Curse of the Wickeds (The Cinderella Society, Episode 2) (6 page)

By the time Mom called up with the fifteen-minute warning for dinner, we had everything out of the closet and heaped on the floor. In the most organized manner.

I kind of dreaded bringing Sarah Jane down for dinner. I wanted to barricade us in my bedroom to talk more about style stuff. But Mom had been all aglow that I was having a friend over for dinner instead of going out. Which was sweet, in a warm and fuzzy Mom way. As long as she kept her hormones under lock and key.

SJ helped me bag up the
Donates
—by far the largest pile (yay!)—and itemized it while I folded. I punched down the last bag to seal it around the mass of clothes. Air poofed out the top, sending my hair soaring. A quick glance in the mirror proved my new makeover hairstyle would even sustain the wind-blown look.
Leopold of Avalon Salon might be the diva stylist for the Cindys and their makeovers, but he was a genius diva.

I surveyed our hard work. Four bags total.

“I’m in awe of the grid,” I said, lining up the bags along the wall near my door. “Where do the Cindys come up with this stuff?”

“Oh, that’s not a Cindy thing. Most wardrobe books have a strategy like it. We just know how to be resourceful. Why reinvent the wheel if you don’t have to?”

Resourcefulness. Finally, a Cindy trait I shared.

All that was left was to haul the bags downstairs and put them in SJ’s car to take to the donation center after dinner. Mission accomplished. Except . . .

“Maybe I should sleep on it,” I said, suddenly feeling unsettled. “Make sure there’s nothing in there I should keep.”

SJ tapped her lower lip with a frosty peach-colored fingernail and considered me.

“Donator’s remorse,” she decided. “You’re afraid to let go of the old to make room for the new.”

I’d learned in middle school, after I’d mostly stopped growing, not to get rid of things because I’d probably be able to use some of it in the next new hometown. And there was
always
a next new hometown. Until now.

“If something doesn’t bless your life,” SJ said, “you need to let it go so it can bless someone else’s.”

Bless someone else’s life
. I liked the sound of that.

But I couldn’t help feeling like my old life was being carted away before I was sure I had a new life to replace it with. What if the rest of my makeover flopped, and my new image came crashing down? What if I failed the Cindys in my ill-conceived position as their new leader? How would I fade into the woodwork without my Invisible Girl clothes?

My brain was spouting Wicked chatter. Even I could see that. I mean, it was only stuff. It wasn’t like I was giving away pieces of my soul.

I’m letting it bless other people. I’m letting it bless other people.

Still felt a quivering in the pit of my stomach. Clearly, I was not as enlightened as Sarah Jane.

“Look at it this way,” SJ suggested, gesturing to the clothes still piled in their squares. “All that stuff has potential. Everything in here”—the bag crinkled as she patted it—“is stuff you don’t love
and
doesn’t flatter you. Give me one good reason you should keep it.”

Because we might not find anything better? Because letting it go means starting to become someone new? Because I’m not sure I know who I want that new someone to be?

Because I’m a head case?

“I’ll make you a deal,” she offered. “I had a hard time getting rid of that first load too, so let’s take the first bag you filled and put it in the car. Those should be easiest to get rid of because they don’t fit, right? We’ll come back up after dinner and you can pick one more bag to go. We’ll leave the rest in the garage, and you can see how you feel after your next date with Ryan.”

The butterflies in my stomach did a little boogie-woogie in anticipation of date number two.

SJ had already helped me pick out some options to wear for my do-over date with Hunk Boy, so it was a pretty fair deal. Especially since I knew I was just being neurotic about not wanting to commit to the new life I was on the verge of. Even if I thought moving nine times in sixteen years justified a little fear of settling in and getting uprooted again.

But that was the old days. Before the move to Mom’s old stomping grounds of Mt. Sterling and a promise of finally putting down roots before the twins were born. I needed to get a grip and let myself believe her and Dad that this time would be different.

I grabbed the first bag—defying my new-wardrobe-equals-new-life nerves—and Sarah Jane held the door open for me.

“Deal,” I said, in a show of courage I wasn’t quite feeling. “Next stop, Mom’s meatloaf surprise. Brace yourself.”

Chapter Ten

“Since your signature styles are coming along so well,” Gaby said, kicking off our latest
Cinderella Makeover Manual
adventure, “we’re going to shift from Appearance to Personality in your Image Plan. Your signature styles will be a work in progress for a while as you fine-tune them, but I think you’re ready to add the next layer.”

She slid aside the bulletin board to reveal the white board beneath. It still had her makeover ala math equation from our very first Alpha class.

IMAGE = APPEARANCE + PERSONALITY + REPUTATION

“Just like your signature style is the core of the Appearance element”—she drew a smiley face over
APPEARANCE
—“your Cindy brand is the core of the Personality piece.”

Gaby drew a circle around
PERSONALITY
and tapped it with her marker.

“Personality here means who you are on your best days. We call it your Cindy brand. It’s how you would describe yourself on days you’re totally in the zone and everything’s clicking. When you feel strong and confident. Your ‘best self’, as Sarah Jane would say.”

“Best selves rule!” called a voice from the lounge.

Gaby snorted. “The goal of the Cindy brand is to capture that moment. Once you know who you are on your best days, you’ll be able to use it as a guide in everyday life. Before you walk into a party or stand up to do a presentation in class, you can remind yourself of who you are when you’re in the groove. You’ll be amazed by how that super quick mental check-in can get you off on the right foot. And when things are crazy in your life, it’s a great reminder that you can still shine amidst the chaos.”

“Even if the chaos involves the Wickeds?” I asked.

“Especially then.”

