If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) Read online

  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!”

  Apartment in private home for rent

  33 Slipper Street

  Cozy, 600 square feet

  Private bathroom, big kitchen, and big windows!

  Ground floor! Great light! Wonderful location — near shops and palace.

  No pets.

  $100/month

  “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.”

  Oh my,” Cinderella says. We’re in the stepsisters’ room, examining the dress in one of the mirrors. She looks at herself from all angles. “Oh my, oh my. I am really not a good designer.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re really not.”

  “You can keep practicing,” Jonah says. “You don’t get good at something overnight.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “But it’s already Sunday evening. It’s almost dinnertime. We only have a day and a half left to raise a hundred dollars!”

  Cinderella sighs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It just seems like an awful lot of work for something that’s not going to be needed in the end. I mean, if this convinces Farrah to help me, I’m going to marry the prince and live in the palace. I won’t need the apartment after all.”

  “You could keep the apartment for your office,” Jonah says.

  She makes a sad face. “My office for what?”

  “Your job,” I remind her. “I want to get married one day, but I still want to be a judge. Even if you do marry the prince, you might discover you like being self-reliant. Even a princess should feel self-reliant. In the meantime, you still need a job. Are you sure you don’t want to be a cleaning person? Or maybe just a clothes washer?”

  “I hate washing clothes,” Cinderella says. “My hands are all chapped. And it’s boring. I want to make something.”

  “You’re making something cleaner,” I say.

  Cinderella shrugs. “Is the chicken Caesar salad done?”

  “Yup. All set.

  “Oh, good. Did you make anything for dessert?”

  “No, were we supposed to?”

  “I can do it. But we’d better hurry. They’ll be home soon, and they eat at seven.”

  My stomach grumbles. “When do we eat?”

  “After they eat.”

  “Oh, man,” Jonah wails. “I’m hungry.”

  We help Cinderella back down the stairs and into the kitchen. We hear the front door open, and then Betty butts her head in. “I hope dinner is almost ready,” she says.

  “Gezuty!” Jonah says.

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s Smithvillian for ‘almost,’” he explains.

  She rolls her eyes and steps out.

  “So what should we make?” I ask, flipping through the cookbook. “Cake? Lemon meringue pie? Cookies?”

  “What about brownies?” Jonah asks.

  “Yum, I love brownies,” I say. “Let’s make them.”

  Cinderella’s face scrunches up. “What are brownies?”

  Both my brother’s and my jaws fall open. “What are brownies?” I yell. “Are you joking?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “You’ve never tried a chocolate brownie?” Jonah repeats, dumbfounded.

  “I’ve never tried any kind of brownie,” she says with a shrug.

  “You really need to get out more,” I say. “I’m sure they’re in the book.” I flip through the pages. Cinnamon cupcakes, pineapple tarts, chocolate chip cookies, apple muffins … but no brownies. NO BROWNIES?

  “I can’t find
a single brownie recipe. This should be illegal.”

  “What is a brownie, exactly?” she asks.

  “It’s a small square of deliciousness,” I say.

  “So let’s make some,” Cinderella says. “Do you know how?”

  “It’s easy,” Jonah says. “You take the brownie mix off the shelf and give it to your mom and dad and they mix it with some stuff.” His face falls. Either he just realized that Cinderella doesn’t have any brownie mix or he remembered that our parents don’t have much time for brownie making right now.

  “Oh,” he says. “I guess that won’t work. You probably have to make it from scratch.”

  “So what’s the recipe?” Cinderella asks.

  I look at Jonah. He looks at me. “I don’t know,” I say. “Our parents never made them from scratch.”

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me what it tastes like?” Cinderella asks. “Maybe I can figure it out.”

  “They’re chocolaty. They’re like a cross between a cookie and a cake,” I say.

  Cinderella ties an apron around her waist and pulls out a mixing bowl. “I do a lot of baking, so we’ll have some trial and error. Do you mind being my tasters?”

  “That is something I wouldn’t mind at all,” Jonah says. “Bring on the brownies!”

