If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2)

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Oh, no! Today already?

  I look at Cinderella’s foot.

  Uh-oh.

  “We have a relamo,” Jonah says, after Betty leaves.

  “A what?” I ask.

  “Relamo is Smithvillian for problem,” he says.

  Hardy har har.

  What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “This really is a relamo,” Cinderella says, frowning. “If the prince’s assistant comes today, my foot is definitely not going to fit in the glass slipper.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “What should the Smithvillian word for ‘trouble’ be?” Jonah asks. “Dessinsty?”

  “Jonah,” I say. “Try to focus.”

  “Maybe he won’t come today,” Cinderella says wistfully. “Maybe he’ll come tomorrow.”

  I check out the state of Cinderella’s foot. “I don’t think it’s fitting tomorrow, either.”

  “So what do I do?” she asks. “I need it to fit!”

  “You could always cut off one of your toes,” Jonah says. “Like in the Grimm story.”

  Cinderella gasps. “That is, indeed, a grim story.”

  “Jonah, that’s disgusting!” I say.

  “I was just kidding,” he says. “That would hurt. Although it would be really cool.”

  There has to be a solution. “Oh! I know!” I say. It’s so easy! “You have a fairy godmother, right?”

  Cinderella nods.

  “So ask her to fix it! That’s what she’s there for. To fix things.”

  “I guess I could do that,” Cinderella says.

  “How do you get her to come?” Jonah asks. “Do you just call her?”

  “Call her? Yes! Exactly. I call her name and she comes.” Cinderella tilts her head toward the chimney, “Farrah! Farrah! Yoo-hoo, you there?”

  “She’s like Santa!” Jonah says.

  A second later, a big puff of yellow is sparkling in the center of the room. Then the sparkle slowly trickles to the ground, and I see her — the legendary fairy godmother.

  She is not what I expected. I thought she’d be plump.

  But she’s not. Instead, she’s super skinny. And she has big wide eyes that are green and smiling. Her hair is wild and curly and perched on her head in a loose bun. Instead of wearing a twirly dress, she’s wearing black leggings and a yellow sweater. She’s like a human bumblebee. Or not human, exactly. Are fairies human? At least I think she’s a fairy. I don’t see any wings. She’s holding a yellow-and-black swirly wand that looks like a candy cane. If candy canes were yellow and black.

  “You’re the fairy godmother?” Jonah blurts out.

  “I am. And you must be Abby and Jonah.”

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Word gets around. So, Cinderella, what can I do for you?”

  “You need to fix her foot,” I say. “It’s busted. It’s never going to fit the glass slipper the way it is now. And if it doesn’t fit the glass slipper, then she won’t be able to marry the prince.”

  Farrah looks at Cinderella. “Is that what you want? To marry the prince?”

  “Of course that’s what I want!” Cinderella says. “Why do you think I wanted to go to the balls? For the pigs-in-a-blanket? I need the prince to rescue me and get me out of this place.”

  Farrah blinks. And then blinks again. “Excuse me?”

  “I need him to rescue me,” she repeats. “Marrying him will save me from this miserable life.”

  “And if you don’t mind,” I pipe in, “can you please direct us to the nearest magic mirror? We need to get home. Thank you for your time.”

  This is perfect. All of our problems will be solved with one burst of yellow sparkle! Farrah will fix Cinderella’s foot and then send us home with a poof.

  Farrah crosses her arms. “No.”

  “Exqueeze me?” Did I hear her right?

  “No,” she repeats.

  Cinderella blinks. And then blinks again. “I don’t understand. Why not?”

  “First of all, I don’t like being told what to do,” Farrah says, glaring at all of us. “And second, Cinderella, I don’t like this attitude of yours. Not one bit. You need to learn to rescue yourself! You need to learn to stand on your own two feet!”

  “But my foot feels broken!” Cinderella whines. “I can’t stand at all!”

  “Well, you’d better learn. You can’t rely on a prince to save you. You have to be self-reliant!”

