If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) (6 page)

T
here’s no time for brainstorming ideas. We have to get right to work. Cinderella hobbles around the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes while Jonah and I sweep the living room.

More precisely, I hold the dustpan while Jonah attempts to sweep.

He is the worst sweeper ever. He’s just running around with the broom, swishing it in every direction. I think he might be making the dust worse than it was before.

“Focus, Jonah, focus!”

He sweeps a piece of dirt into my mouth.

“Jonah!” I say with a spit.

“Sorry,” he says, but he’s laughing so I don’t really believe him.

His face turns serious and he twists his bottom lip. “Abby, how are we going to get home?”

“I, um, have a plan,” I say. Although to be honest, I don’t have a plan yet. I’m making it up right now. But I think it’s important for Jonah to trust that I always have a plan. It’s my job as the big sister.

“Yeah?” he says. “What is it?”

“Oh. Right. Well …”

“You don’t have a plan, do you?”

“I do, I do! We help Cinderella prove to Farrah that she can be self-reliant before noon on Tuesday.”

“What is it about twelve o’clock in fairy tales?” Jonah asks. “Whether it’s noon or midnight, something always happens at twelve.”

“That is true. I don’t know why. So back to my plan. How about this — when Farrah comes back she’ll be so amazed by the new and improved Cinderella that she’ll happily tell us where the magic mirror is.”

“But what if she doesn’t know where it is?”

“She must know,” I declare. “At the very least, she could zap us home herself. She does have a magic wand.”

He nods. “Okay. Decent plan.”

I hear footsteps in the hallway. It’s Beatrice, the meaner sister. She looks a lot like her mother. Exact same thin nose and lips, exact same straight hair and bangs. Except hers is brown instead of gray. And she’s the tallest of the three.

“Why are you two here?” she asks.

“We’re here to help Cinderella.”

“Good. Go help her with the wash. I’m low on underwear.”

That makes two of us.

“Uh, okay.”

“Kayla!” Beatrice yells up the stairs. “Do you need Cinderella to do your wash?”

“Yeah,” Kayla calls back.

“The hampers are in our closet,” Beatrice tells us. “We’re going to visit friends now. Surely you’ll see to it that the laundry is done by today so it’ll be all ready for tomorrow. The prince’s assistant is coming, you know.”

“Fine.” Must be a really slow washing machine.

I go upstairs. The stepsisters’ door is closed so I knock. After what happened with Cinderella, I will never not knock again.

“Come in,” I hear.

Kayla is lying facedown on her bed.

“Hi, Kayla,” I say. “I’m just getting your laundry.”

She turns her face toward me. “How do you know my name? Have we met?”

Well, I saw you fawning over the prince at the ball and then spied on you from under your bed. But no, technically, we haven’t met. “You’re Beatrice’s sister, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’re helping Cinderella out while her foot heals,” I say. “We’re going to do your laundry and then make you dinner.”

She nods. “Okay,” she says, and then turns her head the other way.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say sarcastically.

She doesn’t bother to answer.

I bump Kayla’s hamper down the stairs. “Cinderella?” I ask, popping my head into the kitchen.

But she’s already done cleaning the kitchen and has managed to sweep and dustpan the entire marble entranceway by herself.

On one foot.

She’s a cleaning machine.

“Wow,” I say.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Where’s the washer and dryer?” I ask.

“The what?”

“The washer and dr —” I stop in mid-sentence. “Do you guys not have a washer and dryer?”

“
I’m
the washer and dryer,” she answers. “I wash the clothes by hand, then hang them up to dry.”

Yikes. Even if my parents never bother using it, I have never felt more thankful for our washer and dryer in my entire life.

Cinderella and I are on all fours washing her stepsisters’ clothes in the tub in the basement. At least they have running water in Floom, otherwise we’d be standing on a riverbank.

I’m soaping, Cinderella is rinsing, and Jonah is hanging. We have a whole production line going on. Next we’re ironing wrinkled dresses. Cinderella is going to show me how to use the ironing board and everything.

“I don’t understand what Farrah wants from me,” Cinderella says. “How can I rescue myself?”

“Let’s think about it,” I say. “You said you were stuck here, right?”

“I
am
stuck here. I have nowhere else to go.”

“But you’re not chained to the house,” I say. “You can leave if you want to.”

“Where’s your dad?” Jonah asks. “Is he dead?”

“He’s not dead,” Cinderella says. “He’s just gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just gone. He left us. He left me. My mom’s death was just too much for him.”

“But he got married again,” I say.

