Cinderella Smith
by
Stephanie Barden
Illustrations by
Diane Goode
To
Craig Virden, for fishing me out of the slush
Emma, Jack, Abby, Hannah, Isaac, and Will for inspiration
And Tom and Joe, for everything
—S.B.
For Peter
—D.G.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1 - A White Sneaker with Green Stripes
Chapter 2 - Shiny, Ruby Red Tap Shoes
Chapter 3 - Slippery-soled Silver Sandals
Chapter 4 - Gladiator Sandals
Chapter 5 - High-heeled Shoes with Curlicue Toes
Chapter 6 - Flip-flops
Chapter 7 - Tap Shoes with Clip-on Orange Bows
Chapter 8 - White Mary Janes with Little Heels
Chapter 9 - Thumbtacked Sneaker
Chapter 10 - Autographed Orange High-tops
Chapter 11 - Black, Patent Leather Tap Shoes
Chapter 12 - Big, Old, Brown, Ratty Tap Shoes
Chapter 13 - Puppy Tooth-marked Clog
Chapter 14 - Wedges
Chapter 15 - Ballet Slippers
About the Author
Illustrations by Diane Goode
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
A White Sneaker with Green Stripes
There was a very crazy knocking noise going on at my front door that I was pretending not to hear. Instead of going knock-knock-knock like most knocks, it went knock-bounce-knock-bounce-knock. And I wasn’t even one bit wondering what was making that crazy noise because I already knew.
“Cinderella, can you answer the door, please?” my mom called.
I thought a little bit about that question. I could answer the door; I just didn’t want to.
The bounce-knock-bouncer kept knocking.
“Cinderella!” my mom called. “Did you hear me?”
“I’m a little busy with something!” I called back, and that was true. I was lying on my bed looking through a coupon book full of back-to-school supplies and pretending I could get anything I wanted. Even the Puppy Power Messenger Bag. Even the Rock Star 40-Piece Value Pack.
“I’m busier finishing this page!” my mom yelled. And she wasn’t talking about the page of a very, extremely exciting book. She was talking about a web page, because that’s what she does for work. “Answer the door!” She said it very loud and stern, like she meant business. And in case you were wondering if she was a mean and bossy stepmom and that’s how I got my name, the answer is no. She’s just a regular kind of mom who is usually nice but kind of strict.
I rolled over to the edge of my bed and raced to the front door. So now you know that I didn’t get my name from sleeping by an ashy fireplace in the kitchen like that other Cinderella.
“Finally!” said the bounce-knocker when I opened the door. “Think fast!” A white sneaker with green stripes flew toward me.
“Good catch, Tinder,” said the bounce-knocker. The bounce-knocker, by the way, lives next door and is named Charlie Prince. He was making that crazy noise by dribbling his basketball and knocking on the door at the same time.
When we were very little, we called each other Tinder and Tarles because we couldn’t say each other’s name just right. As soon as I could, I started calling him Charlie; but he kept calling me Tinder because he knows it embarrasses me, and this is why. Back when I was calling him Tarles, I had, for some dumb reason, a crush on him. In this instance I am allowed to use the word dumb because it’s about me and because it really was dumb. I used to walk over to his house every morning and ask him if he thought I looked pretty. If he said yes, I went back home and had breakfast. If he said no, I went home, changed my clothes, and tried again. And that is embarrassing stuff with a capital E.
“You don’t need to put your name and address on shoes anymore,” said Charlie. “No other kid loses just one shoe.”
“You don’t need to bring a basketball with you everywhere you go either,” I said. I was a little bit proud of myself for coming up with that. Usually I never think of anything to say when he’s pestering me.
Charlie shrugged his shoulders and kept dribbling. “Did you get your back-to-school letter?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Who’d you get for a teacher?” he asked.
“Someone new named Mr. Harrison.” I didn’t want Charlie to know, but I was a little bit worried about getting a man for a
teacher. I’d never had one before, and I didn’t know what to expect.
“Oh no!” Charlie turned and jogged toward his driveway. “I got him too!”
“‘Oh no’ is right!” I said. Charlie and I haven’t had the same teacher since Mrs. Adams in first grade.
All of a sudden I remembered my manners. “Thank you for my shoe!”
“No problem, Tinder!” he yelled back.
Then I was mad I’d remembered my manners after all.
“Who was at the door?” My mom looked down at the shoe in my hand and her eyebrow went up, which is not a good thing.
“Look at the bright side, Mom,” I said. “I might have lost a shoe, but I got it back! And I’m almost one hundred percent sure this is the only one I lost all summer, except for the flip-flop at the beach. Dad said that one didn’t count, though, remember? It was the lollapalooza wave’s fault.”
My mom’s eyebrow stayed up, but Tess ran into the living room naked.
“Woilà!” she yelled. That’s French for “ta-da!” and something I taught her. And, by the way, Tess is a nice little sister and not a mean step one, so that’s not how I got my name either.
“Would you mind getting her ready so we can get your school things and tap shoes?” asked my mom. “If we have time we’ll stop by the library too, so make sure we have all the books.”
