Cinderfella

by Xavier Neal

  “I know princess but—”

  “Please,” her green eyes threaten to fill with tears. “Please. Pretty please.”

  “Alright,” I give in sitting her down on the couch. “Grab the DVD.”

  While Mak rummages around searching for the movie, I heat up pizza for us, grab fruit and drinks as well as my script. Once we're both settled, I focus more on reviewing my lines, rehearsing them quietly to myself as my little girl sings along to the movie.

  Mak taps me on the shoulder at the same part she always does. “Look daddy! They said Cinderella could go to the ball!”

  “I know,” my voice hums as I shove a pepperoni in my mouth. “Princess, why do you love this movie so much?”

  “'Cause...” She reaches for an apple slice.

  “Because what?”

  “Because Cinderella gets Prince Charming and they get to be together like a mommy and a daddy should be!”

  Feeling a sudden ache, like my heart is being burned alive, I question in a weary voice, “Is that...is that what you hope for when you watch this? Do you hope for a mommy and daddy?”

  “I do! I do! I get a mommy too! I believe it!”

  Muscling through the pain I nod my head not comfortable with killing her hope. Someone in this house has to have enough to keep the rest of us going. I just wish...I just wish she could have normal hopes for her age. Like for a pony. Or to actually be a princess.

  “We not there yet.”

  “Not where?”

  “At happily ever after.”

  “Happily ever after?”

  “Yes. I don’t know when. It's soon,” Mak smiles widely at me. “It has to be daddy! It just has to be...”

  The combination of the words, the tone, and the sheer faith in them are enough to force me to toss my script to the side. I watch as my daughter lives in her own dream world, a world free from poverty and troubles, a world free from struggle and shame, a world where money isn’t important or if it is, it’s not nearly as important as love. A world where she has a mommy and a daddy. A world I dream of providing her day in and day out.

  “Can I have your 'ronis daddy?” Mak wiggles her fingers at my pizza.

  “Of course princess.” I push my plate at her. In a soft whisper I say, “Daddy will give you anything he can. I promise.” She grabs a hand full of cheese off the pizza capturing one of the pepperonis. I do my best to force a smile on my face knowing my appetite for food has been replaced with my hunger for the only escape I get from the pathetic reality of my life. Sleep.

  Chapter 5

  The following Tuesday in theater Ms. Flores begins the minute the bell rings, something out of the norm for her. “Today we’re going to do an exercise with your characters. I want you and your partner to pair up and discuss the real life similarities you have with them and what real life similarities you think your partner has with theirs. I'll be coming around to see what progress has been made around towards the end of class.”

  Great. Another get to know you exercise. Heaven knows we don’t do enough of those or anything. Ms. Flores dismisses us, allowing us to find comfortable spaces to pair up. To no surprise, we end up in the back corner aka Gianna’s lair.

  Yanking out her script she grumbles, “This seems like a dumb exercise.”

  “I don’t think so. Part of acting is getting to know which part of you relates to what you’re portraying.”

  “Why do you always agree with everything Ms. Flores says?”

  “Because she’s usually right.”

  “Your cock usually points up for her so that means she’s right?”

  I grip my script tighter. “Do you have some sort of goal to try to piss me off in the first five minutes you’re around me?”

  Innocently smirking, she leans back, black sweater dress inching up her firm toned thighs. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Well let’s see if you keep that goal when I leave class to go tell Principle Smith that this arrangement isn’t really working out.”

  “Now why do you always have to take it there?” She sighs sitting up straight. “Can’t you ever just defend yourself?”

  “I have no problem defending myself. It’s just a wasted effort to fight with someone who I could just as easily remove from my life.” I have enough problems making my life difficult without adding to them.

  “That’s your problem right there. Just like your character. You always want to take the easy way out. Sure, it's easier to get me kicked out of school and you a brand new partner, just like it’s easy for your character to break up with mine than actually fight for her.”

  My jaw slips down, baffled for a moment, “You...you...you…you’ve actually read your script? And given it thought?”

  Gianna starts to gather her hair up into a pony tail. “Eh, a tad.”

  Impressed, but not willing to admit it, I simply lean forward and rest my arms on my legs. “So what do you have in common with your character?”

  “We’re both beautiful.”

  A smile paints itself on my face before I shake my head. “While yes that’s true--”

  “It is?” She grins wildly. “You think I'm beautiful.”

  Softly I say, “I'd have to be blind not to and even then I'm sure I'd know it.” Realizing I let a compliment slip, I try to push past it, “How about we try for something a little less superficial?”

  “Like what? We both love green, like your eyes?”

  Her simple attempt to return the gesture doesn't escape me, but I don't give into it, “I said less superficial, not more.”

  “Maybe that isn’t superficial. Green is a color that can represent power and wealth, something we both find necessary to have even though in her case she loses more and more as the play progresses.”

  Dumbfounded she's already given this that much thought, I say, “I guess that would be less superficial.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You might want to be careful with which color you choose to tie to your character with. For instance, green can also represent an enormous amount of greed and selfishness.”

  Her eyebrows raise and she leans forward to whisper, “I know you think I’m selfish and if you’ve read the script like I have you know she’s selfish too, so it seems to me that green is the best color to be our favorite.”

