Seventeen
I stood outside Adele’s door and craned my neck to see if anyone was coming. I was definitely not supposed to be in the Princess Tower after hours uninvited per Rule #89: Ordinary Cast Members (OCMs) should not be in the Royal Towers without permission after 8:00 p.m.
A troll out in the lobby was playing FreeCell and sneaking past her had been a piece of cake. No, really. A piece of devil’s food cake with coconut filling that I’d pilfered from the cafeteria.
The other interns were in the rec room for the Sunday night meeting followed by the weekly sundae-and-a-movie, a Fairyland tradition that was supposed to boost cast morale. I really wanted to see the feature film The Avengers again, but not as much as I wanted to wrest the Hansel’s report from Adele—and since she hadn’t been at the meeting, I figured she was in her room sulking.
But her room was strangely silent.
I knocked softly. “Open up. It’s me, Zoe. I need to talk to you.”
Still, nothing—and now I was getting worried. You never knew what harm people were capable of doing to themselves, especially a person whose farming family back in Wisconsin had scraped and saved to send her to Fairyland summer camp.
I knocked again as footsteps came up the hall. The troll thundered toward me, traces of chocolate at the corners of her lips. “Hey. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not?” I splayed my fingers on my chest innocently as I often do when I’m about to tell a whopper of a lie. “But I’m the new Cinderella. Adele’s replacement.” I held up my master key. “See? Look, I’ll open and show you.”
Sliding the key in the lock, I turned once, and the door sprung open. The troll flicked the switch to reveal an unnerving scene. Adele’s bed was unmade, clothes thrown everywhere as if the drawers had been ransacked. Shards of glass sparkled under the overhead light. Seemed Adele had shattered her three mirrors into a bazillion tiny pieces. How had no one heard this?
There was no sign of Adele.
“What the . . . ?” The troll reached for her radio to call her fellow troll cohorts. “Yeah, we got a suspected ten-ten in room four-oh-three. Looks like an AWOL Cinderella with potential anger issues. Uh-huh. May be armed with glass and dangerous.”
I rolled my eyes. The trolls loved nothing more than overreacting to a situation. “She’s not dangerous.”
The troll pressed her Mute button. “Who’s the security person here? Why don’t you go to Maintenance and see if there’s another available room? This one we’re gonna have to mark off as a crime scene.”
Really? A crime scene? I took two steps down the hall and stopped. What if it was a crime scene, though? Maybe Adele was in serious trouble.
And all because of me.
The next morning I arrived a little worse for wear, carrying the Queen’s usual tray of tiny food and edited newspapers to find the office empty except for none other than the two-faced, deceitful, conniving, hardly charming Prince Ian.
In all the confusion of twirling and dipping and quite generally making an ass out of myself the day before, I hadn’t taken note of Wardrobe’s changes. Ian’s messy mop of black hair had been trimmed to royal perfection, and any traces of his five o’clock shadow had been removed to reveal a smooth jaw.
In his stiff white Prince Charming jacket—which buttoned up at the throat, complete with a dark blue sash, gold buttons, and epaulets—Ian came off as almost regal. That is, for a snake.
He smiled shyly, though I couldn’t tell if he was ashamed of the uniform . . . or what he’d done to get it. “I know what you’re going to say. . . .”
“That you’re a lying jerk who uses people? Good. End of conversation.” I went over to the stack of mail the trolls had dumped on the table and sorted through the letters, postcards, catalogs, and important stuff as if he weren’t there. He may have gotten what he wanted from the Queen, but he would not get anything more from me.
“Does this mean congratulations aren’t in order?” he asked, hopping off the Queen’s desk, where he’d been sitting and leaning over my table.
“For weaseling yourself closer to winning the Dream and Do? Not likely.”
“I didn’t weasel my way into anything. I still can’t understand what your problem is. What did I do wrong?”
“You know.” Three offers for cruises run by the Mouse. I ripped them into pieces and dumped them in the recycling bin.
“Wait, I get it.” He stood back and nodded. “You’re bummed that I’m a Prince Charming. . . .”
“Getting warmer.”
“. . . when you’re no longer a Cinderella. And I don’t blame you. We could have made such a lovely pair.” He clasped his hands and batted his eyelashes.
I gathered up the junk mail. “You know what amazes me? It’s that a head as tiny and pointed as yours has enough room for your oversize ego.”
“That’s not the only thing of mine that’s oversize.” He winked. “Wait, that was inappropriate, right?”
“And moronic.” I dropped everything into the recycling bin. “You really need to get a clue, Ian. You are dead to me. Forever.”
“Don’t be bitter, Zoe, just because you’re no longer royalty and I am.”
My fingers curled, ready to strangle him. “I’m not bitter, and I never wanted to be Cinderella. I was only filling in on an emergency.”
“And you did an admirable job if I do say so myself.” He trailed behind me to the mini fridge, where we kept the caviar for Tinker Bell. “I personally thought your interpretation of the legendary ballet Der Spastics was fantastic.”
I forced myself not to smile as I spooned Tinker Bell’s smoked fish eggs into her crystal bowl.
“To turn left when everyone else is turning right. To clap at random. To twirl alone.” He sighed deeply. “Sure, some might call your interpretation, oh, I don’t know, whacked. But I prefer to think of it as genius.”
For that I gave him a punch, hard, in the shoulder. Staying mad at Ian Davidson was impossible and, in some ways, that made me resent him even more. You could tell he’d be the type to go through life charming everyone in his path, blissfully unaware of the havoc he wreaked.
The side door to the Queen’s private chambers opened, and she bustled in carrying Tinker Bell, with Andy following behind. Her Majesty must have been in a good mood, because for once her complexion bore the faintest hint of color.
