If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2)

by Sarah Mlynowski

“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.”

  Do 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:

  He’s handsome.

  He’s youngish (like an older teenager).

  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.)

  He’s wearing a crown.

  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!

  I study the prince to see how he reacts. First, he turns to look at his dad, the king, who motions to the door. I’m guessing that’s his royal order to Go Get the Stranger Princess. The prince nods and makes his way outside.

  And the girl he was talking to? Her face falls. Aw. I can’t help but feel bad for her. But come on! How can a regular girl compete with Cinderella?

  Cinderella! I’m going to see Cinderella!

  The entire crowd drifts out the door to see.

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  First we see a gold coach. “That used to be a pumpkin!” I whisper to Jonah.

  Then I motion to the six gray neighing horses. “Those were mice!”

  Standing by the coach are six footmen and a plump coachman.

  “What were those?” Jonah asks.

  “The coachman was a rat, I think. But I forget what the footmen were. Spiders? No, lizards, maybe?”

  Here she comes! First her foot. Her glass-slippered foot. The crowd oohs and aahs.

  She steps out of the coach just like a movie star at a Hollywood premiere.

  Everyone gasps.

  I gasp. She really is gorgeous.

  Her dress is gorgeous, too.

  She looks just like she does on my jewelry box, in her ball gown. She’s so sophisticated. So stunning. So sparkly!

  “She’s breathtaking,” a young man with thick black glasses says.

  “But who is she?” a woman with bright pink lipstick asks. “Is she really a princess?”

  “She’s not from around here, that’s for sure,” an older woman leaning against a cane says, then clucks her tongue. “Trust me. I would know. I know everyone.”

  “Her dress is real silver!” pink-lipstick woman says.

  “No, it’s platinum,” the older woman declares. “That’s better than silver. It’s even better than gold. Trust me.”

  The dress glitters. Cinderella glitters. Her blond hair is pulled up and back in some sort of super-awesome knot, and her face is made up. Red lipstick. Blush. Silver eye shadow.

  Or maybe it’s platinum.

  You can see her blue eyes even from here. They’re practically glowing.

  The prince appears beside her. “Hello,” he says gallantly. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Hi,” she responds, batting her mascaraed eyelashes. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”

  Huh? Again?

  “I don’t get it,” Jonah says. “He knows her already?”

  That is weird. How does he already know her? I tap the cane woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I ask. “How does the prince know Cinder — I mean, the beautiful stranger princess?”

  She rolls her eyes. “They met at the first ball.”

  Oh! Right! There were a whole bunch of versions of Cinderella, and some of them had more than one ball. My nana is a literature professor and she used to read all the original fairy tales to me when we lived near her in Naperville.

  I just don’t remember how many balls there were. Hmm. Probably three. Of course — everything in fairy tales happens in threes.

  “So there are three balls?” I ask.

  She clucks her tongue. “Noooo. Two. Yesterday’s and today’s. That’s it.”

  I guess not everything happens in threes. I turn back to Cinderella. She looks so beautiful. He looks so handsome. They are a perfect fairy tale couple. “Isn’t it romantic?” I swoon. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “The other girl doesn’t think it’s so wonderful,” Jonah comments, pointing with his chin toward the girl who was talking to the prince before he dumped her for Cinderella.

  The average-looking girl.

  She does look kind of devastated. I don’t blame her — she was making the prince laugh before Cinderella showed up. If she would have asked me, I would have told her to back off — she was asking for heartbreak.

  Really, everyone should consult me before making decisions. It’s for their own good.

  “Abby, what now?” Jonah asks.

  “One sec,” I say. I can’t help but follow Cinderella and the prince as they walk back into the ballroom. They’re magnetic. All the guests point and gasp. Even the music stops.

  Everyone’s mesmerized. Everyone except my brother, but he’s a seven-year-old boy. He can’t be expected to appreciate epic romance.

  The prince wraps his arm around Cinderella’s waist and takes her hand.

  Sigh.

  The music restarts. My heart soars. They begin to dance.

  Rumors and whispers swirl.

  “I heard she’s the heiress to a diamond dynasty!”

  “I heard she’s the youngest princess in Roctavia!”

