Текст книги "If I Have a Wicked Stepmother, Where's My Prince? "

Автор книги: Melissa Kantor

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Chapter Seventeen

You know what Prince Charming isn't supposed to do? He isn't supposed to puke all over

Cinderella's boots. I cleaned Connor's vomit off the leather, helped him climb into Kathryn

Ford's car, and sat behind him while he slept, snoring heavily, but I wasn't finding him as

charming as I usually did. In fact, I wasn't finding him charming at all.

My father was going to kill me. And for what? By the time Kathryn turned onto my block, I was

in a panic. My palms were so sweaty I could smell them. For the first time since I'd decided to do

it, ignoring Mara's note was starting to feel like a very, very bad idea.

Just as Kathryn pulled up in front of my house, I had a momentary reprieve–it looked as if the

only lights on inside were the ones Mara and my dad leave on when they go out for the evening.

But then I saw that a lamp

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was on in my dad's study, and I knew wherever everyone else was, he was home.

And he was waiting for me.

I took a deep breath. "Well, thanks again," I said to Kathryn. "Sorry if this ruined your night."

"Don't worry about it. I told Mark I'd meet up with him in the city." Kathryn's tone made it clear she didn't spend her Friday nights partying with the under twenty-one set.

"Oh, right," I said. "You did mention that."

She nodded toward Connor, asleep in the passenger seat. "Our boy's pretty wrecked, isn't he?"

Something about how she said our boy kind of rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn't like I was

about to correct her. Um, actually, Kathryn, he's my boy.

"Yeah," I said.

She looked at him for a long minute. "He's such a cutie," she said.

Now I was officially irked. Do not call my boyfriend a cutie. The hatred I'd reserved for Mara

ebbed a bit in the face of my new yet surprisingly powerful hatred for Kathryn Ford.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Too bad he's too young for me," she said.

She turned her head back to where I was sitting, reached through the front seats, and patted my

knee. "He's all yours."

"Oh. Ah, thanks," I said. Then I felt like a total idiot

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for saying it, since I'd pretty much just thanked her for insulting me. "Well, good night," I said.

"Have fun in the city."

"I will," she said.

I went up the front walk as slowly as if I were wearing shoes of lead, literally dragging my heels

along the flagstone. In the front hallway, I spent several long minutes taking off Connor's jacket

and hanging it up. As soon as I'd shut the closet door, I felt bereft, like the jacket was a suit of

armor without which I was totally exposed. For a split second I considered just going downstairs

and getting into bed, pretending I hadn't seen my dad's light. But then I thought about how it

would feel to defend myself to him in the morning, in front of Mara and the Princesses. As bad

as tonight was going to be, tomorrow could only be worse.

I walked through the darkened living room and down the two steps to his study, where a small

crack of light glowed under the closed door. I stood there, breathing deeply, and then I knocked.

"Come in," called my dad. I pushed open the door. He was sitting at his desk, typing on his

laptop.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he said.

"When did you get home?" I asked. I was amazed I was able to keep my voice normal when

everything else about me was shaking hard enough for me to feel it.

"A few hours ago," he said. He leaned back in his

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chair and put his feet up on the desk, gesturing for me to sit down in the chair facing him. "I

heard you had quite a week."

I shrugged and took a seat, feeling like I was settling into the witness stand. "I guess you could

say that."

"Want to tell me what happened?" he asked, pushing his hand through his hair.

My dad's not just a lawyer, he's a lawyer who's obsessed with the "inherent beauty" of the

American legal system. Imagine it, Lucy, a country where the accused is innocent until proven

guilty. Usually when he starts waxing rhapsodic about the Bill of Rights, I just roll my eyes or

point out that there's nothing especially beautiful about helping multinational corporations sue

each other, which is the kind of law my dad practices; but tonight I was glad he was so

passionately committed to the rights of the accused. After all, even if Long Island seems like it's

in a different universe from San Francisco, officially we were still in the United States.

I sat forward with my hands on my knees. "Okay, the thing is, I didn't do anything, and all of a

sudden Mara and everyone was saying how I was being selfish."

"And why do you think they would say a thing like that?" he asked, tapping the tips of his fingers together.

I was totally relieved. I'd thought he was automatically going ta take Mara's side, but now I could

see he was going to listen to my version of the story. "I don't know," I said. "Mara asked me to let her friend sleep in

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my room, and I asked her if I could think about it, and all of a sudden everyone was acting like

I'd said no, when I hadn't."