  Hmm. I’m getting an idea here. “You do a lot of baking?”

  “Yup,” she says, turning on the oven. “Lots.”

  “Do you like baking? Is it something you could do even more of?”

  “Sure,” she says. “I find it relaxing.”

  Here’s the big one: “Are you any good at it?”

  “I’m not bad,” she says with a shrug.

  “Are you a better baker than you are a sewer?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Much better. Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”

  My mind is racing. “I’m thinking that this could be your job! You can bake brownies and sell them! All of Floom would come and buy them because you’re the only person who makes them.”

  “Where would I sell them?” Cinderella asks.

  “Your apartment!” I say. “It’ll be an apartment and bakery. It’s on the ground floor — it’s perfect.”

  “You want me to start my own shop?”

  “Yes! Wouldn’t that be cool? You could call it Cinderella’s Brownies! Wait. No. That doesn’t have alliteration. Hmm. It’s really too bad you’re not making cookies. Cinderella’s Cookies has alliteration.” Maybe not alliteration. But close enough.

  “Floom already has cookies,” Cinderella says.

  I drum my fingers against the counter. “Right. And you have cakes and cupcakes, too, huh?”

  She nods. “We do.”

  “Oh, well. Brownies it is. I’ll keep thinking about the name.”

  “But I need to sell these brownies before I have the money to get the apartment,” Cinderella says. “I guess we could sell them at the market. We could set up a booth.”

  “Perfect!” I say. “We’ll go tomorrow!”

  “Hurray!” Jonah cheers.

  “Our problems aren’t solved yet,” Cinderella says, her forehead wrinkling. “I still don’t know how to make the brownies.”

  Oh. Right. “You will. I have complete faith in your baking skills.”

  I hope I don’t have to eat those words.

  While Cinderella bakes in the kitchen, Jonah puts the chicken Caesar salad on plates and I serve it in the dining room.

  “You didn’t give me enough chicken,” Beatrice complains.

  Excuuuuuuuse me.

  “Do you want me to get you more?” I ask.

  “Surely I do. Why else would I have complained?”

  Um, because you complain about everything? So far she’s told me that there’s:

  A speck of dirt on her fork.

  A draft in the room.

  No pepper on the table.

  “Anything else?” I ask. I look at Kayla, but she’s too busy staring at her plate. What’s up with her?

  “You need to refill our water, too,” Betty snaps. “I’m thirsty.”

  “No problem,” I say with fake cheer. As long as they’re not coming in the kitchen, I’m happy.

  I keep a fake smile on my face until I’m back in the kitchen and then groan. “Betty and Beatrice are so annoying. More water! More chicken! Clean forks! Blah, blah, blah!”

  “Don’t forget about Kayla,” Cinderella says, pulling her first batch of brownies from the oven. “Hasn’t she complained about the food needing more salt yet? She always complains about the food needing more salt.”

  “She hasn’t actually.” Kayla’s barely said two words. She’s barely eating, either. She’s just moping into her food.

  “Maybe she’s getting sick or something,” Cinderella says. She cuts out two chunks of brownie and hands one to Jonah and one to me. “Here, try this.”

  “Blah,” Jonah says, spitting it out in the garbage.

  “Jonah, that’s so rude,” I say.

  “But it tasted gross!”

  “Can you try to be constructive, please?” I ask.

  He looks thoughtful. “It needs to be less bad.”

  I take a small bite. I second the blah, but keep it to myself.

  “Very constructive, Jonah, thank you. I actually think it needs more sugar. And maybe more chocolate chunks.”

  “Will do,” Cinderella says, dancing around the kitchen. I think she’s having fun. Now all we need is for her to make a decent brownie and we’ll be all set.

  The next batch is disgusting, too. And way too gooey. I didn’t know it was possible to have brownies that were too gooey, but it is.

  “Should I feed it to the evil ones for dessert?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Jonah says. “Maybe it will make them barf.”

  I shudder. “But then we’d have to clean up the barf.”

  “I actually don’t know what to give them for dessert,” Cinderella says. “We have nothing ready.”

