By nine o’clock, we’ve sold forty crownies.
By ten, sixty-five.
By eleven-thirty, we’re sold out.
We’ve made a hundred and twenty dollars.
“You did it!” Jonah cheers, giving Cinderella a high five.
We actually had six crownies left, but we let ourselves have a snack. Of course, the six crownies left had walnuts. But that didn’t stop Cinderella and Jonah from eating their share. I’m saving one of mine for later.
“We did it,” Cinderella says. “You guys are the best. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
That’s true, though technically she shouldn’t have had to do it at all. It’s because of us she hurt her foot. No need to remind her of that, though. “You’re going to be a princess!” I tell her instead.
Cinderella puts the money in an envelope, which I carry in one of the extra satchels.
We give each other a group victory hug and then run, run, run to catch the parriage.
The grandfather clock in the living room says 11:45 when we open Cinderella’s front door. We only have fifteen minutes left to call Farrah!
“Where have you been?” Betty snaps when we step inside. “The prince’s assistant is on his way and I had to prepare the tea myself!”
Oh, no. I don’t want to anger Betty. What if she somehow messes up the plan?
“We were at the market,” Cinderella says.
“Doing what?” Betty barks.
“Getting dinner.” It’s the truth. Cinderella bought a pot roast from the butcher for later. Betty has an account there, so she charged it.
Though if everything goes her way by the time dinner rolls around, she won’t be the one cooking it. She’ll be engaged to the prince.
Betty looks at her with suspicion.
“We just need to freshen up,” Cinderella says, “and then we’ll make lunch.”
“What I need is for you to finish preparing the tea and cakes for the prince’s people. I’ve just heard that they’re only a few houses away. They should be here within the hour. So you need to hurry. Beatrice and Kayla are making themselves presentable as we speak.”
“We’ll be right down,” Cinderella says cheerfully.
It’s 11:50.
Jonah and I run up the stairs while Cinderella hobbles up behind us. We pass Beatrice and Kayla’s room on the way. Their door is open, and I peek inside.
“Cinderella!” Beatrice yells. “I need your help!”
“Can’t now,” Cinderella says, giving Kayla a thumbs-up.
Then up to the attic we go. We close the door behind us.
Cinderella knocks on the chimney. “Farrah? Are you there?”
My heart races. I hope this works. It HAS to work.
There’s a burst of yellow sparkle. Here we go.
So,” Farrah says, twirling her wand between her fingers like it’s a cheerleading baton. “How’d you do?”
“She did great!” I say, but then wonder if I should let Cinderella do the talking. A person who stands on her own two feet should definitely use her own tongue, right? “I’ll let her tell you about it.”
Farrah nods. “Good idea.”
Cinderella takes a step forward. “We decided I would get a job so I could afford an apartment of my own. And Jonah — um, I mean we — found a great place that’s a hundred dollars a month. You said that if I could prove to you that I can rescue myself, you would fix my foot. And if you fix my foot, then I’ll fit the glass slipper like Abby said I was supposed to. So I started a crownie company called Cinderella’s Crownies to raise a hundred dollars for the apartment.”
“What’s a crownie?” Farrah asks.
Jonah rolls his eyes. “It’s really called a brownie. My sister’s just weird.”
“Crownies are little square cakes,” Cinderella explains. “I baked a bunch and then we sold them at the market. I really enjoyed making them and selling them, and we made a hundred and twenty dollars, which is enough to —”
“Rent an apartment!” I shriek. I’m sorry. I’m just not good at containing myself. “Which proves she can stand on her own two feet! She’s self-reliant! She is, she is!”
“Exactly,” Cinderella says.
Farrah nods. “I’m impressed. You can afford to rent your own apartment? That does prove to me that you’re not just a damsel in distress. Maybe you’re a worthy partner for the prince after all.”
“Yay!” I cheer. “And, Farrah, not that I’m not focusing on Cinderella and her issues right now, but we really need to talk about finding a magic mirror.”
She smiles. “Let’s take care of Cinderella first, okay?”
