Cinderfella

by Xavier Neal

  Cinderfella

  by Xavier Neal

  Chapter 1

  Apparently I managed to piss off the winds of change while I was sleeping last night because instead of the opportunity of a lifetime to really win this scholarship, I want, no, fuck that, I need, I'm now more likely to win a certificate for best dressed senior in my holey jeans and stained white t-shirts.

  “To hell I will!” Gianna, aka the reason my shot at something more than community college is now in shambles, like One Direction fans after that one dude left, throws her French manicured hands up in protest. She's sitting in the back row. Corner. The one seat in the entire theater classroom we've deemed the throne of the pointless. It's where seniors sit who just need a credit to pass. The rest of us are devoted to this. Determined that we were meant to take this path. Truth? Acting may be my biggest dream and what I figured I would get a scholarship for, but I plan to minor in something that's more stable. I need something more stable. Doesn't mean I can't keep hope to have my career take off.

  “Do not talk like that in my classroom,” Ms. Flores, the lead theater director snaps back, putting a hand on her hip. “You’ll be partners with Connor.”

  Can someone else be Connor?

  “What did I just say?” Gianna snidely responds.

  Ms. Flores points sternly. “My office. Now.”

  “I hate this school,” she growls, tosses her hot pink purse, and stands. Our eyes having no choice but to watch her tantrum like it's a car wreck on the major highway and we have nowhere else to look. The sound of her heels clicking across the tile are equivalent to nails on a chalkboard at this point.

  Yup. My teacher picks the bitchiest girl with the least amount of potential in the whole class to be my partner. She is constantly saying how much confidence and faith she has in me. Yet when the perfect opportunity comes along for her to prove that by pairing me with Stacey McDougal, who's predicted to be the next Natalie Portman, what does she do? She sticks me with a video ho’ whose extent of acting probably doesn’t stretch further than the bedroom. Yup. Fuck the winds of change. I should've never counted on them blowing a direction that would help someone like me.

  “Now that that’s settled,” she returns talking to us. “I’d like to just remind you all how important it is to try your very best. Every year schools from all around the state go to compete for the chance at this scholarship. Now everyone here in Stage Acting has the talent and skills to win and by traditional standards, I expect we’ll bring home a trophy of some sort, and one of you that scholarship.”

  I had the same belief until about three minutes ago.

  “I hate this school!” Gianna yells from the office.

  Until that loud mouthed purse accessory was picked to be my partner. Uncomfortable, I slide down further into my chair.

  “You have four months. The competition is the first weekend in May. You’ll be required to perform in the competition. This will stand in place of your final. If for some reason there is an emergency, and you cannot make it, you will be judged on your rehearsal performance that takes place in front of your peers the night before. So, with that announced, I encourage all of you to try your absolute hardest, pick the finest duet scenes you can, and pour all of your effort into them, because if you let it, this project can really change your lives.”

  For the worse. This project will change some of our lives for the worse is what she should've said. Particularly my life. Score.

  “On that note, I want you to break up into your teams and start searching for your pieces.”

  Everyone scatters allowing me to take my opportunity to have a word with my beautiful Hispanic teacher, who I still have a heavy crush on even after two years.

  “Ms. Flores,” my voice hums. “About this partner situation…”

  Twisting her dark brown, blonde highlighted hair, into a bun she sighs, “You’re wondering if there was a reason I paired you up the way I did, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I mean usually you have a motive--”

  “I always have a motive.”

  “Right. But this—”

  “Trust me,” she cuts me off. My eyes take the breathing moment to wander over her body that's in great shape despite her age. Her small yet perky boobs have my attention thanks to her scoop neck shirt I'm sure doesn't fit into the school dress code. Not that I'm complaining. Hell, I don't know anyone who would.

  “I do. Really. This just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Well maybe a little wrong is something it’s time for you to try,” she gives me a little wink. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have a word with your just as excited partner.”

  Trust her? She says trust her? She put me with a girl whose only in this class because when they transferred her from the last place I'm sure the royal bitch deemed unworthy, it was the only elective open in her block of time. I don’t even know if she can act since the semester started with a research paper. And try a little wrong? Is she joking? There’s so much wrong in my life that anymore and Shakespeare would classify me as a tragedy.

  Folding my hands in a frustrated fashion on top of my head, I lean up against the side of the wall right outside of her office. I make sure to stay where I can’t be seen. It's a perfect eavesdropping location. Not sure I wanna hear what is about to be said though.

  “Do we have a problem?” Ms. Flores says, her tone firm and strict.

  “Obviously we do.”

  “Which is?”

  “You wanna pair me with the diamond in the rough instead of a prize winning piece.”

  “Sometimes the most beautiful diamonds are the ones that were roughest first.”

  “No.” Gianna snips. “Don't give me some after school special crap please. I'm being real with you, give me the same courtesy. You want me paired with 2 dollar wine when I deserve 200 dollar champagne. I'm steak. That's chicken fried steak.”

  Not sure which part of that pisses me off most, I drop my hands and turn to lean my shoulder against the wall. No, I don't get to dress like the Ken dolls she's probably used to being seen with, but that doesn't mean I'm not attractive. And if that's the case, then why do I always have a list of girlfriends anxious for me to ask them out come every Friday?