"So you feel you were ganged up on for no reason at all? ' Was it my imagination, or had his tone changed? Before he had sounded genuinely curious; now he sounded overly curious, i.e.,

like he really wasn't curious at all.

I refused to believe my dad's question was rhetorical. Was it really that impossible for him to

imagine his precious wife and stepdaughters might possibly gang up on his innocent daughter.

"As a matter of fact, I do think that."

"Well, I wasn't there, Lucy, so I can't say for sure what happened, but Mara made it sound like

you were inexcusably rude to her for absolutely no reason."

"Well, did it ever occur to you that just because Mara made it sound like that doesn't mean it happened like that?"

"Lucy, I don't understand what's going on here." He dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward in his chair. "Mara said she asked you to do her friend Gail a favor, and you said no, and then

you started shouting at her and the girls." He wasn't yelling, but I could tell he was getting

frustrated.

"I can't believe you're just taking her side like that," I said. "You're not even listening to me."

"Lucy, I am not taking sides. I'm only telling you what I heard."

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But when he put his hands flat on the desk's green blotter, his wedding ring gleamed.

I gripped the arms of my chair, hard. "Well, you heard wrong."

"So what did happen?"

Had he totally missed my previous description?

Even though I've never been much of a crier, for the second time in as many days, I felt my chin

quiver and my eyes filling with tears. "You don't understand what it's like for me living here.

You're off in San Francisco living it up while I'm trapped with the Wicked Witch of the East and

her evil spawn."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Some things aren't meant to be

said out loud.

My dad put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up at me. "Lucy, when you

say things like that, it makes it really hard for me to believe Mara's making up stories about how you insult her and the girls."

I snorted. "Oh, yeah, like you'd believe me even if I didn't say things like that."

"Why do you act like we're all ganged up against you? Everyone is struggling to make this

family work. Everyone."

I couldn't believe it. Struggling? Struggling! "Do you mean shopping, Dad? Do you mean everyone is shopping to make this family work? Because I don't see a whole lot of struggling

going on around here."

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"And that is exactly the kind of snotty response I'm tired of," said my dad. "How is that a helpful thing to say?"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be helpful," I said, standing up. "Maybe I'm tired of being helpful."

My dad stood up, too. "Tired of being helpful? Lucy, to be tired of something you have to do it

for a while."

"You know they totally ignore me when you're not here, Dad. All they do is go shopping and go

to movies and go to dinner without me."

"Lucy, just last weekend Mara asked you to come into the city with us, and you said no."

"Dad, are you blind} She only asked me to go because you were sitting right there. She wants you to think she cares about me, but really, she hates me."

"She hates you? Is that why she was so upset that you yelled at her last night, because she hates

you? If she hated you, would she even care? Would she even care that you don't come home

when she tells you to? Wouldn't she be just as happy not to see you if she hated you?"

"No," I said, sniffling. "She doesn't just hate me. She hates me and she wants to ruin my life."

"Lucy, I really don't know how you expect me to respond to that kind of paranoia."

He didn't say anything after that, and I didn't either. I knew it was pointless for me to try and

defend myself anymore.

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We were now moving on to the sentencing phase of the trial.

"I want you to apologize to Mara for what happened," he said. He took some tissues out of the

box on his desk and handed them to me. "I know it would mean a lot to her after what you said.

And until we see a real change in your behavior, you're not to go out with your friends."

I'd had my nose buried in a tissue, but when he said that last part, my head snapped up.

"Grounded? You're grounding me? For how long?" As far as I could tell, he'd just grounded me indefinitely.

"Until we see a change in your attitude." He waited a second, but I was too nonplussed by my

punishment to respond. Finally he continued. "Look, I know you're sad, Lucy, and I'm sorry. But

I think if you think about it, you'll see you're bringing this on yourself."

The room was deadly silent. When it became clear I still wasn't going to say anything, my dad

sat down. I stayed standing, and he looked up at me. "Why don't you get some sleep, Goose. If

you want, we can talk about this in the morning. Good night."

He didn't even wait for me to leave the room before turning back to his computer. I had been

dismissed. By the time I got to the door, he was busy typing away.

Nothing.

That's what happens to the stepmother in Cinderella.

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Nothing.