She lifts her wand. She makes three circles in the air and then sends a zap toward the table. The glass slipper that had been smashed reappears in a puff of sparkle. Oh, yay! She fixed it!
“And now for your foot,” she says.
Yes, yes, yes! Everything is going to be back on track now. Hurray!
The door bursts open. “Not so fast. Stop whatever you’re doing!”
Betty! What is she doing here? Beatrice is behind her. Beatrice and …
Kayla.
“See, Kayla?” Beatrice says, pointing to the glass slipper on the table. “I told you she was the mystery girl from the ball. She stole your prince!”
“How did you know?” Cinderella asks.
“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” Beatrice says. “Also I’m a very good eavesdropper. You guys aren’t exactly quiet.”
Kayla’s eyes tear up. “I don’t understand. I thought you were trying to raise a hundred dollars so you could move out.”
“Technically, she was raising a hundred dollars to prove to me that she’s worthy of the prince,” Farrah says.
“You lied to me,” Kayla says, her mouth turning down. “You stole my prince!”
“I’m sorry, Kayla,” Cinderella says. “But he was never your prince. If he was your prince, he wouldn’t have spent both nights dancing with me.”
“But he liked me! I know he liked me….” Kayla’s voice trails off. She juts her quivering chin at Cinderella. “I can’t believe I helped you! Prince robber!”
Betty smiles a seriously evil smile. “Don’t get all worked up, Kayla. Cinderella isn’t marrying the prince. She couldn’t raise the hundred dollars.”
“Yes, she could. It’s right here.” I pull out the envelope with the money. “See? There’s enough in here for the apartment plus twenty dollars extra.”
“Let’s see about this, shall we?” Betty walks over to me. “Tell me something, who paid for the ingredients that Cinderella used to bake the crownies?”
“We bought the ingredients for the second batch at the market,” Jonah says.
Betty raises an eyebrow. “What about the first batch?”
“We found the ingredients in the house,” I say, my voice shaking.
“So that means you used my ingredients for your crownies. Without asking my permission. Which, in my book, is stealing. I don’t know what kind of laws you have in Smithville, but here in Floom stealing is a crime.” She laughs. “Forget the attic. You should see what a jail cell feels like.”
“Take twenty dollars.” Cinderella says quickly. “Then we’ll be even.”
“Will we now?” Betty says. “Twenty dollars hardly seems enough for all the ingredients you stole. And what about the paper you used to make the signs? And the ironing board you used as a table? I’d say you owe me, including penalties and interest …” She pretends to be hard at thought. “Hmm. How much did you say you made? A hundred and twenty dollars? I’d say you owe me a hundred and thirty.” Her mouth twists into an evil smile. “Aw. You don’t have that much. Too bad. I guess this means you and your little Smithvillian friends are going to jail.”
“Mom, no!” Beatrice yells.
Can it be? Did I have it all wrong? Is Beatrice the nice one and Kayla the bad one?
“If they all go to jail,” Beatrice whines, “who’s going to do the cooking a
nd the laundry?”
Betty smiles. “Think, Beatrice. Whichever one of you marries the prince will move me and your sister into the palace with you, yes?”
Beatrice nods. “Surely,”
“Then we’ll each have our own maid to tend to us — who needs Cinderella?”
My heart pounds. I turn to Farrah. “Can’t you stop her? She’s being ridiculous!”
Farrah shakes her head. “She’s the lady of the house. Cinderella should have asked her permission before taking her things. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Your choice,” Betty says with a grin. “A hundred and thirty dollars — or jail.”
I look at Kayla, my eyes pleading. “I know you’re mad, but can’t you convince them to go easy on us? Remember how crummy you felt for treating Cinderella badly for so long? Haven’t you changed at all?”
Kayla’s lips quiver but then she takes a deep breath. “Mom,” she says finally. “You’re being unfair. Cinderella didn’t know she was stealing. She lives here, you know. She just assumed it was her stuff, too.”
“Well, it wasn’t, and now she has to pay,” Betty spits out.