Keeping track of the library books is one of my chores, but I don’t have a billion like the other Cinderella.
I helped Tess get dressed and then we searched for Mrs. C, a stuffed crocodile that has to go everywhere with her. Even though she’s almost the most important toy in the world, she still gets lost a whole lot, and that causes a whole lot of problems. One time Mrs. C went missing for an entire day. When we finally found her, I super quick wrote on her tag Property of Teresa Louise Smith before she could get lost again.
While I was writing, I had a big AHA! which means a very, extremely good idea. I thought of something else that got lost a whole lot, and it wasn’t car keys or the cordless phone. I ran to my closet, pulled out all of my shoes, and wrote on their bottoms:
If found please return to:
Cinderella Smith
410 Blackberry Lane
Seattle, Washington 98105
Some of the shoes were easy to write on, like my ballet slippers and new back-to-school silver sandals from Grandmother Smith, because they had smooth, flat bottoms. Some of the shoes were harder, like my rain boots and gym shoes. They had wavy and zigzagging bottoms, and I had to make the letters extra big and puffy. My old tap shoes—which I just grew out of, by the way—had black bottoms. I had to use nail polish on them because pens didn’t work.
When my mom saw what I was doing, her eyebrow went way up high; and that is mostly a very bad sign, like I mentioned earlier. But then her eyebrow went back down. She said she guessed it was okay and maybe even a good idea, after all. And ever since then I’ve been naming and addressing my shoes as soon as I get them to keep them safe.
So by now you’ve probably figured out how I got my name, which is just a nickname, for the record. My real name is Josephine-Kathryn with that little line thing in between.
Everyone calls me Cinderella, though, on account of my trouble with losing shoes. Alas. Alas is something I say when I’m a little bit frustrated and a little bit sad. Since I like the sound of that word, especially if I say it all dramatic and sigh-y, it makes me feel a little bit better. And when you have shoe trouble as bad as I do, you end up saying Alas a lot. Alas.
Chapter 2
Shiny, Ruby Red Tap Shoes
“Cinderella, phone for you,” my mom called. “As soon as you hang up, we can leave.”
I don’t get a lot of phone calls, so this was pretty exciting news.
The voice on the phone said very loud and bossy: “Who did you get for your teacher?”
And I knew right away that it was Rosemary T., who lives just down the block and always talks like that.
“I have someone named Mr. Harrison,” I said.
“So do I!” said Rosemary T. “Hannah and Abby do too, and so does Rosemary W.”
Rosemary W. was the new kid last year. Since all of a sudden we had two Rosemarys in one class, we had to start adding the initial of their last name to tell them apart. At first Rosemary T. couldn’t stand it, but by the end of the year she didn’t mind because they were friends and even went to summer dance camp together.
“I’ve been calling everyone on my cell phone this morning to find out who their teacher is,” said Rosemary T. “Emma and Amy and Nicole have Mrs. Kirk.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. Emma and Amy and Nicole were in dance class with us, along with Rosemary W. and Hannah and Abby. Then I thought of something else. “You have a cell phone?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Awesome!” I was very impressed.
“It’s my sister Andrea’s old one. She’s getting a new one for back-to-school, and she said I could use it. Guess what else?”
“What?” I asked.
“I’m getting my ears pierced!”
“Super awesome!” I said. I’ve wanted to get my ears pierced for forever, but my mom won’t let me, and she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. If I ask about it even by accident, she adds another day to the time when I can finally get them done. Alas. Maybe my mom is a little wicked after all.
“Rosemary W.’s getting hers pierced,” said Rosemary T. “Hannah already has hers and Abby might too.”
“Wow,” I said.
“You should get yours done,” she said.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“My mom doesn’t think I’m responsible enough yet.”
“Maybe she would if you would quit losing shoes,” said Rosemary T.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Keep asking her all the time. That’s what I did all summer long.”
“I already tried—,” I started to tell her, but she interrupted.
“And it’s not that expensive, if that’s the problem.”
“I don’t think it’s—,” I started to say, but she interrupted again.
“I’ve got to go. My mom is taking us to the mall for back-to-school shopping.”
“We’re going back-to-school shopping too,” I said.
“Maybe I’ll see you there.” She hung up and didn’t even say good-bye.
“Guess what, Mom?” I yelled. “Rosemary T. called me on a cell phone, and she’s getting her ears pierced. She said Rosemary W. and maybe even Abby are, too.”
“I see,” said my mom.
“Do you think maybe, possibly, I could get mine too?” I asked.
My mom’s eyebrow went up.
“You know what they say: the more the merrier!” That’s something my Grandmother Smith always says. She especially says it when I ask if I can do something she’s doing, like reading Dear Abby or watching one of her soap operas.
My mom’s eyebrow went up even higher.
“I take it back; I take it back!” I yelled. “You didn’t hear that, right? Right?”
“Hear what?” said my mom.
“Phew.” I wiped my forehead all dramatic.
When we got to the mall, it was very, extremely crowded with back-to-school shoppers.