  “What’s self-reliant?” Jonah asks.

  “It means relying on yourself,” I explain.

  “I’m self-reliant,” he says.

  I snort. “Please. You don’t even make your own bed.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to fix my foot today?” Cinderella asks meekly.

  “I am not going to fix your foot today,” the fairy godmother says. I can’t believe how mean Farrah is being. None of the fairy tale versions mentioned this!

  “We really need you to fix Cinderella’s foot today,” I say. “If the slipper doesn’t fit, we won’t be able to prove that Cinderella’s the right girl! Isn’t that why you sent her to the ball in the first place? So she could snag the prince?”

  “Noooo,” Farrah says. “I sent her so she could have a night out on the town!”

  “You never thought that the prince might fall in love with her?” I ask.

  “I’m fine with the prince falling in love with her — I just don’t want her to be so needy about it.” Farrah shakes her head at Cinderella. “You’re not my only charge, you know. I’m the prince’s fairy godmother, too. I’ve known him since he was a baby — no way do I want him getting stuck with a whiny damsel in distress. He needs a partner in his life. After all, a queen must be strong. If you can prove to me you won’t be hanging on to his shirttails, I’ll help you snag him. Got it? Show me you can stand on your own two feet and I’ll fix your foot. I’m willing to help you — but only if you help yourself first.”

  “But it will be too late!” I say. “The prince’s assistant is on his way now!”

  “The assistant is at the other end of the kingdom. He won’t make it here until Tuesday afternoon. I’ll give you until Tuesday at noon to call for me and prove your self-reliance. It’s Sunday morning. You have two and a half days. Make them count.”

  But — but — but … “Wait! Farrah? What about us? Can you help us find a magic mirror so we can go home?” I ask.

  It’s too late. She’s gone in a puff of sparkle.

  There’s no time for brainstorming ideas. We have to get right to work. Cinderella hobbles around the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes while Jonah and I sweep the living room.

  More precisely, I hold the dustpan while Jonah attempts to sweep.

  He is the worst sweeper ever. He’s just running around with the broom, swishing it in every direction. I think he might be making the dust worse than it was before.

  “Focus, Jonah, focus!”

  He sweeps a piece of dirt into my mouth.

  “Jonah!” I say with a spit.

  “Sorry,” he says, but he’s laughing so I don’t really believe him.

  His face turns serious and he twists his bottom lip. “Abby, how are we going to get home?”

  “I, um, have a plan,” I say. Although to be honest, I don’t have a plan yet. I’m making it up right now. But I think it’s important for Jonah to trust that I always have a plan. It’s my job as the big sister.

  “Yeah?” he says. “What is it?”

  “Oh. Right. Well …”

  “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

  “I do, I do! We help Cinderella prove to Farrah that she can be self-reliant before noon on Tuesday.”

  “What is it about twelve o’clock in fairy tales?” Jonah asks. “Whether it’s noon or midnight, something always happens at twelve.”

  “That is true. I don’t know why. So back to my plan. How about this — when Farrah comes back she’ll be so amazed by the new and improved Cinderella t
hat she’ll happily tell us where the magic mirror is.”

  “But what if she doesn’t know where it is?”

  “She must know,” I declare. “At the very least, she could zap us home herself. She does have a magic wand.”

  He nods. “Okay. Decent plan.”

  I hear footsteps in the hallway. It’s Beatrice, the meaner sister. She looks a lot like her mother. Exact same thin nose and lips, exact same straight hair and bangs. Except hers is brown instead of gray. And she’s the tallest of the three.

  “Why are you two here?” she asks.

  “We’re here to help Cinderella.”

  “Good. Go help her with the wash. I’m low on underwear.”

  That makes two of us.

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Kayla!” Beatrice yells up the stairs. “Do you need Cinderella to do your wash?”

  “Yeah,” Kayla calls back.