  “Do you have any fruit?” I ask.

  “Fruit isn’t dessert,” Jonah says, looking horrified.

  “It is, too,” I say. “I saw some clementines. They can have those.”

  “Make sure to peel them,” Cinderella says.

  “Seriously?” I groan. “Jonah, help me.”

  “I’m kinda busy,” he says. By busy he means, he’s dipping his finger in the brownie bowl and licking it. “After you make chocolate brownies, can you make caramel brownies? And chocolate chip brownies? And blondies?”

  “And some with nuts,” I add.

  “Yuck,” Jonah says. “No one really likes nuts in their brownies. They just eat them because they have to.”

  “Why would you have to eat brownies with nuts?” I ask.

  “Parents think they’re healthier. Like carrot cake. People think it’s healthy just because it has carrots in the name. Blah. Please do not put nuts in your brownies.”

  “Got it,” Cinderella says. “No nuts.”

  “And no carrots,” Jonah adds.

  The clementines do not go over well.

  “Fruit is not dessert!” Beatrice cries.

  “I expect you to make something more dessert-y tomorrow,” Betty says. “There are three of you in there. You have no excuse.”

  Grumble, grumble, grumble.

  Kayla just stares at her clementines.

  Back in the kitchen I discover that batch three of the brownies is burnt.

  I’m beginning to get nervous.

  “What about ketchup brownies?” Jonah suggests.

  “That’s disgusting,” I say. “And stop eating the brownie mix!”

  “I think these need vanilla,” Cinderella says, sampling batch four. I’ve just cleared the plates off the dining room table.

  I have no idea what vanilla does to brownies, so I am happy to take her word for it.

  “Cinderella?” Kayla says, poking her head into the kitchen. “I’d like another glass of water.”

  Seriously? Can she not pour
the water herself?

  “Of course,” Cinderella says.

  Kayla eyes the many plates of brownies. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Preparing dessert for tomorrow,” Cinderella answers, which is not a lie.

  “Oh,” she says. She looks like she’s about to say something more, but she doesn’t. When Cinderella hands her a glass of water, though, she whispers a tiny “Thank you.” Then she hurries out of the kitchen.

  Cinderella looks stunned. “What was that?” she says. “Kayla never says thank you. None of them do.”

  “That’s so rude,” I say.

  “That’s the least of it,” Cinderella says. “Last week Kayla dripped tomato sauce on the chair and then blamed me. Betty made me scrub it with my toothbrush. She and Kayla just laughed. Then Beatrice spilled more on purpose. The two of them are the worst. Sure, Beatrice’s usually the instigator but Kayla’s no angel.”

  I put my arm around her thin shoulders. “You’ll be out of here soon. I know it.”

  “You will,” Jonah says, helping himself to another spoonful of batter. “This stuff isn’t bad. It’s not as awesome as dogs-in-a-blanket but —” His eyes light up. “Can you make dogs-in-a-blanket brownies? That would be awesome.”

  “Please don’t,” I say.

  “We could dip them in ketchup!”

  Sometimes I’m not sure how we’re even related.

  Cinderella finishes batch five at around eleven.

  I chew carefully. It is chocolaty. It is the perfect amount of gooey. It is melt-in-my-mouth delicious. Hurray!

  “Cinderella,” I say slowly. “This is the best chocolate brownie I have ever had in my entire life.”

  The next morning, we wait for Betty and her daughters to leave to visit more friends before we start baking. (I know — more friends?)

  We use up all the chocolate and all the flour and all the eggs and make ten trays of brownies — one dozen brownies per tray. We wait for them to cool down, pack them up, and get ready to go to the market.

  If we sell them for a dollar each, we’ll even have extra money. Cinderella is going to need extra cash for supplies and stuff.

  Except …

  “Um, guys?” I ask. We’re all ready and standing in front of Cinderella’s house. We have the brownies, some signs, and even the ironing board. That was my great idea. We need some sort of table for the booth, right? “Where is the market? And how are we supposed to get there?”