“I think he just wanted to find a place for me to live, since I was only twelve. And once he did — he took off. We used to get postcards, but we haven’t heard from him in three years.”

“That’s terrible!” Jonah says. “I can’t believe a dad would do that.”

“He’s a sailor,” Cinderella says. “And he sailed away. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And he left me here. Stranded. I have no money and nowhere to go. That’s why I need the prince to rescue me.”

“Why don’t you get a job?” I say, rinsing a pair of striped socks. “Then you’ll have your own money and you can get your own house.”

“But she’s going to move into the palace when she gets married,” Jonah says. “She doesn’t need her own house.”

“She won’t get to marry the prince if Farrah doesn’t fix her foot,” I argue. “And Farrah won’t help unless Cinderella helps herself. If Cinderella gets a job and moves out, it should prove to Farrah that she can be self-reliant. But if Farrah gets all weird and says it’s not enough, at least this way Cinderella won’t be stuck here anymore. It’s a no-lose plan!”

Cinderella cocks her head to the side. “But what kind of job could I get? I’m not good at anything.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “You’re the world’s fastest cleaner. You tidied that whole living room in forty-five seconds flat.”

“You could be a cleaning lady!” Jonah says.

“We need to think bigger,” I say, my eyes widening. “You could start a cleaning service! You could train a whole bunch of cleaners to clean superfast like you do and then send them out to people’s houses! You taught us to clean; you can teach other people, too! You’ll start a company. You’ll make a fortune. You can call it … Mess Be Gone. No wait, Cinderella’s Cleaners!” I pump my arm in the air, feeling proud of myself. I am a big fan of alliteration. Although I don’t remember if
alliteration has to be the same first letter or the same first sound. Whatever. It’s still cute. From now on maybe I should go by Awesome Abby.

Cinderella shudders. “No way. I hate cleaning. I do it so fast so I can be done with it. I don’t want to clean other people’s houses for money. I don’t want to clean this house, and if I had my own place, I wouldn’t want to clean that, either. If I had my own money, I’d hire Cinderella’s Cleaners.”

“They probably wouldn’t use your name if you weren’t part of the company,” Jonah points out.

Cinderella nods. “True.”

I’m pretty sure she’s missing an excellent business opportunity, but whatever. I think harder. “What about something with animals?” I say. “Aren’t you really good with mice?”

“Farrah is good with mice, not me. Actually, I’m not all that great with any animal. Plus, I’m allergic to dogs. They give me a terrible cough and make me sneeze. Cats, too.”

“Can you be a lawyer?” Jonah asks. “That’s what our parents are.”

“That takes a lot of schooling,” I say, a little bit huffy. “Not everyone can be a lawyer, you know.”

“I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Cinderella says. “Too much
arguing involved.” She squeezes water out of one of Beatrice’s shirts. “This is missing a button. I’ll have to sew on a new one.”

Hmm. “You can sew?”

She nods. “Of course. Can’t you?”

“I’ve never tried,” I say. “But I probably could. But this is about you. What about becoming a seamstress?”

“Think bigger,” Jonah says, echoing my previous statement. “You could make clothes. You could be a fashion designer.”

“That’s perfect!” I say. Way to go, Jonah! “You’ll make clothes and sell them. A perfect plan!”

“But what should I make?”

“You have to make something unique,” I say. “Something that someone else isn’t already making. What do you know how to make?”

Cinderella shrugs. “I’ve never made anything entirely from scratch, but I’m really good at stitching. I’ve hemmed skirts. Sheets. Shirts. Dresses.”

“Can you make underwear?” I ask. Mine are giving me a wedgie.

“Um, I guess.”

“Never mind. Let’s focus on things people in Floom want.”

“Floom people wear underwear,” she says, sounding insulted.

“No, I mean special clothes,” I say. I think about the people of Floom. What do they all like? Oh! “They loved your dress! Everyone loved the dress you wore to the ball. They couldn’t stop gushing about it!”

She nods. “They did love my dress. I
loved
my dress. I wish I still had my dress.”

Ding ding! “That’s what you’ll do! You’ll make a Cinderella dress! You’ll make a bunch of Cinderella dresses and then you’ll sell them!”

“And make one for yourself,” Jonah adds. “Maybe the prince’s assistant will recognize you if you’re wearing it when he comes by with the glass slipper.”

Cinderella’s eyes light up. “That, my little friend, is a perfect plan.”

And once she’s done with that, maybe she can make me a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and some new undies.

W
e take a break from the wash to search the house for material.

“The living room curtains!” I say. “They’re platinum!”

