The Glitter Trap

by Barbara Brauner

I’m suddenly curious. “Would a Cinderella cockroach hate me like all the rest of the animals?”

  “No. As long as the spell lasts, the cockroach forgets it’s an animal and thinks it’s human.”

  Hmm… The next time pigeons are attacking, maybe I should try making them human. For a moment, I’m lost in thought; then Sunny tugs on my sleeve. “Earth to Lacey! You’ve got to help Paige!”

  Sunny’s right, so I tap on the the stall door. “Paige, please. Katarina is sorry she said you stink.”

  Katarina waggles her eyebrows and silently mouths, Am not!

  I ignore her. “Paige, the only way you’re going to not stink is if you come out of there and let me help you.”

  Just when I’m sure she’s going to stay in that toilet stall for the rest of her life, the door finally opens. Paige says, “Okay. Help me.”

  Cinderella wannabes cram the music room as Paige, Sunny, and I walk in.

  Everyone is talking about Ann: “She’s my best friend in the whole world!” “She’s soooo talented!” “Someday I want to be a star just like her!”

  Katarina whispers from my pocket, “Or at least a singing, dancing pickle.”

  Even Taylor and Makayla, who were too cool to audition the first time, now seem sure this could be their road to fame and fortune. Still in their cheerleader outfits, they wear so much glitter makeup it looks like they’ve fallen face-first into one of their own posters.

  Mr. Griffith bustles in, all business. “Quiet, girls! Quiet!” Everybody looks at him expectantly. “Today is Wednesday. The play goes on at seven p.m. Saturday. And it must go on. That’s barely three days. It sounds impossible, but I am up to the task. My question is, are you?”

  The girls all eagerly nod, yes. It’s like a bobble-head convention in here.

  “Good! Let’s begin.” He sits down at the piano. “Please line up and be ready to sing the first verse of ‘I Lost My Shoe and You.’”

  The girls race to get in line. By the time all the pushing and shoving is done, Taylor and Makayla are in front, but Sunny and I have managed to elbow Paige into slot number three. (I’m pretty sure I saw Sunny pulling Isabelle Britt’s hair, but I’m not going to think about that right now.)

  Mr. Griffith tells the girls, “I appreciate your enthusiasm. Just remember to bring that, times a hundred, to the stage on Saturday. Taylor, you’re first.”

  Taylor sprints up to the piano and gives Mr. Griffith her most dazzling smile. She says, “I want to tell you what a musical genius I think you are. All the songs are so very, very, very, very, very…very!”

  Sunny whispers, “No wonder Taylor’s flunking English.”

  Taylor bursts into song, very high and off-key. And I hear Katarina’s muffled voice from my pocket: “Ye gods! She stinks, too!” Mr. Griffith obviously agrees. He stops playing and shakes his head like a dog with ear mites.

  Makayla steps up and pushes Taylor out of the way. “My turn!” she says, and Mr. Griffith starts to play again. Makayla screeches, “I lost my shoe and—”

  “NEXT!” Mr. Griffith shouts. (From my pocket, I hear “STINKS!”)

  It’s Paige’s turn now, but when Mr. Griffith sees her, he puts up a hand, like a traffic cop. “Stop right there, Paige. As a singer, you make a wonderful dancing mouse.”

  There are snickers from the girls in the room. Paige looks crushed. I know Mr. Griffith is under a lot of pressure and everything, but he doesn’t have to be so harsh. Besides, he loved her angel-singing, even if she did seem crazy.

  “Next!” Mr. Griffith says, already turning to the line of girls.

  I drag Paige up to the piano, saying, “That’s not fair. These are new auditions. Paige deserves another chance.”

  “Absolutely not! We’re on a schedule here!”

  “But I’ve been coaching her. She’s much better.”

  “I said no!”

  Mr. Griffith stares at Paige and me like he wishes he could call security and have us dragged away. Then Paige sings: “I lost my shoe and you. I can’t believe it’s true!”

  Everyone in the room listens to her in disbelief—good disbelief this time, because the spell has worked and Paige sounds fantastic. Like the spell says, she sounds good. Real good.