I send Kayla another pleading glance. “I know you think Cinderella marrying the prince is unfair,” I say. “But the way you treated her since she was twelve is even MORE unfair. You owe it to her to help! You know you do!”
Kayla face falls. “I know, I know. Mom, I’ll give you the hundred and thirty dollars, okay? Just don’t send Cinderella to jail. She’s suffered enough.”
“Excuse me,” Farrah pipes up, “but that breaks the rules.”
Cinderella and I exchange a look. “What rules?” she asks.
Farrah frowns. “The rules about being self-sufficient. If Kayla just gives her mother the money, she’d be rescuing Cinderella. Haven’t you been listening? Cinderella has to prove she’s self-reliant. That’s the whole point.”
“See?” Betty says. “Even the skinny fairy woman agrees. I think it’s time I called the police.”
Wait. “You have a phone?” Can I call home?
“Phone! Crownies! Are you guys just making up words to confuse me?” Beatrice asks.
I guess that’s a no.
Wait. Did she say crownie? Oh, oh, oh!
“Farrah,” I say slowly, “if Cinderella earns the money to pay back Betty, that would prove she’s self-reliant?”
“How can I earn the money?” Cinderella says. “I have no ingredients to make more crownies and no money to buy them, and even if I did, we’re almost out of time! The prince’s assistant is going to be here any minute!”
I reach into my bag and pull out the one remaining crownie. “You still have one crownie left to sell. Kayla, please, please, please would you be interested in buying this crownie for a hundred and thirty dollars?” I turn to Kayla and hold my breath. Who’s she going to side with?
“She would not,” Betty snaps.
Kayla’s cheeks redden. “Actually, Mom, I would.”
“Really?” Jonah asks. “You know it has walnuts, right?”
“I can’t believe you’d betray your own mother,” Betty snarls at Kayla.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want to betray you. I want to make up the last few years to Cinderella.”
Farrah looks at her watch. “Five … four … three … two … one! You made it! I’m very impressed.”
“Think again, fairy freak,” Betty says. “Do you see money in my hand? You do not. Cinderella goes to jail.”
“Um, actually?” I say. “Speaking as her lawyer, the negotiations were completed before the deadline, so I would say she’s in the clear. Right, Farrah?”
In response, Farrah raises her wand, points it at Cinderella’s foot, and zaps it. There’s a puff of sparkle, and before our very eyes, Cinderella’s foot shrinks back to its normal pre-marshmallow size.
“I’m healed!” Cinderella says, wriggling her toes. “Thank you, Farrah!”
“As for you two,” Farrah says to me and Jonah, “it’s time to tell you how to get home.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really,” she says, twirling the wand between her fingers. “The portal is actually —”
She’s interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.
Jonah rushes to the window. “There’s a carriage outside! It must be the prince’s assistant!”
“Get her!” I hear.
The next thing I know, Beatrice jumps onto Farrah’s back, the wand flies out of Farrah’s hand, and Beatrice and Farrah tumble to the ground. The wand goes rolling across the floor.
Betty scoops it up. “Now where were we?”
Give that back immediately,” Farrah commands.
Betty’s evil-scary smile returns. “I don’t think so. Let’s see. Now that I have the power, what shall I do with it?”
“I’m guessing you’re going to abuse it,” Cinderella says wryly.
Betty swishes toward Cinderella and hurls a zap her way.
There’s a burst of yellow sparkle and then Cinderella starts to shrink. She gets smaller and smaller and then even smaller. And turns gray. And grows a tail.
“Cool,” Betty says. “I must have pressed the mouse-making button.”
Oh. My. Goodness. She turned Cinderella into a mouse. A mouse wearing itty-bitty clothes.
“Stop that,” Farrah demands, her hands on her hips.
Betty just laughs and turns to Jonah.
“Don’t you dare,” I yell as I jump in front of him. Zap! Sparkle!
All I can see is yellow, and then zoom! The room is suddenly increasing in size. I feel sick. It’s like I’m on a Tilt-A-Whirl. And then — plunk. I’m on my tush, with my legs in the air in front of me.
Except they are not my legs. They are little twig legs. They are gray. And I have a tail.
