Damsel Distressed (24 page)

Evelyn's smile slips for a moment, but she picks it up before it can fall all the way. She shouts to be heard over the packed lobby.

“No, honey, he's not. But he got your message, and he wanted me to come and get it on video! And of course we wouldn't have missed it for the world! We just loved it, didn't we, Carmella?”

My eyes widen to golf ball size as the beauty queen emerges out of thin air. She is wearing a black dress, sleeveless and about two inches shy of dress code regulation. So, basically her uniform.

“Mother. It's Ella.” She rolls her eyes and then continues, “And, yes, it was…hilarious. I just laughed and laughed and laughed. You were a huge success.

Totally…huge.” I swallow hard, stalling, but I can think of nothing to say.

“Darling, it was just wonderful! I'm so proud of you. I only wish your father were here to see it.”

“Me too,” I say, still a little off-guard to see the Cinder women standing in front of me.

“It was excellent! Just
wonderful
, dear!”

“Thanks.” My eyes dart between my two inherited family members, and I manage an only slightly more gracious “Thank you for coming, Evelyn.”

She looks so sincerely proud of me, but something about that just doesn't click in my head. It just doesn't make sense. I'm not hers.

“I know you've got the cast party, darling, so we're gonna head on home. You were amazing.” Evelyn gestures to Carmella, who continues to scan the crowd for someone who'll give her the attention she needs.

“I'll be right there, Mother. I need to say bye to Andrew first.”

Evelyn nods and leaves me to be devoured by her big bad girl.

The second her mom turns around, Carmella steps right up to my face.

The familiar panic pushes blood through my body, and I hear it pump in my ears.

People are moving all around us. Hugs and squeals and flowers fill every extra space. She leans forward and whispers in my ear. “I want to make it clear that I didn't want to be here tonight. I only came because my mom made some big deal about how you need to feel supported and this was something for you to be proud of. But don't be confused. You made a fool of yourself up there. And if you're not embarrassed, you should be.”

“Ella?” Andrew and a fresh batch of actors flood out of the stage door.

I feel stupid. I feel like I cannot continue living with this girl in my life. And I don't know how to make her go away. I don't know how to make her disappear.

As Andrew rushes over to Carmella, my friends find their way to where we've been standing just to the side of the ticket office.

Grant and Brice come up behind me, and each take an elbow before showing me a big, beautiful bouquet of supermarket flowers they scrounged up at some point this afternoon.

Bright yellow carnations and a few red roses are mixed with pink and purple flowers that almost look too bright to be natural. But I don't care. They're the best flowers ever.

My heartbeat slows down as they take turns giving me a hug. Behind them, Antonique and Jonathan wait for their turns.

I'm insulated in this moment. I'm physically surrounded by people who have my back, who support me, and that matters. Much more than I expect it to.

Carmella watches, red-faced.

“I didn't know you were coming to the show,” Andrew tells her.

“I wasn't gonna come, but then my mom made me when she heard that Imogen here was going to be dressing up and pretending to be a real girl.”

Andrew catches her attitude for half a second. I see it as his eyebrows twitch and his eyes flick to me. He tries to blow past her quip. “Yeah, well, the kid did all right, don'tcha think?” Andrew looks back toward me and grins.

Grant bumps into my hip with his own and says into my ear, “More than all right. You were amazing.”

I turn to him and smile while I hold the bouquet up to my nose and breathe in deeply.

Carmella's face is being carved in two by her plunging eyebrows, and her lips are drawn up so tight, I can barely make them out.

With every moment of affection, with every moment of support, with every second I don't run away crying, I see her shrink in front of me. And I love it.

I give her a smile.

This seems to trigger her full-on flip-out because all of the sudden, her posture changes, and she steps away from Andrew and once again confronts me by bringing her chest right up next to mine.

I grimace at her again.

“It was amazing, all right.” She clenches and unclenches her fists and spits out her words through gritted teeth. I've never seen her so spun up before. She turns her face toward Andrew without backing away from me. “I thought it was particularly amazing that you managed to kiss this pig right on the mouth and not vomit on the stage!” She snaps her face back toward me. I step back, stunned.

“Whoa!” Grant roars at her, stepping in front of me.

“Nope!” I hear Brice begin mumbling under his breath and see him try to push forward, but Jonathan holds him back.

“Ella, what the hell is wrong with you? You should go,” Andrew says.

I am completely shocked at the sight of her losing control. I don't know how to respond, so I just stand there.

She tosses her hair and reaches up to straighten the top of her dress. “Well, I have to leave, so, whatever. And Andrew, we're officially over, okay? If you want to waste your time with these losers, so be it.”

I fully expect her words to hurt, but I don't feel the sting.

Honestly, she's just acting straight-up crazy.

I look to either side of me and see Grant and Brice and even Andrew all standing there, poised in protective positions—chests puffed out, heads shoved forward, ready to defend me—and I almost feel a little sick.

I appreciate them, but what kind of girl lets a guy, or three, do all the fighting? I take in a little breath to steel my nerves.

“Excuse me.” I reach around Grant and move him out of my way, bringing myself right to Carmella's face.

“Gen, you don't have to—”

“Grant, I don't need you to save me,” I say, putting a hand on his arm and giving him my most assuring look. It's not about him. It's about me.

I turn around to face her, head on.

“Carmella, I'm done.” I swallow nervously and almost bring my hand to my mouth, but keep it pinned to my side. “I don't know what it is that made you decide that I don't deserve to be treated with even a sliver of human decency, but this has got to stop.”

