Cinderella Smith

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Cinderella Smith Page 3

by Stephanie Barden


  I wrote QUESTIONS: really big at the top of the next page in the notebook and then:

  1) What about a wicked stepmother?

  I kept reading. “She had two daughters who were exactly like her in every way.”

  Tess pointed to a picture of the wicked stepmother and her daughters arriving at Cinderella’s house. The stepsisters had brought tons of chests that were all piled up on top of the carriage. Frilly clothes and sparkly jewels and high-heeled shoes with curlicue toes were all spilling out.

  “Messy,” Tess said.

  “Yes, sir.” I wrote on the QUESTIONS page:

  2) Are they messy?

  3) Do they have lots of luggage?

  We kept reading and I kept adding to my list of questions: Are they loud and bossy? Are they lazy and sleep a ton? Do they stare in the mirror a lot? Do they have lots of clothes? Do they have big feet?

  “I think that’s a pretty good list of wicked stepsister questions,” I said when we got to the end of the story.

  “More,” said Tess.

  “More questions?” I asked.

  “More reading,” said Tess.

  I sighed a big sigh, but I’m not sure why because I like reading fairy tales and I like Tess too, most of the time.

  Chapter 6

  Flip-flops

  “What about your wicked stepmother?” I asked Erin the minute we got our first recess the next morning.

  “What wicked stepmother?” she asked.

  “The one that comes with the wicked stepsisters,” I said.

  “They come with a stepfather.”

  “Is he wicked?”

  “He’s okay, I guess,” she said.

  I followed Erin over to a bench and showed her my notebook.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A WICKED STEPSISTERS NOTEBOOK,” I said.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I made it.” I fished the pencil out from the metal spirals and opened to the first page. “I have some questions for you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “What can you tell me about your wicked stepsisters?”

  “Not much,” she said. “I haven’t met them yet.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to meet them until right before the wedding.”

  “That seems a little fishy.”

  “It does?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Maybe your stepfather is very, extremely ashamed of them.”

  “Maybe,” said Erin. “But I think it’s just because they’re away at college.”

  “Hmm,” I said, “so

  they’re a lot older and

  bigger than you.”

  “I guess so,” she said. “What are your stepsisters like?”

  My heart dropped a little bit inside me. “I actually don’t have any.”

  Erin stared hard at me.

  “That’s not why I’m called Cinderella,” I said, and then got all nervous about what would happen next.

  “So you can’t help,” she said.

  “Yes, I can,” I said. “Even though I don’t have stepsisters, I can still help you find out if yours are wicked or not.”

  “Of course they’re wicked,” said Erin.

  “But you haven’t met them yet, so how do you know?” I asked.

  “Because all stepsisters are wicked,” she said.

  “No, they’re not,” I said very sure, even though I wasn’t so sure really.

  Her forehead crinkled into one big frown and she opened her mouth to say something, but Rosemary T. appeared right by the bench just then.

  “What are you two doing?” she asked. She didn’t say it like it was a question, though.

  “We’re … ,” I started to answer.

  “None of your business,” Erin said.

  That made Rosemary T.’s eyes go all big and round. She thinks everything is her business. She looked like she didn’t know what to do and so she just huffed off.

  I was a little bit shocked by all this and just sat there for a minute. “Wow,”

  I finally said.

  “Why ‘wow’?” asked Erin.

  “‘Wow’ because you just talked to Rosemary T. like that. I wish I could sometimes.”

  “Why can’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I thought hard about why not, but I couldn’t figure it out right then.

  Erin’s forehead was still crinkled in a big frown. I started to worry that Erin didn’t want my advice and help after all now that she knew I wasn’t an expert. Maybe she wouldn’t sit by me at lunch either. Maybe she would sit with Rosemary T. even if wicked stepsisters weren’t any of Rosemary T.’s business.

  I was about to say “A penny for your thoughts” when the bell rang for the end of recess and we started to line up.

  Charlie got in line right behind me. He bounced his basketball as close to my feet as he could.

  “Quiet in the line, everyone!” called Mr. Harrison. “Let’s try to set a good example.”

  I wanted to slip my foot under one of Charlie’s bounces and send his basketball across the playground, but two things stopped me. One, I wouldn’t be setting a good example. And two, I was wearing my flip-flops, and the ball might smash my toes.

  Mr. Harrison told us to take out our math journals. He pointed to the blackboard and bounced a little bit on his toes.

  “This math problem has three parts,” he said. “Part A is to write it down in your math journals. Part B is to figure out the answer. And part C is to write about the Process.”

  People’s hands went up all over the room.

  “I don’t get the Process part,” said Jack.

  A lot of other people didn’t get it either.

  “Just give it a try,” said Mr. Harrison, “and we’ll discuss it in a minute.”

  So I did. I wrote down the problem in my math journal, which was:

  A. The chocolate cupcake is not taller than the vanilla cupcake. The strawberry cupcake is shorter than the chocolate cupcake. Which cupcake is the shortest?