  “I heard she’s turned down thirteen marriage proposals, but thinks our prince is the one!”

  I cover my mouth so I don’t laugh.

  “Abby,” Jonah whispers. “They’re wrong, right? Isn’t she just an ordinary girl whose fairy godmother made her look pretty to come to the ball?”

  “She was always pretty,” I say. “But her mom died and then —”

  “How come the mother always dies in fairy tales? Snow White’s mom died, too.”

  “I don’t know, Jonah. I don’t write these things, I just read them. Where was I?”

  “Dead mother.”

  “Right. Her mom died and her dad remarried an evil stepmother.”

  “Again with the evil stepmother!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “But the evil stepmother had daughters?”

  “Yes. Two. And they’re not as beautiful as Cinderella.”

  “And why is she at the ball again?”

  Luckily I paid attention to Nana’s stories 100 percent of the time. Jonah, about 30 percent.

  “The stepmom was invited. She was planning to go with her stepdaughters, hoping that the prince would fall in love with one of them and make her a princess. Cinderella wanted to go, too, but her stepmom said no way. She made her sleep in the attic and do all the housework. Cinderella cried, and then presto, up popped her fairy godmother who said she was going to help her. She turned a bunch of animals into the coach and footmen, and her rags into a beautiful dress. She gave Cinderella glass slippers. She’s an awesome stylist, this fairy godmother. Wish I had one. Anyway, she told Cinderella to leave the ball by midnight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s when all the magic ends.”

  “But if she’s a fairy godmother, why can’t she make it last longer?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. But what happens next — what happens now — is that Cinderella’s having so much fun that she nearly forgets it’s midnight. She runs and drops her shoe —”

  “I thought there were two balls?” Jonah asks.

  “Oh. Right. I don’t remember every single detail, but I think at the first ball Cinderella danced with the prince but then remembered to leave before midnight. But the final ball is when she loses track of time and then drops her shoe. Her dress turns back into rags, and the coachmen and the footmen and the coach turn back to mice and rats and lizards and a pumpkin. Meanwhile, the prince picks up the shoe and promises that whoever the shoe fits will be his wife. Over the next few days, his assistant goes ar
ound to all the households in the kingdom and makes the ladies try on the slipper. It fits Cinderella perfectly. She shows him the second shoe as proof and all is well. She gets married to the prince and is rescued from her mean stepmother. And they live happily ever after.” Sigh. I love this story.

  “What happens to the stepsisters?”

  “In the classic version, I think it was written by some French guy, Perrault or Poutine or something, Cinderella forgives them. That’s the one Nana liked the best. In the others I think it’s kinda grosser.”

  His eyes light up. “Tell me!”

  My brother loves the gross parts.

  “Well, in the Grimm brothers’ one, the stepsisters try to cut off their heels and toes to fit into the slipper. And then they die.”

  “No way! Awesome!”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Snack?” a waiter interrupts us, waving a plate in front of us.

  “Dogs-in-a-blanket!” Jonah cheers.

  I roll my eyes again. But I take two.

  Jonah takes three and stuffs them all in his mouth. “So what do we do now? Explore?”

  “Can you swallow before talking, please? Where are your manners? We’re at a ball.”

  “Why should I listen to you? You’re wearing pink pajamas with purple polka dots.”

  Humph. “I think we should find the magic mirror that will take us home first so we’re not rushing around later.”

  “Then we can explore?”

  “Yeah. But let’s start with the mirror. It’s probably somewhere in the castle. Looking for it is exploring, right? Now’s our best chance anyway since the royal family and the staff are distracted by the ball. But we have to be careful not to get in Cinderella’s way. We can’t risk messing up the story!”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “You don’t want to say hi? Even quickly?”

  “Of course I do, but we can’t. We learned our lesson with Snow White. We will NOT mess the story up this time around!” No way, no how, no thank you.

  We find twelve mirrors in the castle:

  The mirror in the queen’s room. The king’s room. The prince’s room. The guest rooms. The maids’ rooms. There are even two in the ballroom.

  None of them work.

  And knocking on them isn’t always easy, either.

  There was a maid in the queen’s room. We told her that Her Majesty requested her presence downstairs so that we could continue “exploring.”