  Annoyed Ms. Flores sighs, “Connor, by traditional standards is amazing. He's talented, genuine, and charming. By this societies standards he’s exceptional—”

  “Exceptionally lame.”

  “Exceptionally bright and is predicted to be an Oscar winner very early in his career. He’s one of the best performers we have and you should feel humbled by being with such a presence.”

  “Oh please. Humbled?”

  “By what his clothing” There's a short pause. “And he’s not the only one with skills.”

  “You’re right Gianna. I've seen your written records and some of the recordings. You have some talent too. If you two pick the right scene the amount of griping and complaining you do might just come in handy.” Her sarcasm makes me smirk.

  “I don’t want to be partners with him.” God. You would think the way she’s talking about me, I have the plague or something.

  “Alright.”

  “Alright.”

  “I respect your choice.”

  “Good.”

  “You can go see Mr. Smith in his office once more and see if he’ll let you stay here in his school, which if I’m correct is the last chance before you’re shipped away to boarding school in Canada? Or was it Wales?”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait…” Gianna’s voice suddenly lacks in defense. “Let’s not get so hasty…”

  “Oh now that's hasty? I was under the impression the way you were speaking about Connor, a student you know nothing about, was hasty.” Before Gianna has a chance to fire back, she states, �
�Now, you’re going to go in there, force a fake smile on your face, and be his partner. You’re going to give this an actual shot or I will not hesitate to call Mr. Smith to start the paperwork to have you removed from not only my class, but the school. Are we clear?”

  Her gum pops before she sighs, “Crystal.”

  “Good,” Ms. Flores’ voice perks up, which is when I move away quickly to my seat where I pretend to be zipping up my navy blue backpack.

  Without so much as a glance, Gianna strolls back up to her chair where she plops down, grabs her purse, and begins rummaging around in it.

  Nodding to myself that this is going to be successful, I grab my backpack, walk up the side stairs to the top of the seating area, and sit beside her. At first she stares at me blankly like I’m joking around by being in her presence, which is quickly replaced by disgust.

  “Can I help you?” she sneers, smacking her gum at me before crossing her bare coffee colored legs that are barely being covered by a pink and black pleated school girl skirt, which I admit has my attention.

  “My name’s Connor,” I extend my hand for her to shake exposing my own tan skin that's golden from hours of outside labor.

  Her dark brown eyes glare at my hand before looking back up at me. “Connor? Isn’t that something you name your kid when you and your lover can’t come to an agreement?”

  My lips press together before I smile sarcastically. “Gianna right?” She gives me a slight nod and I sigh, “Isn’t that what you name your child when you want her to grow up to be a stripper?”

  “Is there a reason you’re bothering me?”

  “We’re supposed to be partners,” my annoyance for her grows faster and faster with every bat of her long brown eyelashes. “Remember what Ms. Flores said in her office?”

  Clearly irritated she adjusts the top half of her wardrobe now, “You were eavesdropping.”

  “I prefer to call it overhearing.”

  “Call it what you like, but you were sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

  “She left her door open. I count that as public.”

  “Well then you heard me tell her I won’t work with someone like you.”

  “And what makes me so unacceptable to you?”

  “The fact you mix your Wal-Mart and K-mart brand clothes is a start.”

  Biting my tongue I reply, “Well not all of us can only worry about which designer impostor perfume is going to match the day’s slutty outfit. Some of us have real world shit to deal with.”

  “Contemplating if it’s really beef or just a substitute hardly qualifies as real world shit to deal with.” She pops a bubble in my face right as the bell rings.

  “Well this has been as much fun as being kicked in the nuts, so if you’ll excuse me.” I slip my backpack over one shoulder. “I have somewhere to be.”

  “Is the thrift store having a buy one get one sale?” she giggles at her comment. Rolling my eyes, I slide down the railing. On my way out of the room, I swallow the lump of hatred that's managed to form in such a small amount of time. No reason to be surprised by her behavior. Most girls who look that hot act that bitchy. They can afford to. On all levels. I do my best to push any more thoughts of her out of my mind as I hustle to the student parking lot, praying I can show up to work early for once.

  Hopping into my hunter green 2007 Volkswagen Jetta, I start the car and take off out of the parking lot waving goodbye to Mr. Johnson, the parking lot attendant. At the first stop light I rip off my plain white colored t-shirt I wore to school and slide on my navy blue polo. When I reach the next light, I apply deodorant and refresh my breath with the last of the tic-tacs I ate for lunch today. Even though I did the best I could to change in the car instead of stopping to do it in the bathroom, I still arrive at work one minute late.

  After typing the code into the private preschool, I stroll right up to the time clock machine. “Good afternoon Nelly.”

  Nelly is often the saving grace of this place. She keeps the parents happy and the teachers happier. The friendly face where all problems seem to go to die. The blonde hair, the pale skin, and her constant preference to wear white uniform shirts gives off the allure of an angel.

  “Good afternoon.” She smiles, leaning over the office desk, her pregnant belly basically sitting on top of it. “How are you?”