  Next I wrote the answer, which was:

  B. The strawberry cupcake.

  Then I wrote about the Process, which was:

  C. These cupcakes must have been homemade and not store-bought since they’re different sizes. I’m glad strawberry was the shortest, because that is my least favorite.

  “As soon as everyone’s finished at your table,” said Mr. Harrison, “have a discussion.”

  “Did everyone get strawberry as the answer for B?” asked Logan.

  “Yep,” we all agreed.

  “What did you write for C?” Trevor asked.

  “I didn’t write anything,” said Christopher, “because I didn’t know the right answer.”

  “I didn’t write anything either,” said Logan. “What did you write, Cinderella?”

  “I wrote that these cupcakes must have been homemade and that strawberry is my least favorite flavor, so it was good it was the shortest.”

  “That can’t be the right answer,” said Christopher.

  “I don’t think there is a right answer,” I said. “It’s journal writing, for heaven’s sake.”

  “There has to be a right answer,” said Trevor, “because it’s math.”

  “Okay,” said Mr. Harrison. “Who would like to share?”

  Logan raised his hand.

  “Yes, Logan?”

  “Our table wants to know what the right answer is,” said Logan.

  “What do you think it is?” asked Mr. Harrison.

  Rosemary T. raised her hand. “Strawberry,” she said.

  “We know that answer,” said Logan. “We mean the answer to C, the Process part.”

  “What do you think it is?” Mr. Harrison asked again.

  “I am flummoxed,” said Logan, trying out a new vocabulary word.

  “What did you write down?” Mr. Harrison asked.

  “I didn’t write anything,” said Logan.

&
nbsp; “You didn’t explain Process,” said Trevor, “so we didn’t know the right answer.”

  “I see.” Mr. Harrison stopped bouncing. “I was hoping you would try to figure out what the Process was on your own. Who can tell me what the word process means?”

  A few people raised their hands, and Mr. Harrison called on Charlie. “The way you figure something out,” Charlie said.

  “Exactly!” Mr. Harrison’s excitement started coming back. “The Process is just the way you organize a problem so you can solve it, especially a complicated problem with a lot of information. For instance, you could have made a chart with the three flavors of cupcakes across the top.” Mr. Harrison started drawing on the blackboard. “And under each flavor you could write what you know about it.”

  Logan raised his hand. “So what’s the right answer for C?”

  “There is no right answer,” said Mr. Harrison. “Everyone’s Process is different.” Everyone groaned a little, but I kind of liked the idea of no right answers all the time.

  I spent the rest of the morning only half thinking about school things and half thinking about Erin and her stepsisters. Every time I looked over at her she had that same frown on her face. I didn’t know if it was because we were writing in our science journals or because of her stepsisters problem. Figuring out if they were wicked or not would be complicated. There were a lot of questions that needed to be answered and a lot of facts to gather. Then, all of a sudden, I had a big, huge AHA! which, by accident, I said out loud.

  Charlie laughed, and all the loud sports boys joined in.

  “Did you have a breakthrough, Cinderella?” Mr. Harrison asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” I said.

  “Do you want to share?” he asked.

  “Not with everyone.” I looked over at Erin and smiled. Her frown went away and she smiled back. Then I just couldn’t wait for lunch, because I knew that Erin would want to sit with me and not the Rosemarys after all.

  We sat at a table with horse girls and artsy girls. The Rosemarys were far away at the other table. Every time I looked over at them they were staring at us and whispering.

  “I think Rosemary T. is still surprised that you told her to mind her own business,” I said.

  “Really?” asked Erin.

  “Yep,” I said. “Every time I look over at the Rosemarys they’re staring at us and whispering.”

  Erin looked over at the Rosemarys. Sure enough, they were doing it. Erin leaned over to my ear and put her hand up to her mouth. “I like lunch today,” she whispered.

  I laughed because I was so surprised by her saying that. I leaned over to her. “Is liking chicken tenders and pineapple a secret?”

  “No,” she whispered back. “I’m just trying to bug the Rosemarys.”

  “Oh,” I said. I glanced over at the Rosemarys and saw that they kept staring. “I think it’s working. By the way, I have a great idea about that thing we were talking about at first recess.”

  We finished eating, headed outside, and sat on one of the benches.

  “Solving the problem of your possibly wicked stepsisters is complicated,” I said.

  “I agree,” said Erin.

  “We need a Process,” I said.

  Erin looked interested.

  “There will be a lot of information, so I’m going to make three pages.”

  Erin scooted closer to me on the bench so she had a good view of the notebook.

  “This page is for NOT-WICKED THINGS.” I wrote that big across the top and turned the page. “This is for POSSIBLY WICKED THINGS.” I turned the page again. This is for FOR-SURE WICKED THINGS.”

  “Great,” said Erin.

  “So, ready for some questions?” I asked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “Do your possibly wicked stepsisters have big feet?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  I turned to the POSSIBLY WICKED page and wrote: Maybe big feet.

  “Are they messy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are they loud and bossy?”

  “I don’t know,” said Erin.

  “Are they lazy?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Do they stare in the mirror all the time?”