  “The hampers are in our closet,” Beatrice tells us. “We’re going to visit friends now. Surely you’ll see to it that the laundry is done by today so it’ll be all ready for tomorrow. The prince’s assistant is coming, you know.”

  “Fine.” Must be a really slow washing machine.

  I go upstairs. The stepsisters’ door is closed so I knock. After what happened with Cinderella, I will never not knock again.

  “Come in,” I hear.

  Kayla is lying facedown on her bed.

  “Hi, Kayla,” I say. “I’m just getting your laundry.”

  She turns her face toward me. “How do you know my name? Have we met?”

  Well, I saw you fawning over the prince at the ball and then spied on you from under your bed. But no, technically, we haven’t met. “You’re Beatrice’s sister, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re helping Cinderella out while her foot heals,” I say. “We’re going to do your laundry and then make you dinner.”

  She nods. “Okay,” she says, and then turns her head the other way.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say sarcastically.

  She doesn’t bother to answer.

  I bump Kayla’s hamper down the stairs. “Cinderella?” I ask, popping my head into the kitchen.

  But she’s already done cleaning the kitchen and has managed to sweep and dustpan the entire marble entranceway by herself.

  On one foot.

  She’s a cleaning machine.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “Where’s the washer and dryer?” I ask.

  “The what?”

  “The washer and dr —” I stop in mid-sentence. “Do you guys not have a washer and dryer?”

  “I’m the washer and dryer,” she answers. “I wash the clothes by hand, then hang them up to dry.”

  Yikes. Even if my parents never bother using it, I have never felt more thankful for our washer and dryer in my entire life.

  Cinderella and I are on all fours washing her stepsisters’ clothes in the tub in the basement. At least they have running water in Floom, otherwise we’d be standing on a riverbank.

  I’m soaping, Cinderella is rinsing, and Jonah is hanging. We have a whole production line going on. Next we’re ironing wrinkled dresses. Cinderella is going to show me how to use the ironing board and everything.

  “I don’t understand what Farrah wants from me,” Cinderella says. “How can I rescue myself?”

  “Let’s think about it,” I say. “You said you were stuck here, right?”

  “I am stuck here. I have nowhere else to go.”

  “But you’re not chained to the house,” I say. “You can leave if you want to.”

  “Where’s your dad?” Jonah asks. “Is he dead?”

  “He’s not dead,” Cinderella says. “He’s just gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Just gone. He left us. He left me. My mom’s death was just too much for him.”

  “But he got married again,” I say.

  “I think he just wanted to find a place for me to live, since I was only twelve. And once he did — he took off. We used to get postcards, but we haven’t heard from him in three years.”

  “That’s terrible!” Jonah says. “I can’t believe a dad would do that.”

  “He’s a sailor,” Cinderella says. “And he sailed away. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And he left me here. Stranded. I have no money and nowhere to go. That’s why I need the prince to rescue me.”

  “Why don’t you get a job?” I say, rinsing a pair of striped socks. “Then you’ll have your own money and you can get your own house.”

  “But she’s going to move into the palace when she gets married,” Jonah says. “She doesn’t need her own house.”

  “She won’t get to marry the prince if Farrah doesn’t fix her foot,” I argue. “And Farrah won’t help unless Cinderella helps herself. If Cinderella gets a job and moves out, it should prove to Farrah that she can be self-reliant. But if Farrah gets all weird and says it’s not enough, at least this way Cinderella won’t be stuck here anymore. It’s a no-lose plan!”

  Cinderella cocks her head to the side. “But what kind of job could I get? I’m not good at anything.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “You’re the world’s fastest cleaner. You tidied that whole living room in forty-five seconds flat.”

  “You could be a cleaning lady!” Jonah says.