My mom didn’t want to lose us, so she held on to Tess with one hand and me with the other. The ear-piercing place was right in the middle of everything, and right there was Rosemary T. with her big sisters.
“Hi, Rosemary T.,” I said.
She looked up from where she was studying all the earrings. “Hi.” She looked very grown up, with a purse over her shoulder and shopping bags at her feet and no mom in sight.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked.
“She having coffee and letting us shop by ourselves,” said Rosemary T. Then she stared hard at my hand that was holding on to my mom’s. I let go of it quick, but I felt a little alone without it.
“Did you finally talk your mom into letting you get your ears pierced?” she asked.
“No.” I thought I’d better change the subject super quick. “What did you buy?”
“So far I’ve gotten three shirts and a pair of jeans,” she said, “but we just started.”
“I’m on my way to get a new pair of tap shoes,” I said.
“I got a new pair right before dance camp started,” she said. “But I might get another new pair for class.”
“I can’t wait for it to start next week,” I said.
“I can’t either,” said Rosemary T. “I wonder if Miss Akiyama will move me and Rosemary W. up a level. We got really good over the summer.”
“Have you made a decision yet?” the ear-piercing lady asked Rosemary T.
“Yes. I want these.” Rosemary T. pointed down to a pair.
“Go get your mom and we can get started,” said the ear piercer.
“I’ll just call her.” Rosemary T. pulled a cell phone out of her purse.
“Rosemary!” Rosemary W. ran up to Rosemary T. She had a purse slung over her shoulder and was with her big sister too.
“You got here just in time, Rosemary!” said Rosemary T. “I’m going to get these.” She pointed to a pair of earrings in the glass case.
Rosemary W. and all the big sisters crowded around to see which pair she’d chosen.
“Hi, Rosemary W.,” I said.
Rosemary W. looked up. “Oh, hi, Cinderella. Are you getting your ears pierced too?”
“She can’t yet,” said Rosemary T. “She’s not grown up enough.”
Tess grabbed my hand and pulled me and my mom toward a shop with plastic horses in the window. And I was not mad at her one little bit. I was glad to get pulled away.
“Bye,” I called to the Rosemarys and their big sisters.
“I’m just asking out of sheer curiosity and no other reason,” I said to my mom. “How much does it hurt to get your ears pierced?”
“They do it differently now,” said my mom, “so I’m not sure. When I had mine done, I went to a doctor’s office. He pinched my ears really hard until they were numb and then stuck big needles through.”
“Wow,” I said. “That must have hurt like the dickens.”
“I didn’t feel a thing,” said my mom. “Your uncle was in the exam room with me, though, and he fainted.”
“Because of all the blood and guts?” I asked.
My mom laughed. “There was no blood and guts. He was just a little squeamish.”
We found everything on my school supply list at Office Mart. I didn’t get a Puppy Power Messenger Bag because my old backpack was still fine, but I did get a box of sparkly pencils and scissors with pointy ends.
We just had to get mini cinnamon rolls because they smelled so good, then we went to the dance shop. A pair of the most beautiful tap shoes was in the window. They were shiny ruby red with a fancy bow, but were really spendy. I tried on a pair of regular black ones and my feet had gone up one whole size. The next pair fit perfectly, but when we went to the counter to buy them, my mom surprised me with a capital S. She asked if they had the red ones in my size, and she bought me those instead! I do not know why she d
id that, but maybe she’s not so wicked after all.
Chapter 3
Slippery-soled Silver Sandals
On the first day of school every year my dad takes the morning off from work and walks me to school with my mom and Tess. He says he likes to meet my new teacher and see my new room. That way when he thinks about me during the day, he knows how to picture things.
When we headed out the door, Tess grabbed my mom and dad by the hands so they could swing her through the air. I felt a little left out, so I grabbed on to my dad’s other hand to be part of the chain, and we started walking.
When we got to the end of our block, we walked right by Rosemary T. and one of her sisters getting into their mom’s car.
“Hello, Taylors,” said my dad.
“Look!” Rosemary T. yelled through the closed window, pointing to her ears.
“They look great!” I yelled back.
Tess jumped up and down between my mom and dad trying to see Rosemary T.’s ears.
Rosemary T. looked at her and saw we were all holding hands. She whispered something to her big sister, and they both started giggling.
I thought about letting go of my dad’s hand; but holding hands and walking to school together on the first day is something we always do, so who cares if they think it’s funny?
“See you in class,” I said, and our chain of Smiths kept walking to school.
For the first time ever on the first day of school, we climbed up the huge stairway to the second floor. Second-floor kids were running up and down the stairs, and it felt kind of good to be one of them, but kind of worryish too. My new silver sandals felt slippery, and I did not want to fall on those stairs with all those big kids around. I held on to the handrail supertight with a capital T.
We got to my new classroom almost late because of walking so slowly and swinging Tess through the air. I quick met my teacher, Mr. Harrison, and then let my parents talk to him while I went to find my seat. It turned out there were no name tags on the desks. Either big kids don’t have them or Mr. Harrison doesn’t know that having your own desk on the first day is a lot of help.
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