Gaby plopped down at the table with us and opened a thick folder. “After a while, it just becomes part of who you are.” She rifled through the stack of papers inside. “The more your Cindy brand is engrained in you, the more those pieces of your personality naturally come to the surface. That’s when it really makes an impact on your image.”

Gaby passed around a new packet of worksheets including a massive word list of personality traits. I dutifully put mine in my
CMM
binder.

“There’s no right or wrong Cindy brand as long as it’s really you. This is one of those assignments that usually takes several passes before you find the right combination, so don’t rush it. Take time to really think about your best days. Are you energetic, thoughtful, gracious?”

How about option D, none of the above?

No Wicked chatter.

“Right now, you’ve gone through phase one of your makeover, and you have a signature style that flatters you.” Gaby smiled when Kat let out a whoop. “But even if you’re a total knockout, people aren’t done forming an opinion about you. How you interact with people plays a huge role in how they see you.”

Gaby nabbed Mel for an experiment and took her just inside the door to the lounge. They leaned their heads together while Gaby whispered instructions.

Mel paused for a second before walking back into study hall. She looked at each of us around the table, then adopted a bored stance with an expression that clearly said
I am so not hanging with these loser pickles.

Totally un-Mel. And totally Lexy.

Gaby stepped back into study hall. “Let’s say you just walked into a party where you don’t know anyone,” she said. “You’re looking around to figure out who to hang with and you see this girl.” She jerked a thumb in Mel’s direction. “What’s your first impression?”

“That she has drama issues and I’m steering clear,” I volunteered, when no one else piped up.

“Me too,” Gaby agreed. “It wouldn’t matter if she looked like a model or wore the coolest clothes.”

Both of which Mel did.

Gaby whispered in Mel’s ear one more time. Mel walked into the lounge, then turned around and came right back into study hall looking relaxed and greeting Gaby with a smile. She looked cheerful and at ease. No more acting, just Mel.

“It only takes a few seconds for someone to form a first impression.” Gaby asked. “Different this time?”

Duh. Completely lovable.

“Personality matters,” Gaby said. “A heck of a lot more than your outfit.”

To help us understand what a Cindy brand looked like, Gaby shared her own.

“My Cindy brand is
honest, ambitious, and curious
.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not glamorous, I know. But it’s me. I’m driven and want to be the best, but not at the expense of other people or the rules.”

Gaby Winston. My fellow rule-lover.

“Plus, I’m kind of a student of life. I want to know all the whos and hows and whys. So few things are ever how they seem on the surface, you know? You have to dig to get at what’s underneath. It’s like uncovering hidden treasure.”

She paused, and I could see her reining herself in. Probably to restrain herself from diagramming her latest brilliant hypothesis. Complete with flowcharts and colorful dry erase markers.

“Anyway,” she said, getting back on track. “I wanted to start with mine because I think it’s a good example of how words can have different meanings to people. When I said
ambitious
, did anyone hear ‘walk all over anyone who gets in her way’?”

“I would never think that of you,” Mel said, joining us at the table again. “But yeah, ambitious to me means pushy.”

“It can, for sure. That’s why you have to choose words that resonate with you personally. Since you’re not going to be putting your Cindy brands on name tags or anything, the only perception that matters is yours.”

I wasn’t sure where to begin with my Cindy brand—or that I fully understood it yet—but the Cindys hadn’t led me astray so far. If adding a Cindy brand to my Image Plan would help me compete in Ryan’s world, I’d give it my best shot.

Chapter Eleven

Paige was talking to Sarah Jane about the system upgrade when I got to the War Room for our next leader meeting. I’d been agonizing over the surge stuff, but so far I’d come up with zip. No idea what the surge was for. No idea how to battle it.

If I’d been a baseball player, I’d have been one step away from striking out. Not an impressive start for the new leader.

Once she’d turned Sarah Jane loose on the latest intelligence briefing from Fortissima, Paige led me over to a magnetic white board filling a large section of wall space. “Our intel isn’t anywhere near complete, but here’s what we can confirm: fourteen primary targets and about two dozen secondary targets.” She pointed to a group of photos gathered in the upper right corner. “Those are the primary targets: favorites of the Wickeds for a year or more. The rest are ones we’ve identified in the last twelve months.”

The targets were small photographs, each attached to an index card that listed the name, year in school, address, and any other notes the Cindys thought might be important.

“That’s it?” In a school of more than fifteen hundred students, forty or so targets didn’t seem like a very wide net. Although I’m sure it seemed plenty wide to those forty girls.

“Those are just the top two tiers. Reggies we’ve been able to document being bullied on a regular basis. That’s targeting. The Wickeds gain power by dominating people who are strong. They might occasionally bully someone weak just for kicks, but it’s pretty rare because it doesn’t increase their power. In their eyes, anyone can bully a weakling. But dominate someone strong, and the Wickeds’ power—and egos—get a boost. Plus, it makes that person less of a threat to the Wickeds’ empire.”

She settled us into chairs along the bank of computers on the side wall. “The hard part is that there’s been an upswing in new targets over the last couple of months. We’re still trying to get a handle on the new group. There could be dozens more, even hundreds. It’s like the rules changed overnight, and the Wickeds have taken their game to a new level. We don’t know how they’ve been able to manage it so quickly. And now we’ve got the surge on top of it.”

“Is this my pep talk?”

Paige laughed and relaxed a little. “Sorry. It’s just frustrating to be turning all this over to you. I feel like I should be able to give you more. Instead, I’m handing off a bunch of problems and no solutions.”

Paige showed me how to log into the intelligence system and pull up background information on the Reggies. It felt intrusive, like I was spying on them. Yes, I had to know their backgrounds to understand how to protect them. And yes, the Wickeds had far more information—and way more
embarrassing
information—than we did.