“They’re more of a silver,” Cinderella says.

“Is there really a difference?” Honestly, I can’t tell. “The curtains are perfect.” It’ll be just like in
The Sound of Music
when Maria makes the kids’ clothes!

“I can’t dismantle the curtains,” Cinderella says. “Betty would notice.”

“Is there anything else silver-ish that she has and won’t miss?” I ask.

“I think she might have some extra tablecloths,” Cinderella says. “Let’s look in the closet.”

We trudge over to the closet and find a stack.

“This one isn’t bad,” I say. “It’s not exactly silver. It’s more gray. But we can accessorize.”

“But we still need to finish the wash,” Cinderella says.

“We’ll finish the wash,” I say. “You make the clothes.”

“I’ll be in the attic,” she says. “Wish me luck.”

I peek into the room ten minutes later. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” she says from under the gray tablecloth.

“Did you sketch it out?”

“Um, no. Should I?”

“I think that’s what designers do.”

“I’m not really good at drawing,” she says. “So I just started cutting.”

“Okay,” I say. She probably knows more about this dress stuff than I do. “What should we do next?”

“Can you make the beds?”

That I can definitely do. Unlike my brother, I make my own bed every morning.

Since Betty and the stepsisters have gone to “visit friends” (I know — they have friends? I’m shocked, too) I take my time making their beds and snooping through their stuff.

Kayla has
Jordan + Kayla
written in hearts all over her notebooks. I’d feel bad for her if she wasn’t so mean.

I go back downstairs and find Jonah reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. And by the newspaper, I mean the comics. “Let’s go,” I say.

“Guess what I found,” he says.

“Big Nate?”

“No, but there is a comic strip called Big Tate. Do you think they’re related?”

“Maybe. Come on. We have to make the beds.”

“Wait, I found something else you’re going to like.” He flips the pages back. “Look!”

“Isn’t this perfect for Cinderella?” he says. “It’s on Slipper Street. I think that’s a sign. And no pets! She’s allergic to pets.”

“Rent is so cheap in Floom!” I say. “That’s amazing!”

We clomp up the stairs to tell her the news.

“Sounds heavenly,” she says.

I look around the room. All I see is a heap of tablecloth. “How’s it going?” I ask, a little concerned. But she looks pretty intent, so I guess that’s a good sign.

“Great. I’m a natural. I’ll probably need another hour or so, though.”

“Let us know if we can help! Good luck!”

An hour later: “Cinderella? How are you doing in there?”

“Wonderful! I need another hour! Do you think you could start dinner? Maybe make a chicken Caesar salad? We have leftover chicken from last night.”

“Um, I don’t know how to make Caesar salad,” I say.

“Can’t we just order a pizza?” Jonah asks.

“The cookbook is on the counter! It tells you how to make the dressing,” Cinderella calls out.

“Oh. Okay.”

How hard can it be?

We follow the recipe. We mince. We chop. We whisk. We finish the dressing. Then we make the salad.

“This was easier than I thought!” I say, munching on some loose lettuce.

And who knew? Cooking is fun! Cookbooks make it so much easier, though. Cinderella has the
Official Floom Cookbook
. There is a section on stew. There is a section on pizza. There is a section on something called
Kingslingions
, a Floom specialty, which calls for rice, shark fin, olives, and pineapple (which I never, ever want to try). There is also a section on desserts. Chocolate chip cookies! Lemon meringue pie! White chocolate cake! Yum.

When all the prep is done, we go back upstairs.

I knock and call from the hallway, “Cinderella? You still there? How’s it going?”

“All done!” she says. “I’m just trying it on. Come in!”

“I can’t wait to see it!” I squeal.

“Here I come!” She steps out from the closet and cheers, “Ta-da!”

Oh.

Oh, no.

It is not good.

It is not good at all.

The edges are jagged. The sleeves are uneven. There are random slashes in places that shouldn’t have slashes. It looks about seven sizes too big.

She looks like the bride of Frankenstein.

She pirouettes. “Is it gorgeous? This was easier than I thought.”

Jonah tugs at my arm. “That’s what you said about making the Caesar salad.”

Very true. Except the Caesar salad actually looks like Caesar salad. This dress does not look like the dress she wore to the ball. It doesn’t look like a dress at all. It looks like a tablecloth that got attacked by a class of preschoolers with scissors.

Cinderella does another twirl. “I’ll make you a pair of undies with the leftover material.”

Thanks, but no thanks. “Cinderella, I don’t know how to tell you this but —”

Her face falls. “What?”

I sigh. “You really need a mirror in here.”