  Mr. Griffith smiles in ecstasy. But there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes, as if he can’t believe his own ears. “Sing the rest of the song, Paige.”

  She does.

  He asks her to sing every other song in the score.

  She does.

  He asks her to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  She does, perfectly hitting those really high notes near the end that almost nobody gets right: “and the land of the freeeeeeeeeeee.”

  Mr. Griffith is about to have her sing every song ever written when the bell rings. He blinks his eyes like a man coming out of a wonderful dream. “Paige Harrington. Will you be my Cinderella?” he asks, literally going down on one knee.

  The other girls in the music room slump in disappointment as Paige nods yes.

  Nearly bursting with excitement, Sunny and I jump up and down and hug each other. There’s a muffled voice from my pocket: “You’re squishing me!”

  Mr. Griffith claps his hands on our shoulders. “You girls certainly have a lot of energy.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Let’s see how much energy you have after you finish building my sets.”

  And just like that, Sunny and I are drafted for the stage crew of Cinderella, the Rock Opera.

  The next two days are a blur of rehearsals as Mr. Griffith works to get Paige up to speed. I thought all I would have to do was throw the spell every morning to change Paige’s voice, but instead, Sunny and I are here hammering and painting and sewing and sweeping. All those lies I told my mom about working on the play have come true.

  I beg Katarina to let me use some magic. What’s the use of having a wand if you have to do all the work yourself? She says smugly, “No. It’s not necessary, and it’s not part of our deal.”

  She’s found a safe spot up in the stage lights where she can watch without being seen. But once in a while she flits down to make fun of the way Chloe Martin is playing the fairy godmother and to pester me about Paige’s ball gown.

  “It’s supposed to be here any minute now,” I say. “Mr. Griffith has a Broadway costume-designer friend who’s making it. So we don’t need to worry.”

  “You always need to worry about the dress.”

  “Not this time! It’s under control!”

  Katarina doesn’t look convinced, but she flutters back up to the lights to keep her beady little eyes on things.

  As Wednesday turns into Thursday turns into Friday, Sunny and I both feel like the “before” version of Cinderella. We’re not dressed in rags, but Mr. Griffith yells at us so much he could be the evil stepmother. “Hammer faster! Paint faster! Sweep faster! And stop making so much noise!”

  The only person he doesn’t yell at is Paige. He listens to her magically beautiful voice, and his face glows like it’s Christmas morning. Whole minutes go by without his screeching at anybody at all.

  By Friday night, the play is looking pretty good. The dress isn’t here yet, but the actors are all doing what they’re supposed to be doing. The stepsisters are funny evil. The evil stepmother is evil evil. Chloe Martin as the fairy godmother is doing her best British accent. The mice are dancing with the proper amount of ennui. And Scott Dearden is being his charmingest Prince Charming.

  All that’s really left is for Paige and Scott Dearden to learn the choreography for their big waltz near the end. I’m not sure why there’s a waltz in a rock opera. Isn’t that pretty old-school for something that’s supposed to be so cutting-edge? But maybe Cinderella has to have a waltz, just like Rocky has to have a fight and Titanic has to have an iceberg.

  And right now, Scott Dearden is the iceberg that’s about to sink the play. As a dancer, he’s a really good football player. “No, no, no, NO!!!” Mr. Griffith shouts as Scott and P
aige wobble across the stage. “Ow! Ow! Ow! OW!” Paige yelps as Scott stomps on her toes.

  Mr. Griffith screams, “Scott, that’s terrible! You’re not playing football. You’re trying to dance with her, not tackle her!”

  So far, Scott has listened to all of Mr. Griffith’s shouting and screaming without a single complaint. But he’s finally had enough. He lets go of Paige and storms toward the exit door. “Fine! I quit!” SLAM!

  The door closes behind him, and he’s gone.

  Mr. Griffith also storms off, shouting, “Everybody! Take five!” And he disappears into his office and slams the door behind him.

  A moment ago, the play was in great shape. Now we don’t have a Prince Charming or a director.

  What a mess! I need to fix this somehow. So I tell the others, “I’ll be right back!” and head for the exit door myself.

  I find Scott unlocking his bike in the school parking lot. “You can’t quit!” I say, so worried about the play I don’t even notice his beautiful eyelashes. (But geez, they’re long.)