  “I told you; I haven’t met them yet!” She sounded a little frustrated.

  “Maybe I should talk to someone who knows them better,” I said. “Like your stepfather or your mom.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Let’s have a playdate so we can figure this all out,” I said.

  “Great!” she said.

  “It can’t be today though,

  because my mom likes some warning,” I said. “And it can’t be tomorrow, because I have my first dance class of the year.”

  “Oh,” said Erin, and she sounded sad.

  “Do you like to dance?” I asked. “Maybe you could sign up for it too. Lots of girls from our class are in it.”

  “I usually play soccer in the fall,” said Erin, “but I can ask my mom.”

  “You should,” I said. “Because the more the merrier!”

  Chapter 7

  Tap Shoes with Clip-on Orange Bows

  I was very, extremely excited Thursday for the first dance class of the year. I carpool with Rosemary T. since we’re neighbors, and that used to be fine and dandy; but this year it’s a little bit of an Alas.

  “Mrs. Smith,” said Rosemary T. “My mom brought home the leftover brownies you brought to the PTA meeting. They were delicious.”

  “I’m glad you liked them,” said my mom.

  “My mom asked if she could have the recipe,” said Rosemary T.

  “Of course,” said my mom. “I’ll email it to her.”

  Rosemary T. and my mom talked on and on about cooking. I was only half listening, though, because my mind was on dance class.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced,” I said. “I hope I didn’t forget everything.”

  “You should have gone to dance camp this summer with me and Rosemary W.,” said Rosemary T.

  I shrugged my shoulders and acted like I didn’t care, but I did.

  “We learned a whole bunch of new steps,” said Rosemary T. “And when dance camp was over, we practiced a lot. If you’re way behind, I could give you some private lessons.”

  I couldn’t think of anything worse than that, but my mom said, “That’s a nice offer. Thank you, Rosemary.”

  Luckily we pulled up to the dance studio right then so I didn’t have to say thank you too. Phew!

  I remembered pretty much everything though, even with the summer in between. I put my shoulders back and walked around in my ballet slippers with my toes pointed all through our warm-up. When we changed into our tap shoes, I remembered even better. I step-ball-changed and step-ball-changed like there was no tomorrow. And that just means I was having fun, fun, fun.

  After we danced for a while, Miss Akiyama, our dance teacher, sat us down to have a serious talk about the Autumn Recital. She said our class would be doing two dances. One dance was called the Pumpkin Prowl, and the other was called Pumpkin Blossoms.

  Rosemary T. just couldn’t wait to tell her mom all about it on the drive home. She talked a blue streak, which means very fast without stopping.

  “The Pumpkin Blossoms dance has a solo part,” she said. “One person gets to be the Pumpkin Blossom Fairy and wear a special tutu and a crown and clip-on orange bows on her tap shoes. Rosemary W. thinks I would make the best Pumpkin Blossom Fairy in the whole class.”

  “I’m sure you would do a fine job,” said Mrs. Taylor.

  “Miss Akiyama said we could invite anyone we wanted,” said Rosemary T. “Let’s invite everyone we know. Maybe I’ll make special invitations on the computer.”

  “People would like that,” said Mrs. Taylor. “Who will you invite, Cinderella?”

  “I will for sure invite my mom and my dad and Tess,” I said, “and also my grandmothers. I


  might even invite the new girl, Erin. Usually I wouldn’t invite a kid, but she’s thinking about taking dance class, so she can see what it’s all about.”

  “I was going to invite Erin,” said Rosemary T. “I was going to send her one of my special invitations.”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “But getting two invitations is dumb,” said Rosemary T.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it just is,” said Rosemary T.

  We pulled up in front of my house.

  “Mom, do you think it’s a good idea if the person who gets the solo part gets to invite Erin?”

  “That seems fair,” said Mrs. Taylor.

  Rosemary T. crossed her arms and smiled like she’d just won. I climbed out of the car feeling like I’d lost, but then I had an AHA! Miss Akiyama hadn’t picked a Pumpkin Blossom Fairy yet. I had as much chance of getting picked as Rosemary T., even if I didn’t go to summer dance camp.

  “Thank you for the ride,” I said to Mrs. Taylor. And “It’s a deal,” I said to Rosemary T.

  Chapter 8

  White Mary Janes with Little Heels

  It turns out that when you move you get very busy going to new doctors and dentists and orthodontists. Finally Erin had a free afternoon, and we got to schedule a playdate. While we waited for her mom to pick us up after school, she told me we had to be a little sly about her possibly wicked stepsisters.

  “My mom is tired of answering questions about them,” she said.

  “I know all about moms getting sick and tired of talking about things,” I said. “We have two subjects that are strictly off-limits at our house: getting a dog and getting my ears pierced.”

  “There’s my mom,” said Erin when a periwinkle blue Beetle bug car pulled up to the curb.

  “You must be Cinderella,” her mom said.

  “Yep.” I held out my hand.

  She reached her hand right out the window, and I gave it a good shake, with a good grip, like my dad showed me. Nobody likes a limp-noodle hand.

 

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