. And where would we go? We’re stuck in a closet.

He bows to the couple. The guy is wearing a tuxedo and she’s in a long satin dress.

We
are
at a party. A fancy party.

“Oh my gosh, we’re at a fancy party and I’m wearing pajamas!” I exclaim to Jonah. “How embarrassing. Maybe I should just stay in the closet.”

“Do you think it’s a wedding?” Jonah asks.

“Maybe.”

“A sweet sixteen.”

“Could be.”

“A bat mitzvah?”

“I don’t know, Jonah.” I’m going to have a bat mitzvah when I’m twelve. There’s no way it will be this fancy, though.

I peek at the woman as her escort hands her coat to the coat guy.

Speaking of fancy — her dress is covered in shiny beads and sequins, and has a huge poofy skirt.

She’s wearing a ball gown. Which makes this a ball.

A ball. We’re at a ball. My head nearly explodes. “Jonah! Look at her dress! Do you know what this means?”

“You’re really, really underdressed?”

I wave my hand. “You’re hardly wearing a tuxedo. But besides that. We’re at a ball. Think. Who has a ball?”

“I have a soccer ball. I think it’s somewhere in the backyard, but I —”

“Not that kind of ball, Jonah. A
ball
ball. A party ball. We went through the mirror, but we’re not in Snow White’s story. We’re at a ball and there’s a prince. A prince looking for his princess. We’re in —”

His eyes light up. “Africa? Mars? Buckingham Palace?”

I smile. “No, Jonah.
Cinderella
.”

D
o you know Cinderella?” I ask the coat guy.

He scratches his goatee. “Never heard of her.”

“Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe we’re not in Cinderella’s story,” Jonah says.

“No, no, we are,” I say, thinking fast. “The coat man works in the palace, which means he probably doesn’t know Cinderella. Her family hides her away in the house!”

“If you say so.” Jonah pauses. “Can we go explore?”

Jonah always wants to explore. Floom. Zamel. The basement.

“Wait a second,” the coat guy says before Jonah can drag me away. “Are you supposed to be here? Were you invited?”

“Not exactly —” Jonah begins.

I shoot him a look. If the coat guy kicks us out, we’re in big trouble. The mirror that will take us home is probably here in the palace. Also, I want to see Cinderella. What girl doesn’t love Cinderella? That awesome dress! The glass slippers!

I’ve always wanted a pair of glass slippers. Also ruby slippers. Hmm, I wonder why we call the glass slippers
slippers
? They’re not slippers. They’re high heels.

The coat man is staring at me. Oh, right. I need to come up with a reason why we’re here. “We’re um … looking for our parents!” I say. “They brought us here and told us to hang out while they talked to their friends.”

Okay, fine. So I stretched the truth a bit.

A lot, actually. But desperate times call for desperate measures. We just got here. We can’t get in trouble already!

The coat guy frowns. “Well, I suppose the king will enjoy your outfit.”

Humph. I guess he’s being sarcastic.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re sure your parents are here?”

Jonah and I both nod.

The coat guy shrugs. “All right. Go ahead. Have fun.”

We step out of the closet. We’re standing in some sort of
entranceway. The ceilings in this place are really high. Soaring. It reminds me of my school gym. Except it’s much, much nicer. And less smelly.

“Look,” Jonah says. “There’s a painting on the ceiling!”

I look up. It’s a painting of people. Royal people. Hundreds of royal people. I can tell they’re royal because they’re all wearing crowns. I guess this royal family has been around for a long time. I feel eyes on me and look back down. The man and the woman who just checked their coats are staring at me.

Or, more likely, staring at my pajamas.

How rude. This can’t be their first time they ever saw pajamas. They don’t have to
stare
.

“Let’s go inside the ballroom,” Jonah says excitedly.

I notice an elderly woman eyeing me, too.

“But people are looking at me,” I whisper.

“So?” Jonah asks.

“They think I’m weird!”

“You are! Who cares? Let’s go to the party!”

“But I’m too obvious in my pajamas! And you, too! You’re wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans. Do you see anyone else wearing a sweatshirt and jeans? We’re at a ball!”