I just Googled the story because I remembered how in Sleeping Beauty, the fairy who caused all

the trouble turns into a dragon and Prince Charming stabs her, and she dies this really horrible

death. But there's nothing like that in Cinderella. In fact, you never find out what happens to

Cinderella's stepmother or her stepsisters. As far as I can tell the three of them just spend their

time hanging out, probably getting some new girl to bring them breakfast in bed and hand-wash

their clothes. I guess you're supposed to think it's punishment enough that they have to live the

rest of their lives knowing Cinderella's got this really hot husband and is living the perfect life,

while they're just three ugly, mean ladies destined to grow old and die without ever getting a

photo spread in Palace Monthly.

But what if Cinderella's life isn't so perfect? Like, what if Prince Charming throws up on

Cinderella's boots after his team loses the big game? And what if the most popular girl in school

implies that the only reason Cinderella's got the Prince in the first place is because she wasn't

interested in him? And what if Cinderella gets grounded for an unspecified period of time? What

if that's how the story ends? What if that's happily ever after?

Well, if you want my opinion, that sucks.

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Chapter Eighteen

Mara was sitting at the kitchen table when I got up the next morning. Her back was to me, and

walking around the table, I saw she was writing a thank-you note. That's basically her favorite

activity, writing these really phony notes to her friends and acquaintances. My dear Laura, How

can I ever thank you for the lovely time we had yesterday evening? You are such a generous,

delightful hostess....

"Hi," I said, trying not to sound as defeated as I felt. She wore a coordinated peach pantsuit, and her hair and makeup were flawless. It was as if she were planning to spend the day running for

office.

"Hello, Lucy," she said, looking up at me.

"Um, listen," I said. I stood with my hands on the back of the chair opposite her, one foot resting on the ankle of the other, like a little kid.

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"Yes?" she said. She kept her pen poised to write, making it clear I'd better talk fast.

"I just wanted to, you know, apologize for what I said the other night."

She pursed her lips. "Quite frankly, Lucy, I was shocked. No one has ever spoken to me like that

before." I didn't know if she expected another apology, but if so, she wasn't getting it. I may not

have wanted to be grounded for life, but even freedom is worth just so much ass-kissing.

I continued with the speech I'd planned out while brushing my teeth. "And your friend staying in

my room– I mean, that's fine. I'll–it's fine for me to sleep in the den while she's here. I'm going

to clean out my stuff–I mean, clean out–up–I'm going to clean up my room for her." My

delivery had been much more polished when I was talking to my reflection in the mirror than it

was now.

"Well," she said, "I'm certainly glad to see this change in your attitude." She nodded at me.

"Your apology is accepted."

Was I supposed to thank her? I didn't say anything.

"Now," she continued, "since you're not going out with your friends tonight"–I loved how she phrased it as if the choice had been mine–"your father would like you to join us for dinner."

It didn't sound like the "invitation" was exactly optional, but I pretended to consider her offer for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure."

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"Fine. Then we'll see you later," she said. I turned to go. "No jeans, tonight, please," she called after me.

Five minutes later I was back in bed, where I instantly fell asleep. The next thing I knew, there

was a pounding on my door.

"What?" I yelled. I had that fuzzy, brainless feeling you get from sleeping way too long.

Somehow the Princesses heard my "What?" as "Come on in!" and they bounded down the stairs.

"You were sleeping?" said Princess One.

"No," I said. "Sometimes I just like to lie in the dark for hours with my eyes closed."

They both stared at me for a minute. "Are you joking?" Princess Two asked finally.

"Yes, I am joking," I said, yawning. "Now, what do you want?"

"Connor called," said Princess Two. "It's on the answering machine." She put her hands on her hips. "Is he, like, your boyfriend?"

"Yes," I said. I felt a little scared after I'd said it, as if I was jinxing myself.

"Julie Wexler told us that her sister told her that Connor's the most popular boy in school," said Princess One. Even in the pale light that filtered down from the kitchen, I could see the awe in

her eyes. Julie Wexler had recently replaced Jennifer Johnson in the Princesses' best friend

rotation; her pronouncements were repeated as if she, like an Old Testament

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prophet, spent most of her time communicating directly with God.

"I guess he's popular," I said, arching my back and yawning.

Princess Two eyed me briefly before turning toward the stairs. "Come on!" she called to her

sister, "We have to get dressed."

Princess One walked along the bed, trailing her fingers across the comforter. She kept giving me

sidelong glances, as if she wasn't comfortable staring directly at me.