  “We need to think bigger,” I say, my eyes widening. “You could start a cleaning service! You could train a whole bunch of cleaners to clean superfast like you do and then send them out to people’s houses! You taught us to clean; you can teach other people, too! You’ll start a company. You’ll make a fortune. You can call it … Mess Be Gone. No wait, Cinderella’s Cleaners!” I pump my arm in the air, feeling proud of myself. I am a big fan of alliteration. Although I don’t remember if alliteration has to be the same first letter or the same first sound. Whatever. It’s still cute. From now on maybe I should go by Awesome Abby.

  Cinderella shudders. “No way. I hate cleaning. I do it so fast so I can be done with it. I don’t want to clean other people’s houses for money. I don’t want to clean this house, and if I had my own place, I wouldn’t want to clean that, either. If I had my own money, I’d hire Cinderella’s Cleaners.”

  “They probably wouldn’t use your name if you weren’t part of the company,” Jonah points out.

  Cinderella nods. “True.”

  I’m pretty sure she’s missing an excellent business opportunity, but whatever. I think harder. “What about something with animals?” I say. “Aren’t you really good with mice?”

  “Farrah is good with mice, not me. Actually, I’m not all that great with any animal. Plus, I’m allergic to dogs. They give me a terrible cough and make me sneeze. Cats, too.”

  “Can you be a lawyer?” Jonah asks. “That’s what our parents are.”

  “That takes a lot of schooling,” I say, a little bit huffy. “Not everyone can be a lawyer, you know.”

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Cinderella says. “Too much arguing involved.” She squeezes water out of one of Beatrice’s shirts. “This is missing a button. I’ll have to sew on a new one.”

  Hmm. “You can sew?”

  She nods. “Of course. Can’t you?”

  “I’ve never tried,” I say. “But I probably could. But this is about you. What about becoming a seamstress?”

  “Think bigger,” Jonah says, echoing my previous statement. “You could make clothes. You could be a fashion designer.”

  “That’s perfect!” I say. Way to go, Jonah! “You’ll make clothes and sell them. A perfect plan!”

  “But what should I make?”

  “You have to make something unique,” I say. “Something that someone else isn’t already making. What do you know how to make?”

  Cinderella shrugs. “I’ve never made anything entirely from scratch, but I’m really good at stitching. I’ve hemmed skirts. Sheets. Shirts. Dresses.”

 
“Can you make underwear?” I ask. Mine are giving me a wedgie.

  “Um, I guess.”

  “Never mind. Let’s focus on things people in Floom want.”

  “Floom people wear underwear,” she says, sounding insulted.

  “No, I mean special clothes,” I say. I think about the people of Floom. What do they all like? Oh! “They loved your dress! Everyone loved the dress you wore to the ball. They couldn’t stop gushing about it!”

  She nods. “They did love my dress. I loved my dress. I wish I still had my dress.”

  Ding ding! “That’s what you’ll do! You’ll make a Cinderella dress! You’ll make a bunch of Cinderella dresses and then you’ll sell them!”

  “And make one for yourself,” Jonah adds. “Maybe the prince’s assistant will recognize you if you’re wearing it when he comes by with the glass slipper.”

  Cinderella’s eyes light up. “That, my little friend, is a perfect plan.”

  And once she’s done with that, maybe she can make me a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and some new undies.

  We take a break from the wash to search the house for material.

  “The living room curtains!” I say. “They’re platinum!”

  “They’re more of a silver,” Cinderella says.

  “Is there really a difference?” Honestly, I can’t tell. “The curtains are perfect.” It’ll be just like in The Sound of Music when Maria makes the kids’ clothes!

  “I can’t dismantle the curtains,” Cinderella says. “Betty would notice.”

  “Is there anything else silver-ish that she has and won’t miss?” I ask.

  “I think she might have some extra tablecloths,” Cinderella says. “Let’s look in the closet.”

  We trudge over to the closet and find a stack.

  “This one isn’t bad,” I say. “It’s not exactly silver. It’s more gray. But we can accessorize.”

  “But we still need to finish the wash,” Cinderella says.

  “We’ll finish the wash,” I say. “You make the clothes.”

  “I’ll be in the attic,” she says. “Wish me luck.”