  My lips press together as I nod. The girl is two for two in less than 5 minutes. Warm up before the real game?

  “As the second part of this exercise, you’re supposed to tell me what you think we have in common. So come on, you tell me what you think I have in common with her. You know, other than you think we're beautiful.”

  My head tilts to the side as I study Gianna today in her tight dress where I can see the way her body curves, the perfect shape of her tits, and the unbelievable smoothness to the heavy artillery she calls legs. Unconsciously, my tongue slides out of my mouth at the thought of my hands touching them.

  “And now besides my measurements,” her hand lifts my face back up. “What do we have in common?”

  “I think you’re both hiding something.” Gianna suddenly looks slightly uncomfortable. “I mean, Catherine is hiding the affair from her husband, but there’s a reasons she’s having an affair to begin with right? Because there’s a part of her that she’s not being true to. There’s something there she doesn’t want the audience to know, something there she doesn’t want her husband to know, something there that the only person who can understand it is essentially my character. He’s the only person she trusts because he’s having an affair for the same reason. There’s something they both feel they can’t share with their partners. They’ve got secrets and only trust each other.”

  “So…” She leans down so her face is closer to mine. “Do you trust me?”

  “No,” I bluntly respond, which clearly upsets her. With a small grin I whisper, “But I’d like to change that. Would you?”

  Her jaw slides open to answer my question, when the fire alarm ironically enough go
es off. Sign from above? Should we call that warning bells? Hell...yeah...those have to be warning bells. I can't get close to this girl. I just can't.

  “Alright students walk calmly,” Ms. Flores yells over the screeching sound of the alarm. All thirty six of us scramble out of the classroom, down the hall, and out the back entrance to the cafeteria. Once outside we follow with the rest of the crowd across the faculty parking lot, heading to the area by the field house.

  “Connor,” Brent calls to me leaving his gym class mob to meet up with me. “Sup.”

  I toss him a head nod as a return greeting.

  “You think something is actually on fire?” his question seems dumb, but then again, they usually announce planned fire drills not to instill mass fear and chaos. Last time we had an unannounced drill the cafeteria smelled of burnt tater tots for what felt like months.

  “Maybe,” I sigh and glance over my shoulder just in time to notice Gianna who’s swaying back and forth alone. Even looking lonely like that she's still something that my eyes can't help but wander over to. Friends. We can be friends. Everyone needs a friend. Even if it's a distant friend, everyone needs at least one. “Hey, Brent, I think you might’ve met her the other day but in case you forgot, this is Gianna. She’s my theater partner.”

  “Yeah.” Brent smiles and extends his hand. “Gianna, I’m Brent.”

  Surprised, she stops twirling her pony tail to shake back. “Nice to meet you.”

  “So you guys were in theater?” He asks, his eyes wandering behind me at Nicole Simon, the only girl I’ve ever seen him remotely interested in. Between the fact I've sworn off chicks and all of Brent's attention is on Nicole, Bret swears every chance he gets we're the worst wing men a guy could have outside of video games.

  “Yeah, practice makes perfect.”

  Brent's eyes don't wander back even as he asks, “Wanna ball when you get out or you still gotta work today?”

  “Work. Sorry man.”

  “It’s cool.” He shrugs attention finally peeled away from Nicole. “I’ll catch you later then. Coach is starting to take count.”

  I give him a nod before he hustles away. Looking back at Gianna who’s doing her best to hide a grin. The two of us stand side by side in silence, not uttering another word. First flirting, now introducing her to my friends. Not gonna end well if I don't cut this shit out. And fast.

  Chapter 6

  At lunch the next day, I’m eating alone, much like I always do on Wednesday, when Gianna plops herself in front of me with a diet soda and a smile. A beautiful, kind smile. One that’s a little different than I've seen on her in the past. I kind of like it. Ugh. I can't like it. I look around briefly confused if she meant to sit in front of me, I just watch, waiting for her to say something.

  When she doesn't seem to say anything, I put my fork down and ask, “Can I help you?”

  “No, just thought maybe you didn’t wanna eat alone.”

  I shrug. “It’s kind of a normal thing on Wednesdays.”

  “Why?”

  “Bret and Brent usually go play ball on the outside court during lunch time.”

  “And you don’t like basketball?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why don't you play? Are you not good at it? Is basketball not fun for you?”

  “It is. I love it actually.”

  “Then I repeat, why don't you play?”

  “Occasionally I do.” Like on the days I don't have enough lunch money to feed myself. “Most of the time, this is the only chance I get to eat before work.”

  “That makes sense.” Gianna takes a sip of her soda, my eyes darting down to her lips. “But you don’t think you could just stomach through the day and go all out for dinner?”

  “By the time I get off and end up making dinner--”

  “Wait, you make dinner? Like you can cook?”

  Mak's face pops into my mind. “I have no choice but to cook.”

  “Mom and dad can't?”

  The question has me adjusting on the bench and reaching for a chip. Both of my parents were great cooks. When mom started spending more time at the hospital than at home, I started to learn. “I really don't mind eating alone Gianna.”