  “I already did.”

  “But you’re great in the part.”

  “I suck. Everyone is gonna laugh at me.”

  I finger the wand in my pocket. It’s an emergency, and Katarina’s not here. Maybe I can figure out a spell that would work on him. But what if I make it so he can’t do anything but dance? Scott won’t be much use tomorrow if he dances his feet down to bloody stumps between now and midnight. Sure, it sounds like I’m exaggerating, but think about it. It could happen. And he’s got such nice feet, too.

  I’m not willing to risk bloody-stumpdom. But what else can I do? Scott’s a football player, not a dancer.

  I suddenly think of watching football with Dad and him shouting, “Look at that guy dance!” That gives me an idea, so I tell Scott, “Don’t think of it as dancing. Think of it as football.”

  He looks at me, confused, and I say, “Football or dancing—it’s all about blocking.”

  Now he’s even more confused.

  Grabbing both his hands, I say, “It’s easier if I show you. I go to the left, you block on the left. I go to the right, you block me on the right. You want to keep me from making an end run around you.” I wish Dad could hear me now. He would be so proud.

  Scott stands there like a goalpost, so I start dragging him around the parking lot and chanting, “Go left, block left. Go right, block right,” over and over again in a singsongy voice.

  I expect him to push me away and take off on his bike any second, but I keep on chanting, “Go left, block left! Go right, block right!”

  Just as I think this is hopeless, Scott gets it. Almost without his realizing it, his feet start moving in rhythm with mine.

  In a whisper, Scott chants, “Go left, block left! Go right, block right!”

  And just like that, we’re dancing. We waltz around the parking lot in broad circles. I totally forget fairy godmothers and Cinderella rock operas and angry animals. I simply enjoy being here with Scott.

  “You’re a good teacher,” Scott says, fluttering those long lashes at me.

  And then it hits me! OMG! I’m dancing with Scott Dearden, the cutest boy in school!

  I blush and go left when I should be going right. Our legs get all tangled up and we have to stop. “So? Ready to tackle the play?” I say, turning to go in.

  “Thanks, Lacey. I always did think you were nice.”

  “You…thought about me?” I blurt out.

  Now it’s Scott’s turn to blush.

  I can’t believe it! He thought about me! He thought about me!

  We stare at each other for a moment. If this were a movie about my life, right now is where he would lean in and kiss me and the violins would start playing really loud.

  But instead, SPLATTT!!!! A pigeon poops right on my head.

  “Ewww!” I say.

  “Ewww!” Scott says.

  My life is so not a movie.

  We hurry back inside.

  By the time Mr. Griffith finally comes out of his office twenty minutes later, I’ve washed out the pigeon poop and pulled my hair back in a ponytail.

  It turns out that Mr. Griffith has done some hairstyling, too. He’s wearing an ugly black wig with bangs that flop down into his eyes. Not only that, he’s dressed in a velvet tunic. And tights! Wow, that’s something you can’t un-see. Mr. Griffith says, “Nothing is going to stop this show, do you all hear me? Cinderella will go on tomorrow night if I have to play every part myself. Meet your new Prince Charming.”

  He finally gets the bangs out of his eyes, which now pop wide open—because on the stage in front of him, Paige and Scott are waltzing like they’re finalists in a dance contest.

  Mr. Griffith takes off the black wig, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

  Katarina flies down onto my shoulder and hisses, “I told you, no discretionary magic.”

  I say, “It wasn’t magic. It was football. So there.”

  It’s past eight, and Mr. Griffith is still tweaking the play. He’s got a million performance notes, none of them very important except to him. There are a dozen tired parents sitting in the back of the auditorium, including my mom. There’s no way you could miss her. She’s wearing one of the lime-green Hungry Moose T-shirts.

  Finally, the janitor starts switching off lights, and the parents shoot to their feet to collect their kids. Mr. Griffith says, “All right! Everyone, be back here tomorrow at three p.m. sharp! I want to do one last run-through before the performance!”

  My mom walks up to Mr. Griffith and says, “I have an idea.” He looks at her suspiciously, as if she’s about to tell him how to rewrite the play. But Mom continues, “My husband and I would be happy to bring dinner for everyone tomorrow. Something the kids will like.”