  “Good. And you?”

  “Better now that you’re here.” Her simple wink lets me know I’ve got my work cut out for me today. Because of the math test I'm pretty sure I failed and the devil who has the most gorgeous pair of legs I've ever seen weren't enough trouble for one day. Damn. I thought that girl was out of my mind. Shaking away the thought of her, I watch Nelly slide a piece of paper over to me. “By the way your collar is tucked in your shirt.”

  “Damn,” I mumble and quickly fix my collar.

  “Get dressed in a hurry?”

  “Always.” I softly smirk. Reviewing the list of repairs I grumble, “God, what’s the deal? Did everything in the school break this morning?”

  “Looks that way doesn’t it?” Nelly leans back in her chair to answer the phone. “Sunshine and Rainbows, this is Nelly speaking, how may I help you?” After a beat she says, “Yes, I sure can. Just give me one moment please.” Hitting the hold button, she says to me, “Mr. Harrison would like to talk to you in his office.”

  “Great…” my mumble is chuckled at. Any time Mr. Harrison, the owner, wants to talk it usually ends with ‘Do I need to hire someone else?’ It’s like he thinks the only way he can talk to me is by threatening my job at the end. Luckily for me, Mrs. Evans, the school director, loves me and does her best to always save me. One of the few people in my life next to Nelly who always try to help.

  Slowly, I walk into the office, which is the size of a shoe box if you ask me, directly behind Nelly and close the clear door. Nelly smiles and gives me a slight wave as I divert my attention to the owner and director who I feel are scolding me every other week for something.

  “I’m glad you’re here on time today,” Mr. Harrison, who reminds me of a slightly less awesome version of Clint Eastwood, leans back in his black leather office chair, that owning one of the most prestigious preschools in the state helped him buy. That chair alone could probably cover the grocery bill in my house for weeks.

  “I try sir. Sometimes it’s hard when I get out of class late or there’s bad traffic, but I try sir. I really do. And if this is about that then—”

  “It’s not.” Mrs. Evans, our very own Mary Poppins, as the teachers call her behind her back, shakes her head leaning back in her matching leather chair clicking off her computer. “In fact this is actually a good meeting.”

  “Really?” my confusion amuses both of them.

  “Yes.” Mr. Harrison nods folding his hands into his lap. “I know sometimes it feels like all I do is gripe at you, but I just strive for you to be better. To be better. This is an amazing school, and you've contributed quite a lot to it I realize, but I only want the best of the best at all times. You don't win that many awards and acclamations conducting yourself at half of your potential. With that said, corporate was in earlier today and mentioned how clean and well running the school was, despite the few bumps on your to do list of course. I know you don’t strictly clean, since I have a cleaning crew, and I know you don’t repair everything since there’s parts you have to be certified for, but you keep the school working and clean on a daily basis until the professionals get here, which speaks highly of you and us. It pleased corporate, which means it pleased me.”

  “Well thank you,” I politely reply.

  “We’ll be giving you a dollar raise and a larger discount here at the school,” Mrs. Evans exclaims cheerfully. “And I know that’ll be a great help to you.”

  Standing up I nod. “Thank you both very much. This...this means a lot to me.”

  “Get started on that list.” Mr. Harrison winks at me and turns back around to his computer.


  I exit the office with the sheet of paper still in my hand and stroll by Nelly who's smiling widely.

  “See, it’s not always a bad trip to the office when you go,” she giggles pressing her lips to her water bottle.

  “The Principal's office is the Principal's office no matter which way you say it.” When she laughs again, I smile widely. “Better get started on these repairs. How did the toddlers break the bookshelf again?”

  “They're toddlers Connor. That's what they do.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't I know it,” I mutter heading down the hallway.

  As I start down the long hallway passing brightly painted walls, where beautiful crafted kid art is hanging and bulletin boards containing monthly themes to present to the parents, I smirk widely to myself. The first break I've had in a long time. It feels good. Hell, it feels fantastic. Maybe God is trying to balance out the hell he stuck me in earlier with Gianna by helping out the rest of my life. Then again if he were really trying to help he could've given me a break by letting me have a real partner or at least let that girl wear an outfit that covers more of those long coffee legs. They're fucking perfect. Why give her perfect legs and an imperfect mouth? Ha. That's balance.

  Passing by the younger classrooms I wave at teachers who see me stroll by their windows. At the end of the hall, I take a left heading towards the older kid's playground. With a small smile I prepare myself for what's going to be a long afternoon of fixing everything from creaky swings to leaky kitchen faucets.

  While I’m outside on the older children's playground fixing the loose tire swing, they come running outside to play a little earlier than they are scheduled to. I place a smile on my face, greeting the kids as they greet me with hellos and hugs. Within a matter of moments their teacher sees me, politely saying hello too.

  “You look hard at work,” Kendall McGee saunters over to me, her twenty five year old hips allowing her black dress pants to dangle off them to reveal a slight midriff, which if I didn’t know any better, I swear I could see the hint of a dangling belly button ring. Can't deny the woman is attractive, but much like my theater teacher that's a crush that should stay that way.