"Come on!" her sister repeated impatiently, and she bolted for the stairs.

I rolled over, picked up the phone, and dialed Connor's number. "Hey," he said when he heard

my voice. "I guess I got a little drunk last night."

"Just a little," I said.

Music pulsed in the background, and Connor rapped along with it for a second before saying, "I

gotta make it up to you, Red. How can I make it up to you?"

Come over to my house and drive a stake through my stepmother's heart. "I don't know," I said.

"I bet it's gonna cost me." Somehow he managed to make the words sound a tiny bit like a threat, a tiny bit like a dare; either way, it was pretty sexy.

"I bet it is," I said. Did Connor like me enough to spend the rest of his life in jail for killing my stepmother? Maybe if I asked him while I was wearing that red dress....

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He lowered his voice. "Can I ask you something, or are you too mad?" I shivered. It felt like he was whispering in my ear.

"I don't know," I said, whispering, too. "That depends on what it is."

"Well, try this one on for size." He paused. "Think you might be willing to come to the prom with me?"

Aaaaahhhhh!

He'd asked me. He'd actually asked me. I shot up, miraculously managing to swallow a scream.

Then I made myself sit down on the edge of the bed, cross my legs at the ankles, and speak

calmly into the phone. "I think I might consider it," I said. But it was impossible to stay seated, and I jumped to my feet, hopping from one to the other.

"You kill me, Red," he said. "There's no one cooler than you are."

It was a good thing Connor couldn't see me, since I wasn't sure I looked all that cool leaping

around in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of thick orange socks with holes in the heels, my hand

pressed to my lips so no screams would escape.

I heard the click of someone picking up another extension. "Hello?" It was Mara.

Oh my god, now she was listening in on my calls to my father and my boyfriend.

"Yeah, hi, Mara. I'm on the phone."

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"Lucy, you're awake. Why don't you come upstairs and say hello?"

"Now," she said, and she hung up.

"I gotta go, Connor," I said.

"Call me later," he said. "Prom date."

I hung up the regular phone and grabbed my cell before Mara came down to confiscate it. Jessica

picked up on the first ring. She didn't even say hello.

"Did Connor ask you?"

"Just now."

"Oh my god!" she screamed. "Dave asked me, like, five minutes ago, and Madison's on the

phone with Matt right now."

"We're going to the prom!" I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I kept my voice down. The last thing I needed was for my stepmother to know there was something in my life I was actually

looking forward to. It would just make her that much more eager to take it away from me.

There was a knock on my door. "Lucy, Mom says you have to come upstairs now."

I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I gotta go."

"We're going to the prom," Jessica whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" I asked, starting to giggle.

"Why are you whispering?" she asked, giggling, too. "I don't know," I said.

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"Me either," she said. Then she started laughing for real, and so did I. "I'll call you later," she said.

I was laughing too hard to say anything else, so I just hung up the phone.

The dining room table was elaborately set for twelve, and soft classical music played in the

living room, where Mara, my dad, and a woman I didn't recognize were sitting having drinks.

"Hey, honey," said my dad, spotting me. "Sure you got enough sleep?" I knew he was making a joke, and I forced myself to smile.

"I think so," I said. Then I walked over to the unknown woman and extended my hand. "I'm

Lucy," I said.

"I'm Gail," she said. Except for her dyed blond hair, she could have been Mara's clone. They

were both in dark silk skirts and pale fuzzy sweaters, and each held a glass of white wine in her

hand.

I wondered if Gail knew she was going to be sleeping in my room, but it seemed impolite to ask.

With Connor's invitation still ringing in my ear, I knew the last thing I could afford was for my

dad to think I was being rude to Mara's friend. Sorry, Connor, I know I said I could go to the

prom with you, but I'm grounded.

Forever

I smiled broadly and turned to Mara. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I'd dressed in a blue silk dress I

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hadn't worn since I was about twelve. It was ugly as sin, but it wasn't jeans.

"Everything that needs to be taken care of for now is done," said Mara, "but I think it would be really nice if you and the girls would help serve drinks and dinner when the guests arrive."

Help serve drinks and dinner? What was I, the new maid? I kept the smile plastered on my face.

Prom. Prom. Prom. You're going to the prom. "Sure," I said. "Glad to help." I started to feel silly just standing there in the middle of the room, so I excused myself. "I guess I'll drop this in the

den," I said, picking up the bag I'd packed for my stint as an actual guest in my own house.