I’m a mouse.
ARGHHHH!
I look at Jonah.
He’s a mouse, too. A baby mouse in a red sweatshirt and jeans. A baby mouse who is currently trying to catch his tail.
“Achoo!” sneezes the Cinderella mouse.
I try to say bless you, but instead what comes out is, “Squeak!”
“Hand that wand back to me this instant,” Farrah warns, taking a step toward her.
Betty turns the wand on Farrah next. “I don’t think so.” Zap! Sparkle!
Farrah yelps as she starts to shrink and turn green and scaly.
“A lizard button!” Betty says gleefully. “This thing is fantastic!”
What are we going to do? Farrah’s a lizard in a yellow top and black leggings! And we’re mice! What if we’re stuck like this forever? Even if the Farrah lizard somehow shows us how to get home, we can’t go back to Smithville as mice! My parents will never know it’s us! They’ll catch us with traps and hurt us and not even know it!
There’s another knock on the front door. “Is anyone home?” we hear.
“Mom, turn them back into people right now,” Kayla demands.
“Sorry, sweetie, I couldn’t hear you. Did you say squeak?” And with that she turns her wand on Kayla and zaps her.
This is insane. Betty just turned her own daughter into a mouse. A very large, brown mouse with very sharp teeth. Wait a sec. Is she a —
“You’re a rat! How fitting,” Betty snarls. She smiles and then yells downstairs, “Coming!” She turns to Beatrice. “But first things first. Let’s resize those feet.” She points the wand at her daughter’s left foot and zaps it.
It resizes all right. It expands. And expands some more. It expands into the size of a basketball. And then turns orange. It’s a pumpkin!
“Mom!” Beatrice shrieks.
“Sorry, sorry. Hold on.” Betty pulls out a pair of glasses from her pocket and studies the wand. “Aha! There it is. Reduction button.” She zaps her daughter’s left foot again and it shrinks back to its original size and color. Then she zaps it once more and it shrinks even smaller. She zaps the right foot next. “That should do it. Grab the slipper, will you, dear?”
“With pleasure,” Beatrice says, and then cackles.
“Coming!” Betty calls again, and the mother and daughter hurry downstairs, slamming the attic door behind them.
“Squeeeeeak!” I yell. Which really means, We have to follow them!
“Squeak!” say Cinderella and Kayla at the same time.
“Squinx,” says my brother gleefully, which I’m assuming is mouse for jinx.
We all scurry to the door. Um. Small problem. We are way too short to reach the handle. Now what?
“Squeak,” Jonah says again, and proceeds to try to squeeze himself under the door. Oh, no. What if he gets stuck? But he doesn’t. He goes right under. Mice are very squirmy.
I squeeze through to the other side, too. Cinderella goes next. Then Kayla. Then Farrah. I guess rats and lizards are squirmy, too.
We made it! They all follow me as I scamper down the stairs and into the living room.
Betty is standing by the couch, her arms behind her back holding the glass slipper that Farrah fixed. Beatrice is sticking her foot out as the prince’s assistant crouches in front of her with the other glass slipper.
And the prince. I did not expect him to be here, too, but the prince is sitting on the love seat looking regal and princely in his very purple robe.
“Squeak!!!!” cries the Kayla rat.
“Thank you so much for the tea,” the prince says. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I’m sure everyone is showering you with treats,” says Betty.
The assistant nods. “The last house we were at had these amazing little cake things. They’re called crownies, I’m told. Cinderella’s Crownies. They bought them at the market. Have you ever had one?”
“They’re quite delicious,” the prince says.
Betty grunts. “I’ve heard they make a lot of crumbs.”
Cinderella squeaks.
Wait a sec. The assistant looks familiar. He’s skinny and he has a goatee. It’s the guy from the coat check! I guess he got promoted. Way to go!
“Time to do the shoe thing,” the goatee guy says. He lifts the glass slipper to Beatrice’s left foot.
Please don’t fit, please don’t fit, please don’t fit.
It fits.
Crumbs is definitely right.
If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) Page 8