Her face looks like it's made of stone. I might as well be talking to a wall, but I continue anyway.

“Look around you, ‘Ella.'” I finger-quote her name. “Right now, I've got all these friends on my side, and no one—no one—is standing on yours.” I grit my teeth. “Where are your friends, Carmella?”

Her eyes are absolutely glaring, shooting fire or lightning or poison. And as I pause for a breath, I recognize—in a way that most people wouldn't—the shimmer of hot angry tears building in her eyes. I consider walking away right then, but I have one more thing to say.

“You say I should be embarrassed? I'm not. You don't get to decide when I'm embarrassed. And I'm no expert, but if you just got dumped by your boyfriend for insulting this loser fat girl playing dress-up in a princess costume,
and
if that loser is pretty soundly putting your narrow ass in its place right now, maybe you're the girl who should be embarrassed. I'm done.”

All around us, faces are turned to me.

I feel like I'm ten feet tall and made of steel.

Cold.

Unfeeling steel.

I swallow as the sound of talking in the lobby fades to a low murmur.

Carmella looks like her eyes are made of glass, and then she pushes her shoulders back and she looks invincible again.

“Yeah,” she says with quiet defiance. “You're done.”

She looks around at the group of people standing behind me. I watch as her posture falls and she shifts her weight from side to side, but only for a moment. In a split-second, she's standing tall again, and her smile is plastered back in place.

With a flip of her hair, she struts away.

I don't blame the boys for watching her go. Jiminy Christmas.

Antonique walks over to me and puts an arm over my shoulder. “You okay? That was awesome. I didn't know today was Imogen the Brave day, but I like it.”

“Yeah, I think I do, too,” I say as I try to smile at the little circle that's surrounding me. I turn to Grant, who nods, and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders.

Jonathan sets the world back in motion when he says, “Let's go tear this show down so we can get to the cast party. Text me if you need directions to my place.” Many of the kids who've been hanging around the lobby head backstage to work on picking up before we leave.

Brice walks up to me with a big pout on his lips and claps along with every word, “You gave it to her.” I think he wants me to be proud. “Are you ready to turn back into a pumpkin?”

I pick up the edges of the dress and twirl it a bit. “It's a little pink…and I wish there were sleeves, but I've gotta tell you, I really did feel like a princess. No wonder Cinderella was so pissed at midnight. Not only did she have to run off without her man—”

“But she had to give up the dress, too. I know. Such a tragedy.” He giggles and grabs my hand to give it a squeeze. “I'll be back there when you're ready.”

The lobby has mostly cleared out, but Grant hangs back and, when I turn, he gives me a little smile as I walk to him.

“Are you going to kick me if I tell you how pretty you look?” he asks.

I laugh. “Not today.”

“About before—I wasn't trying to save you. You know that, right?” His eyes are full of worry.

“Yes. I know that.”

“Okay, 'cause I wanted to be sure you didn't think that I didn't think that you could stand up for yourself.”

“I think I knew how because I've watched you save me so many times.” I laugh. “And don't worry. Just because I saved myself this once doesn't mean you can't totally fight dragons on my behalf sometimes.”

Before he has a chance to respond, I turn and head backstage, leaving Grant with his hand in his hair and a smirk on his lips.

Out of costume an hour and a half later, I'm face to face with dozens of red plastic cups being hoisted all around me. Jonathan's house is pretty massive—perfect for a party. His parents have decorated the living room in a modern, minimalist design with low, white couches and low, white tables. All are covered with sweaty teenagers. Still others, including myself and my little crew, are seated on the floor.

“To Imogen! The overnight princess!”

“So awesome.”

“You killed it, Imogen!”

They gulp from their cups and pass around the two-liter bottles to top off their sodas.

It's only as Andrew is walking toward our little cluster on the floor that I remember the horrible awkwardness from before. When he told off his girlfriend for being rude to me, a virtual stranger. Well, I'm not sure if we can be strangers if our mouths have touched, but whatever. And as that thought pops into my head, I feel a mix of sadness and relief that I have absolutely no memory of the kiss ever happening. So much of today is a blur. Even my run-in with Carmella seems like a distant memory.

“Hey, you!” Andrew says through a goofy grin.

“Hey.”

“I just wanted to say that you did a really, really great job today. It was totally boss sharing the stage with you.” He rakes back his hair again, and I try not to laugh at his popular-guy-speak.

“It was, uh, boss working with you, too.”

“I'm sorry about what Ella said after the show. That was not cool.” Andrew's face slips from doofus to genuine, and I almost don't recognize him.

“You don't have to apologize for her,” I say.

“Yeah, well, she was supposed to be my girlfriend. I guess I expected too much?”

“She's supposed to be my stepsister! And all I ever expected was for her to not call me a pig in public!” We laugh, and he holds up his red cup to me.

“So we're cool?” he asks.

“Totally,” I say, and I clink cups with him.

Across the room, Jonathan is pointing to a shelf by the fireplace. I grab a handful of popcorn and walk over to where he's halfway through explaining the display. “—no, really. They're all paper. This one took me three weeks to get right.”

Jonathan is holding a dragon with dozens of individual scales and talons as sharp as toothpicks. Beside it rests a tiny paper bird with feathers so delicate, it looks like it might fly away.

“You made these?” I interrupt.

He sets the figure back on the shelf as if it were made of glass. “Yeah, I like origami.”

“You must have really steady hands,” I say without thinking, just as Jonathan shoves his left hand back into his pocket.