"Lucy, I was telling the girls I think it would be just charming if you all wore black and white

tonight," Mara called after me. I turned back. "Don't you think that would look nice?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I think that would look really nice." Mara smiled at me like I'd just made all her dreams come true. I smiled back at her the same way. Actually, Mara had just made one of

my dreams come true. I was going to see the Princesses forced to get up off their little Princess

asses and help serve a meal.

Within two minutes of walking in the door, the Martins, the Aliens, and the Clurmans had clearly

gotten the idea that I was an employee as opposed to the daughter of their host, no doubt in part

because A) I was dressed like

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a waitress at a cheesy catering hall, and B) Mara, rather than introduce me, said only, "Lucy,

please take everyone's coats and put them on my bed." Despite Mara's saying that the Princesses

and I would be serving together, I was the only one dressed like I'd be collecting a paycheck at

the end of the evening. My stepsisters were sporting fashionable new black-and-white Petit

Bateau shirts (Princess One had a white-on-black pattern, while Princess Two had gone with

black-on-white) and tiny black miniskirts, ensembles no doubt purchased for this occasion. As

far as I could tell, they weren't doing much besides "helping" my dad bartend, a task that

involved little more than throwing the occasional lemon wedge or swizzle stick into the

occasional glass. I, meanwhile, spent the first part of the evening running back and forth to the

kitchen with plates of hot appetizers Mara had ordered from her favorite caterer. The platters

were heavy, the kitchen was hot, and before long I'd developed a fairly gruesome headache.

Mara, smiling and chatting with her guests, barely acknowledged me as I walked around the

room offering cheese puffs.

"You're doing a great job," said my dad when he came into the kitchen to get more ice. I was

standing by the stove watching to make sure the spinach in phyllo dough didn't burn. "This is

what I like to see." He came over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "This is the girl I always

knew you could be."

He always knew I could be a maid?

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I opened my mouth to tell him what I'd always known he could be, but then I got a picture of myself lying prone on my bed, carving lines in my Formica headboard to mark the months of my

imprisonment, while Connor slipped a corsage onto his new girlfriend's wrist and escorted her to

their waiting limo.

"I'm glad, Dad," I said, smiling weakly. "I'm really glad." I watched him leave the kitchen and turned back to the oven.

I'll never know if the Martins, the Aliens, or the Clurmans ever figured out who I was, or if they

just decided my dad and Mara were incredibly enlightened employers who allowed the help to sit

down and eat with them and their guests whenever she wasn't serving a new course. Since each

platter that had to be carried in from the kitchen was too heavy for the Princesses to manage, the

job was mine. It wasn't until dessert, when they exerted themselves so far as to circulate a tiny

plate of petits fours, that either of them did any serving at all; as they walked around the table,

the guests oohed and aahed over how helpful and gracious they were. I stood watching them help

themselves to as many pastries as they "served," brushing my now-matted hair out of my eyes

and seething with rage. By the time I carried the coats down from my dad and Mara's room and

distributed them among the guests, I wasn't even surprised that Mr. Martin complimented me for

doing such a great job and asked if I was available to help him and his wife with

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a party they were having the following weekend. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so I just

said I was grounded and handed him his coat.

"Lucy, you did a beautiful job tonight," said my dad. He'd shut the door on the last of the guests and put his arm around Mara. "You and the girls, I should say."

"Yes, thank you, Lucy," said Mara. "Good night."

"Good night," I said.

As Mara climbed the stairs, my dad yawned. "I guess I'll turn in, too," he said. "And you must be exhausted."

I didn't need a mirror to know that my hair was plastered to my forehead and my white shirt was

streaked with sweat. My feet ached. I looked up and saw Mara's skirt magically unwrinkled, her

hair shining in the overhead light.

"Yeah," I said, wondering where my fairy godmother had spent the night. "I'm a little tired."

"Well, good night, honey."

"Good night, dad," I said. He turned to go up the stairs, then turned back again. "Tonight it really felt like we were a family," he said, smiling at me.

Did that mean I wasn't grounded anymore?

"Um, Dad?"

"Yeah, Goose?"

Maybe this wasn't the best time to ask. "See you in the morning."

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He reached over and patted me on the head before turning and following Mara up the stairs. I

took off my apron and was about to open the door to the basement when I remembered I was

sleeping in the guest room for the week.

Did my dad seriously think that tonight we were a family?

If so, get me to an orphanage.

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