  Instead of saying, “Great! Fantastic!” like a normal person, Mr. Griffith shakes his head. “No junk food for my cast.”

  Mom is offended. “It wouldn’t be junk food.”

  “No. I’ll be providing high-protein shakes. Very nutritious. Meryl Streep swears by them.”

  “They’re kids. They need more than a shake for dinner.”

  “No. Thank you!”

  Mom glares at him as he turns and once again disappears into his office.

  “What a rude man,” Mom fumes as Sunny, Paige, and I (with a pocketful of Katarina) walk to the parking lot.

  “Don’t feel bad. He’s like that with everyone,” Sunny says.

  “I’m not going to drink a drop of his high-protein shake,” I tell her.

  “Me, either!” Paige says.

  “Me, either!” Sunny says, too.

  Mom raises her fist in a mock salute: “Food solidarity! Who-rah!” Mom can be embarrassing sometimes.

  We reach our car, and Paige says, “Well, good night, everybody!” and starts to walk away.

  Mom asks her, “Isn’t your dad going to pick you up?”

  “No, he’s working late at the hospital. It’s no problem, I walk home all the time.”

  “Not tonight, you don’t! Tonight you’re coming to the Hungry Moose for Lasagnapalooza.”

  To my surprise, Paige says, “I’d love that.” Lasagnapalooza isn’t for everybody, and I’ve never seen a single cheerleader at the Hungry Moose. But I’m forgetting that Paige isn’t an ordinary cheerleader. I bet her inner geek is starving.

  Mom says, “Sunny, do you want—”

  “Yes!” Sunny jumps into the car before Mom even finishes her sentence.

  It’s an hour later, and Paige, Sunny, and I are each on our fourth helping of lasagna. We’ve got the restaurant’s best table, the round one between the two mirrors that make it look like you’re eating with smaller and smaller versions of yourself.

  When Mom comes over and asks, “Who wants more?” we all groan. “That’s the sound of satisfied customers!” she says.

  In another corner of the restaurant, Xander, the waiter, carries a cake out to a woman who’s eating with her family. He starts singing �
��It’s a Hungry Moose Happy Birthday!” This is a song my mom and dad made up that always embarrasses me, but that the customers seem to like. Sure enough, the family sings right along with Xander.

  I look at Paige, expecting her to be rolling her eyes. Instead, she watches the family a little sadly. “That seems like fun.”

  Sunny asks her, “What did you do for your birthday this year?”

  “My dad had to work.”

  Mom frowns. “So you didn’t do anything?”

  “It’s not like I’m a little kid. Birthdays aren’t a big deal.”

  But Paige looks sad to me, and Mom notices it, too. She gives Paige’s shoulder a squeeze as she goes back into the kitchen.

  To change the subject, I look at the clock and tell Paige, “This time tomorrow night, you’ll be getting a standing ovation for Cinderella.” Then I ask her, “Is your dad coming to the play?”

  She smiles. “Yes—he promised. I can’t wait for him to hear me sing.”

  Sunny says, “If your dad’s anything like my mom, he’ll show up with eight cameras and a dozen roses.”

  “I don’t care what he brings, as long as he’s there,” Paige says.

  We talk for a while longer, and then the lights in the room suddenly dim. Mom, Dad, and Madison walk toward us with a big birthday cake glowing with candles.

  Dad tells the customers, “We’ve got one more birthday tonight, folks. Paige here doesn’t think birthdays are important, but we want to change her mind. Everybody, sing along!” Paige looks stunned.

  “It’s a Hungry Moose Happy Birthday…” Dad begins to sing, and we all join in. As the last words to the song ring out, Dad puts the cake down in front of Paige.

  Paige whispers to Dad, “It’s not my birthday!”

  Dad whispers back, “It’s belated.”

  Madison jumps up and down. “Blow out the candles! Blow out the candles!”

  Paige smiles and takes a deep breath.

  “Wait! Be sure to make a wish!” Mom says.

  Paige thinks for a moment, makes a wish, and then blows out the candles on the cake. There’s applause and whistling from the dining room.