  Ignoring my comment she says, “I have an answer to your question from yesterday.”

  I prepare to play stupid when she raises her eyebrows as if daring me too. Of course I didn't forget the question. It was the first time I openly offered friendship to someone of the opposite sex in years. I replayed the damn situation in my head like a song stuck on repeat, trying to figure out what the hell happened. How the hell did I slip? Are the hardships I wake up to everyday not serving as a good enough reminder anymore?

  “You mean about changing the trust thing between us?”

  “Yeah...” She fiddles with her soda bottle and nibbles on her bottom lip.

  “Okay.” I wipe my hands and my mouth, trying to keep my attention on her eyes and not her tight pink sweater that looks like it’s two sizes too small on her chest. I wonder how she looks out of that sweater. “You don’t wanna wait 'til we get to class to talk about it?”

  “No,” her answer is followed by a strand of hair falling into her face bringing my attention to how much more beautiful she is when she wears less make up. Why is she wearing less make up? “I wanted to talk about it before, which is why I approached you at lunch.”

  “I thought it was because you didn't want me eating alone?” I tease.

  She snickers a bit and shakes her head with a similar playful attitude, “Ugh. That too. Whatever.”

  Balling up my fist I rest my chin on it. “Alright, you have my attention. I'm all ears. So what’s your answer?”

  “I do.” The response is exactly what I wanted, but definitely not what I needed.

  “Good deal.” I smile and pick my fork back up to finish my salad. Moments from taking another bite, I can't help but notice the look of how anxious she is about something. Her fingers toy with hair and she starts nibbling on her bottom lip again. Placing it back down I lean forward, “Is there something on your mind in particular you wanna talk to me about?”

  With a short shoulder shrug she says, “Kind of…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well,” she hums out looking around the busy cafeteria. “Um...”

  Looking at my pretty much finished lunch, I ask, “Wanna go back by the performance building and talk?”

  “That sounds good.”

  With one more bite of my sandwich and one more bite of a chip, I throw my trash away and start towards the back exit of the cafeteria with Gianna at my side, catching the attention of a few known gossip starters. Might as well let them talk about something other than my fictional boxing career.

  After a trip to the bathroom that takes what feels like five minutes, she rushes out, freshens her breath, and the two of us start walking outside, side by side, just waiting for someone to say something.

  “So…” I slip my hands in my dark denim pockets.

  “I wouldn't say I'm hiding so much as running from past mistakes,” she adjusts her shoulder bag.

  “You’re running?”

  “More like sprinting. Like who needs to run a marathon when this bitch can run in stilettos.”

  Stopping at the outside of the building I lean my back against it. “At least you look good in stilettos.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Question is, what has you running to begin with?”

  Gianna suddenly lets her eyes wander off in the distance for a moment before she directs her attention at me. “I’ve been kicked out of nine schools in a year and half. Four private, two public, and three religious related schools. We’ve left Paris, New York, L.A. and Atlanta because of me.”

  “Why were you kicked out?”

  “You name it. I did it.” She moves her body to lean against the building beside me.

  Seeing she’s not going to be specific without help I decide to be straightforward, “Drugs?”


  “Did ‘em.”

  “Which ones?”

  “From the well-known ones? It would just be easier to ask me which ones I didn’t do,” she uncomfortably chuckles.

  “Okay. What haven’t you done?”

  “Crack, because that seems lame and heroine because well, inserting needles into my skin doesn’t roll over too well with me.”

  “You have a tat.”

  “You saw that?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  It's hard to miss the infinity symbol of stars on the back of her thigh. It gives an entirely different meaning to aiming for the stars.

  “You're picturing it now,” she teases, elbowing me jokingly in the ribs.

  “I...I..wasn't,” my lie is followed with a huge smile I can't fight. Something about when this girl smiles makes the urge to smile infectious. Turning my face to see her smiling brightly I roll my eyes, “Oh shut up. You know it's sexy.”

  “Yeah, but a little appreciation never hurts a girl's feelings.” Gianna winks.

  The possibility of this conversation turning the direction that could make my jeans tighter forces me to insist on refocusing on the topic. Otherwise I'm gonna end up doing something I regret more than I did offering her a friendship, which now seems like something she needed more than I would have ever imagined. “My point was they do tattoos with a needle.”

  “Yeah, but that’s different. That’s like a doodle on your flesh. It wasn’t shoved in my veins and…” She shutters at the thought. “Whatever. I’ve smoked pot in the back of one of my parent’s voting parties. I’ve done coke at their socialite fundraisers. Ecstasy with friends at parties and school events. Mushrooms on bus rides. Should I continue?”

  “No that’s a pretty clear picture. Why though? What’s the point?”

  Innocently she shrugs. “Fun, duh.”

  “Of course. I’ve always imagined putting things in my body that could essentially kill me or build an unhealthy addiction to as fun. It’s seemed to be as much fun as having someone rip off my nuts and then ask me to reattach them myself.”

  “Graphic.”

  “I try.”

  “Anyway, it was fun or at least it felt that way. I mean come on....I started doing shit before puberty that most people don't even think about until they're in their 20s. I mean what choice did I have?”