“Ian, you look amazing. Promenade!” She sipped her tea while Ian, bold as brass, took long, exaggerated strides, head back, hand on hip, like he was on the catwalk in Milan. I had to bite the insides of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Tell me you’re not going to go out there like that,” she said, the slightest hint of a smile playing on her lips, too.
“Of course not. I’ll be like this.” He bowed deeply before me and slipped to one knee, taking my hand in his and gazing with the perfect Fairyland combination of princely adoration and chaste love. Andy actually applauded, and even my own heart skipped a beat—which Ian must have felt because he squeezed my fingers gently.
“Am I forgiven, dearest?” he asked again, batting his eyelashes.
I mouthed, In your dreams!
The Queen nodded her rare approval. “That will do, Romeo.” She motioned for him to stand. “And the dance . . . ?”
At this point I had to interrupt. “Where’s Jess?”
“Pardon?” The Queen pondered an almond.
“Jess Swynkowski. She was supposed to be here as Adele’s replacement. We talked about her yesterday, remember?”
“Oh, that. Yes, well . . . there’s been a change of plans.”
My stomach lurched. No, this couldn’t happen. Jess was all ready. We’d stayed up until dawn practicing everything, even dancing to “If You’re a Princess and You Know It” while we walked Tink. In fact, I’d assumed she’d be here waiting and ready to audition when I got to work.
I couldn’t stop myself. I had to say something. “You promised yesterday that you’d make Jess Cinderella.”
The Queen nibbled the almond. “I did no such thing. I gave her permission to audition. Permission I have since withdrawn.”
“But that’s not fair. You didn’t even give her a chance!”
Andy cleared his throat in admonition. “Excuse me, Zoe, but you’re only an assistant here. You are not involved in personnel decisions.”
“It’s all right, Andrew. Zoe deserves to know, since this involves her, too.” The Queen retrieved a letter from her desk. At first I thought with horror that it was the Hansel’s, but as she started reading, I realized it was from Adele.
Dear Management:
This is in response to your totally unfair punishment.
As you know, I’ve done everything possible to stay within the Fairyland guidelines and the contract I signed. However, thanks to your backstabbing assistant, one Zoe Kiefer, who was in charge of charting my weight, you think I gained more than I did. Now she’s Cinderella just as she planned, and you’ve made me a Class B character.
I am hurt and offended.
So I’m out of here. But I’m not gone, okay? And Zoe knows why. Tell her that it’s only a matter of time until I use the ammunition I have against her to get my revenge. Then you’ll see that both you and I were wronged, that I didn’t gain any weight, and that this is all Zoe’s fault.
Yours faithfully,
Adele
I was shaken to my core.
A million thoughts ran through my mind: Adele definitely had the Hansel’s complaint. She was going to use it against me. My life sucked. Adele hated me and was ungrateful, too. My life double-sucked with a cherry on top.
Ian squeezed my arm. I was so stunned, I didn’t push him away.
“Nothing but rubbish,” the Queen said, stuffing the letter back in the envelope. “Adele is one of those recalcitrant types who never should have been allowed in the program.” She looked pointedly at Andy, as if Adele’s acceptance had been entirely his fault. “However, her absence means that we’re short one Class B character, so Sydney will have to stay as the Fairy Godmother while Jessica will have to remain as Red Riding Hood, since I need two. Simone is willing to do double duty as Cinderella if she doesn’t have to do the resort breakfasts and dinners, so that’s that.”
I raised my hand. “What about me?”
“As Cinderella?” The Queen let out something between a laugh and a snort. “Oh, my dear, I believe we’ve learned our lesson after yesterday’s fiasco.”
“No, I mean, I could work as your assistant and Red Riding Hood. Doing both would be no problem. Go through the mail in the morning, play Red Riding Hood the rest of the day. With Red Riding Hood’s costume, no one would see my face, not really, so I could run errands for you in between.”
The Queen said, “Why on earth would you take on such a Herculean task?”
She scrutinized me—as did Ian, who, too, seemed baffled by why I would take on two jobs for my cousin.
How to explain that Jess had been there during the slog of Mom’s sickness when a lot of my other friends had fled? I couldn’t. It wasn’t just that I’d vowed none of the other interns at Fairyland would know me as the Girl Whose Mother Died, it was that Jess’s quiet optimism, her reassurances that everything would be okay during those dark days, had saved me in ways no one else could understand.
“Because,” I finally said, “Jess is going to blow your mind as Cinderella.”
The Queen lifted one corner of her mouth, which could have been mistaken on a normal person for a sign of affection. Even weirder, she reminded me of my mother at that moment. “That’s very Wow! of you, Zoe.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think.”
A second later Her Majesty was back to her old bossy self, and I was almost relieved when she started barking orders. “Gadzooks! We shall try it. Andy, message Wardrobe and tell them to get to work on Jessica. Meanwhile, if your morning chores are done, Zoe, proceed to Our World and suit up as Red Riding Hood. There’s really nothing to it. ‘My, Grandmother, what big . . . ’ and then name an essential body part. The juveniles adore it.”
“Best of all,” Andy said, “no dancing.”
I gushed in gratitude, swore on everything I held dear that I wouldn’t let her down, and clutched the folds of my gown to run as fast as I could to find Jess. I couldn’t wait to hear her scream her head off.
“Hold up!” It was Ian running down the hall after me. “You forgot something.”
I was already out of breath from my excitement. “I did?”
“Yeah, this. . . .” He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “You forgot to say good-bye.”
Okay. “Good-bye.”
He grinned in the goofiest way, like he knew something I didn’t. Then he turned and went back to the Queen’s office.
I would never understand Ian Davidson. Ever.