“No one is noticing me with you in that outfit, trust me.”

“Thanks,” I retort. “We have to be careful. What if someone says something to the prince? What if Cinderella sees me? What if I mess up the whole story?”

Jonah ignores me. “Do you think they have snacks? I bet they have dogs-in-a-blanket. It seems like the kind of party that has dogs-in-blankets.”

“Do you mean those mini–hot dogs? They’re called pigs-in-a-blanket.”

“No, they’re not.” He adamantly shakes his head. “Why would they be called pigs-in-a-blanket when they’re
hot dogs
? They’re not
hot pigs
.”

“I didn’t make this up, Jonah. I’m just correcting you.”

“Who cares what they’re called? I just want to eat them. Let’s go!” Instead of waiting for me to respond or grant him permission, he takes off.

Why doesn’t he realize that I am the older sibling and therefore responsible for making all the decisions?

I run after him into the ballroom.

Wow. There are, like, a thousand people here. No wonder Cinderella was upset that she wasn’t invited.

“Look,” I say, pointing. Up on a stage are two people sitting on two purple thrones. “They must be the king and queen.”

The queen is smiling a perfect smile. Her teeth are the color of white chalk, and she has long wavy blond hair. She looks like a real-life Barbie. Or maybe a beauty pageant contestant.

The king is sitting next to her, looking bored. He keeps yawning.

Between him and his wife is a humongous flag.

The Floom flag, probably. The design? Pink with purple polka dots.

I look down at my pajamas. I look back at the flag.

I look down again. I look back up.

I look around and see that a crowd of people are waving and smiling at me. “Great outfit!” one woman cheers.

Oh my goodness! No wonder no one has kicked me out. I am wearing the Floom flag! I’m their mascot.

I’m going to blend right in!

Wait. Maybe that’s why the mirror finally let us through. Yes! We never would have been accepted here if I wasn’t wearing this Floom flag pair of pajamas.

Our magic mirror sure is smart.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the prince.

I can tell he’s the prince because:

1. He’s handsome.
   
2. He’s youngish (like an older teenager).
   
3. He’s wearing some sort of royal purple robe. (Or maybe it’s just a bathrobe over
   his
   pj’s, but I highly doubt it.)
   
4. He’s wearing a crown.
   
5. He’s surrounded by a ton of girls. There are many giggles and a lot of hair flipping. It’s like watching one of those dating reality shows that my mom used to watch when she had time for TV. The girls look so silly. I’m
   so
   embarrassed for them.
   

“Princes wear crowns, too?” Jonah asks. “Can I wear a crown?”

I snort. “Are you a prince?”

“Mom says I’m
her
prince.”

“Then ask Mom to get you a crown. Maybe she’ll make you one out of tinfoil.”

“Never mind,” he says. “It looks kind of heavy. Hey, is that Cinderella?” he asks, pointing to the girl standing next to the prince.

“Her? No way.” The girl he’s pointing to is wearing a beige dress with a gold choker around her neck. She’s definitely not Cinderella.

“How do you know?” Jonah asks.

“Because … because …” Her hair isn’t straight and it’s not curly. It’s more zig-zaggy. A little frizzy.

And it’s not blond. Or brunette. It’s in the middle.

And her eyes aren’t blue or green or sparkly. They’re small. And her lips are kind of thin. “She’s average-looking,” I answer. She’s not ugly or anything — she’s just ordinary. Plain. And Cinderella is supposed to be the MOST beautiful girl in all the land.

“Are you sure?” Jonah asks. “The prince is talking to her. He seems to like her. Isn’t that how the story goes?”

I look more closely and have to agree. The prince
is
talking to her. He’s even laughing at something she’s saying. But it doesn’t mean he wants to marry her, does it? I mean, I laughed when Zach Rothenberg stuffed an edamame up his nose in the school cafeteria, but it doesn’t mean I want to marry
him
.

There’s a sudden trumpet sound at the door. Everyone in the room turns to look.

Then one of the doormen announces, “The gorgeous stranger princess has arrived!”

The gorgeous stranger princess?

Cinderella!